but…” Mom looks at me with white goop all over her face. She wants to tell me.
“Mom. What is it?”
“We were sitting there, and we’d been lounging around all day. At about five o’clock, Sid turns to me and says, ‘What’s for dinner?’”
“‘What’s for dinner?’”
“Yeah.” Mom puts her hands on her hips. “Can you believe that?”
I don’t get Mom’s indignation. Part of me wants to jump on any excuse to berate Sid. But the other part of me…“I don’t understand. What’s wrong with asking about dinner?”
Mom throws her hands in the air. “Why should he assume that I’m the one who will cook dinner?”
“You don’t usually cook dinner?”
“No,” Mom says. “We cook together. Or we go out. That was the first time Sid assumed that dinner was my responsibility.”
“Maybe he was simply asking what you wanted to eat for dinner. Like, ‘What are we going to do about dinner?’”
“There was no ‘we,’” Mom says. “So, I got up from my very comfortable seat on the deck. And I made dinner. But you know what, Mimi? I don’t want to make dinner every night for someone. I did that for years. For you and Jeremy and your dad. I don’t want to do it again.”
I see what Mom is saying. Could this be what breaks up her and Sid? Do I want it to be? Sort of. However…
“Mom, did you talk to Sid about this?”
“No.” She turns her back to me and fusses with her face cream.
I lean against the bathroom door. “Well, maybe you should…”
“And another thing.” Mom turns around again. “I haven’t been to a library lecture or a synagogue luncheon for weeks. Maybe months. What about my breakfast club with Ally? I haven’t done that, either. Nor have I spent time with Sarah and the twins.”
“Or me.”
“Right! Look at you, Mimi. You need me. You’re still a mess.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” Mom says. “But I haven’t spent nearly enough time with you.”
So, she knows. Mom knows that her time with Sid has been taking her away from her family and her other activities. But is that Sid’s fault or Mom’s responsibility? It sounds like Mom is talking through fear, making excuses for not marrying Sid. Am I supposed to point this out to her?
I so don’t want to be in this position. And yet…
“Mom, maybe you could balance things a little better. Have you thought about that? Giving that a try?”
Mom smiles at me. “Are you giving me relationship advice?”
“Don’t think it’s not painful for me.”
Mom turns back to her mirror. “I’ll let you know when I make my decision. In the meantime, don’t mention Sid’s proposal to Ally or Jeremy. They have enough to worry about with Phoebe and her lover.”
“Okay.” I exhale. This conversation has exhausted me. “I’m going to bed.”
“Don’t forget that we have a girls’ lunch tomorrow.”
“Girls?”
“Me, Phoebe, Ally, and you. At Ally’s house. Noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
Girls of All Ages
“What does his family do?” Phoebe asks me.
“Real estate.” I’m being held for questioning in the matter of my love life. Explaining Aaron is easier than explaining Joe. Phoebe, Mom, and I are sitting on Allison’s sunny deck, waiting for dessert. Allison is busy making herself crazy in the kitchen. Lunch was a delicious summer salad with grilled chicken, although I’m the thing getting grilled.
“Ah, real estate,” Phoebe says approvingly. This is the field in which her husband made his fortune. “His family has money?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Excellent.” Phoebe approves.
“Money isn’t the most important thing,” Mom says. “I want Mimi to be with someone she loves.”
“She can’t love this one?” Phoebe asks.
Mom is saved from retorting by Allison’s emergence onto the deck. She’s carrying a fruit salad made with honeydew, mango, kiwi, and strawberries. Phoebe smiles approvingly. “Very pretty, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Allison smiles. She scoops fruit into glass dishes.
Phoebe keeps talking. “My daughter did the right thing. Married a nice man with a good job who supports her while she raises their children.”
There are so many errors in that statement that I am shocked she actually made it. Does she not know that Allison married Jeremy because she was pregnant? Maybe she doesn’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
“Mimi, you should have children while you are young,” Phoebe states. “That way, you can enjoy your life when you get older. Like me and Bobbi. We have our freedom.”
Mom smiles politely.
“I’m trying, Phoebe,” I tell her. “I’m trying to find the perfect husband so I can become the perfect mother and wife. Just like Ally.”
“Actually, I’m thinking about getting a job.”