haven’t formed a relationship independent of the family. So my image of Allison is as my brother’s wife. A job at which she excels. Jeremy adores Allison.
So does Mom, apparently. It looks like they’ve grown even closer now that Mom lives in Lenape Hill, which is nearer than Westfield to Allison’s house. It’s good that Allison has Mom and Mom has Allison. Where does that leave me? I don’t know. I guess I have to find where I fit in this revised version of the family Louis.
Someone to Dance With
“What were you laughing about?” I ask Allison and Mom.
“We were talking about the wedding last weekend.” Allison uses the pearly pink polished nail of her pinky finger to brush blond hair out of her eyes.
“What wedding?” I ask.
“Cousin Lauren’s,” Mom says. “It was a fabulous party.”
“Why wasn’t I invited?” I ask.
“You were,” Mom says. “You said you couldn’t go because of your trip to Paris.”
“Oh.” When was the last time I saw Lauren, or any of my cousins? I missed the family seder in April. I was in Rome. The Chanukah party? I was in Dallas. Gee. Looks like I’ll be having guilt for breakfast.
“Tell me about the wedding,” I say.
“Lauren’s dress was beautiful,” Allison starts.
“The band was great,” Mom says, “even though I didn’t dance.”
“Why not?” I ask as I turn to the coffeepot. “You love dancing.”
“Your aunts and uncles dance with each other,” Mom says. “I don’t have someone to dance with.”
Mom states that as fact, without self-pity. But the sadness of the statement brings tears to my heart. Standing in front of the coffeepot, I keep my back to Mom and Allison, so Mom doesn’t see the emotion on my face.
Allison says, “You should start to date.”
That makes me laugh. “It’s too soon for me.”
“Not you. Mom.”
Turning, I look at Mom. “You want to date?”
Mom shrugs.
“She doesn’t want to be alone for the rest of her life,” Allison says.
“She’s not alone. She has me and Jeremy and you and the kids.”
“It’s not the same,” Allison insists. “A woman needs a man.”
Allison and I look at Mom. Mom looks at the kitchen table. “It would be nice.”
I am stunned. Why am I stunned? Do I want Mom to be alone? No. But, I didn’t think she was alone. I can’t imagine her with anyone but my father.
“Some of my friends have found dates from the personals in the Jewish Exponent,” Mom says. “Helen has been dating someone she met on the Internet.”
“We’ll go on the Internet,” Allison decides. “Lots of people do that.”
Yeah. People who aren’t my mother. Shouldn’t she, like, knit?
Mom looks at me. “What do you think, Mimi?”
Allison raises her eyebrows, willing me to be supportive. So now I have to be supportive. I can’t be the bad daughter.
“If you want to date,” I say, “then I think you should.”
Mom smiles. “Really?”
No. “Yes.”
Allison looks at her watch. “I have time. Let’s go on the Internet now and look at websites. The three of us can do it together.”
“Helen and I are going to a lecture and lunch at the JCC,” Mom says. “But I don’t have to leave for a while.”
Help Mom troll the Internet for lovers? I’d rather not. “I have things to do.”
“It’s okay,” Mom says to Allison. “Mimi’s been through a rough few days.”
I accept my pardon. Allison takes Mom’s hand and the two of them leave the kitchen and go into the den. I hear them turn on the computer. They laugh. I decide to shower, and wash away the scent of despair.
Bobbi’s Ideal Mate
After Allison leaves to collect the twins, Mom asks me to help her fill out her profile on an Internet site for singles over fifty. I can’t think of a logical reason not to. Pulling up the dating site’s profile screen, I start to fill in Mom’s information. “Age?” I ask.
“You know how old I am,” she says.
“Maybe we should skew downward. You look a lot younger than sixty. You could easily pass for fifty-five.”
“Yeah,” Mom says. “Let’s start my dating life by lying.”
“Fine.” I type “60” into the age box. We finish the rest of the vital statistics.
Reading from the website, I say, “Name some characteristics and hobbies your ideal mate should have.”
Mom thinks. “Someone who wants to travel.”
“Dad never traveled.”
“Intelligent,” Mom continues. “Well read. Love of the performing arts.”
I laugh. “Dad didn’t like to go to plays or concerts.”
“I know.”
From the screen, I read, “What well-known person would be your ideal mate?”
Mom thinks for a moment.