house. I had Gracie just before our first wedding anniversary.
I never had a place of my own until this room. It has been mine, and mine alone, for six months now. I have told no one about this place: not my husband, not my daughters. I now have somewhere to go when I’ve had another argument with Louis or when I’ve had my feelings hurt by one of the girls. Or when my mother calls and asks me, once again, to be the head of the family, to convince my brothers and sisters to do something they don’t want to do. To do something I don’t want to do, either. I should be used to having my feelings disregarded by now. I don’t understand why my mother can’t be happy with just me, Gracie, Lila, and Ryan. Why can’t we be enough? There is little point in drawing all of my brothers and sisters and their families together. What you get when we are all in the same room is not love. It is a potent combination of our childhood, my father’s anger, and my mother’s deliberate silence and pointless barbed comments. It is the long, thin, thorny end of the rose.
Sometimes I am bored in the motel room. Sometimes, like today, I can’t get comfortable. I stand up, pace, try the rickety armchair in the corner, peek through the curtains at the rush of the highway. I know that this time is important in my journey to know myself, but occasionally it is unpleasant. I remember shaking Vince Carrelli’s warm hand as we said good-bye, and how we each seemed to hold on to the handshake for a second too long. I flip from thoughts of my mother to my siblings to my daughters, and I feel as if each turn sends me into another brick wall. And then at some point I run out of things to think about altogether, I run out of anger, and I am left feeling blank and empty. Swallowed up in some vague darkness. This is the point when I put the pillows back in the closet, switch off the lights, and leave.
THAT VERY night I am pressed into my role of family liaison. My mother has asked me to make sure all of my brothers and sisters agree to show up for the Easter party. Meggy calls to say that she doesn’t understand why she has to be the one to travel here, when she has less money than any of us. I tell her I would be happy to pay the gas money it would take for her to drive from her house in southern New Jersey to northern New Jersey. My sister-in-law Angel calls to say that Johnny’s antidepressant had been changed, and now that his headaches are better, he’s happier about seeing everyone. Theresa phones to let me know she is baking three pies for the event, even though I had told her that Lila and Gracie are planning to make cookies. Ryan calls to say he is worried about Mother. He says she seemed to have a cloud over her head when she last visited. I am tempted to ask him how he could see a cloud what with all the fat, dirty birds flying around his apartment, but I restrain myself. Of course, I don’t tell Ryan about Mother’s accident; there is no point in upsetting him. Pat is the only one of my siblings who doesn’t call. I had known he wouldn’t, but still I had hoped. But Pat knows the time and the location of the party, and he will show up. He will do his duty, and no more.
Louis comes home while I’m on the phone with Ryan. I take these kinds of calls at the table in the kitchen, where I can pay bills or sort through the mail at the same time. He sits across from me and finishes the leftover Chinese food that was in the refrigerator. While I talk, I eye him to see if he’s spoken to Vince yet. I wonder what he will say about my haircut, which is very short in the back and on the sides. I haven’t decided yet whether I like it, and I trust Louis’s opinion.
When I hang up with Ryan, he says, “I wish you didn’t have so much stress over this party.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to take care of your mother and all of your brothers and sisters. Let them take