lets me tell her word for word what was said, and how I feel, and how I’m scared and confused and wounded.
How much time passes there on the floor, I don’t know. At some point I let her go and she gets me some tissues to blow my nose. Never have I cried like this. Great gut-wracking sobs where I can’t breathe and my head goes numb.
Never have I felt a kiss as soothing as the one she places on my head just before she smoothes my hair. “Go wash your face and I’ll make some coffee.”
She knows me after all.
Gentle God, I’m a state. I just paraded halfway though the city looking like this. A frilly dress, sneakers and an oversized hoodie. Mascara-streaked eyes, red puffy nose, and eyes sunken back in my head. As we’d say around here, I look like a skeet.
The facecloths smell of fabric softener, which Evan and I don’t use. But it means the thick cotton is soft and fragrant and feels like heaven. I wash my face with one and then take another damp one back out to the kitchen with me just for the cool comfort. The wash liquid might be full of chemicals and bad for the environment, but I love it.
“You want cake?” Mom asks, handing me the most perfect cup of coffee I’ve ever had.
I nod, because if I try to speak, I’m just going to cry again.
The most decadent piece of black forest cake is shortly in front of me and I eat it without saying a word.
Mom doesn’t say much. She’s commenting on simple things. The sunset. The residue on the dishes and the need for new detergent. Nothing about Evan, the wedding, or anything that could reduce me to tears.
When I’m finished my first cup of coffee, she pours us both another and leaves the room. I follow because maybe she knows how to fix this. Fix me. I steadily walk behind her through the living room and up the stairs, right up to my old room. It’s different, of course. She’s not the type to keep my room a shrine, but it’s still comfortable. Far prettier than it was in my day with whites and pale greens as far as the eye can see. It’s calming. She sits in the rocking chair by the window and I sit on the bed.
“First things first. Do you want to marry Evan?”
I hiccup and nod.
“Do you want to postpone the wedding?” She holds up a hand to stop me from speaking. “Forget what he said. Postponing isn’t cancelling. It’s delaying.”
I shake my head no.
“Can you forgive him? Truly forgive him? As in not parade this out before him years from now whenever a fight comes up, or set this up as the first issue on an ever-growing one?”
“You’re taking his side!”
“I most certainly am not. I’m so mad at that man right now that I’m tempted to go out there and stab him far worse than I maimed his dear mother. To say those things to you, ever, let alone when you have all the stress of a new bride on your head. Ohhhh.”
Okay. Mom is shaking with anger. I’ve never seen that. Not even when I did some pretty rotten things in my youth.
“No, my dear. I couldn’t give two farts right now about Evan, truth be told.”
How am I not supposed to laugh at that? Sometimes Mom slips into some real old townie slang, and when she does it cracks me up.
“But, Jillian, you do need to accept that some of what he said, only the things about our relationship, are true. And you’re right about us too. I know I can be overbearing. And I know Dad just thinks you’re the most brilliant creature to grace the earth and perhaps that’s why he’s always pushing you towards his vision. I’ve fought with him about that too, you know. I’ve always been on your side.”
It’s the same speech from before, from when I came accusing her of being ashamed of Evan. Since then I’ve watched her more. Paid more attention to what she says, and how she says it. And I believe her. You know I do. And you know I’ve tried to be better.
“I know, Mom. I do.”
She smiles. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came here tonight. I never expected
How much time passes there on the floor, I don’t know. At some point I let her go and she gets me some tissues to blow my nose. Never have I cried like this. Great gut-wracking sobs where I can’t breathe and my head goes numb.
Never have I felt a kiss as soothing as the one she places on my head just before she smoothes my hair. “Go wash your face and I’ll make some coffee.”
She knows me after all.
Gentle God, I’m a state. I just paraded halfway though the city looking like this. A frilly dress, sneakers and an oversized hoodie. Mascara-streaked eyes, red puffy nose, and eyes sunken back in my head. As we’d say around here, I look like a skeet.
The facecloths smell of fabric softener, which Evan and I don’t use. But it means the thick cotton is soft and fragrant and feels like heaven. I wash my face with one and then take another damp one back out to the kitchen with me just for the cool comfort. The wash liquid might be full of chemicals and bad for the environment, but I love it.
“You want cake?” Mom asks, handing me the most perfect cup of coffee I’ve ever had.
I nod, because if I try to speak, I’m just going to cry again.
The most decadent piece of black forest cake is shortly in front of me and I eat it without saying a word.
Mom doesn’t say much. She’s commenting on simple things. The sunset. The residue on the dishes and the need for new detergent. Nothing about Evan, the wedding, or anything that could reduce me to tears.
When I’m finished my first cup of coffee, she pours us both another and leaves the room. I follow because maybe she knows how to fix this. Fix me. I steadily walk behind her through the living room and up the stairs, right up to my old room. It’s different, of course. She’s not the type to keep my room a shrine, but it’s still comfortable. Far prettier than it was in my day with whites and pale greens as far as the eye can see. It’s calming. She sits in the rocking chair by the window and I sit on the bed.
“First things first. Do you want to marry Evan?”
I hiccup and nod.
“Do you want to postpone the wedding?” She holds up a hand to stop me from speaking. “Forget what he said. Postponing isn’t cancelling. It’s delaying.”
I shake my head no.
“Can you forgive him? Truly forgive him? As in not parade this out before him years from now whenever a fight comes up, or set this up as the first issue on an ever-growing one?”
“You’re taking his side!”
“I most certainly am not. I’m so mad at that man right now that I’m tempted to go out there and stab him far worse than I maimed his dear mother. To say those things to you, ever, let alone when you have all the stress of a new bride on your head. Ohhhh.”
Okay. Mom is shaking with anger. I’ve never seen that. Not even when I did some pretty rotten things in my youth.
“No, my dear. I couldn’t give two farts right now about Evan, truth be told.”
How am I not supposed to laugh at that? Sometimes Mom slips into some real old townie slang, and when she does it cracks me up.
“But, Jillian, you do need to accept that some of what he said, only the things about our relationship, are true. And you’re right about us too. I know I can be overbearing. And I know Dad just thinks you’re the most brilliant creature to grace the earth and perhaps that’s why he’s always pushing you towards his vision. I’ve fought with him about that too, you know. I’ve always been on your side.”
It’s the same speech from before, from when I came accusing her of being ashamed of Evan. Since then I’ve watched her more. Paid more attention to what she says, and how she says it. And I believe her. You know I do. And you know I’ve tried to be better.
“I know, Mom. I do.”
She smiles. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came here tonight. I never expected
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