I Liked My Life(32)

Dad was expecting a fight. He stands there, holding the counter as if he might need it for protection. When he processes that he won, that I’ll go to counseling, he pulls out a copy of an email from his briefcase.

“Here’s a list of all the local therapists covered by our insurance.”

This went from casual idea to concrete plan mighty fast. “God, Dad. How long have you been, like, scheming for this?” He confesses it’s been a few weeks. I arch my eyebrows. “And … you never said anything … why?”

“I booked my appointment already, but I’ve been waiting for the right time to ask you.” He stops there but then pushes on. “Admit it, Eve, you’re temperamental. I never know how you’ll react to stuff.”

It’s true, and he called me out the way my mother would have, so I pick up my cell and book an appointment with the first female shrink on the list. I love shocking my dad. It’s one of my few remaining kicks.

That night, to prepare for therapy, I write in my new journal for the first time. I only get out fifteen words:

June 15, 2015

There are so many things I dare not say I have quietly stopped being me.

I stare at the sentence for a long time, questioning what it is I want to say. Who was I, really, before my mom died? I was a self-absorbed, materialistic, conceited, na?ve child. So maybe what I want to say is simply that I’m sorry. Only the person I want to say it to is gone.

Brady

I fired Paula. It’s not what I put on the paperwork, but she knew too much and dug too deep. She had come to think of us as confidants. We talked casually before Maddy died, but asking how my weekend went is a little different from asking if I’m eating enough. Then today she started in on Eve. When I said she was hanging in there, Paula had the nerve to reply, “I lost my mother too. I’d be happy to talk to her if you think it’d help.”

Eve would destroy her. “How old were you when your mother died?” I baited.

“Thirty-nine.”

“What did she die of?”

“Cancer.”

I scratched my chin. “I’m no professional, Paula, but I’m going to take a swing here and say that losing your mother to disease when you’re a grown adult with children of your own is, just maybe, a little different from losing your mother a month before you turn seventeen to suicide.” It was the first time I’d said the word out loud and I despised Paula for putting me in the position. We can’t work together anymore. I’m the asshole, but it’s easier to change my assistant than my personality.

I tell Eve at dinner, sans all details.

“Is it hard to fire someone?” she asks. A thoughtful question.

“Yes,” especially when they don’t deserve it. I take a sip of wine to ease my guilt. “She has a family too, you know?”

Eve smirks. “Can I make a joke that you promise to take as a joke?”

“Shoot,” I say, nervous I won’t be able to deliver.

“Who’s going to wipe your ass now?”

I don’t miss a beat. “I’ll probably get a temporary ass-wiper until I can find someone to take over full-time.” We laugh, but the sound is so foreign it prompts a moment of silence. Eve spins a fork around in her pasta, but doesn’t take a bite.

“Can I read some more of Mom’s journal?” she asks. I expected this request, and earmarked one a couple days ago that I thought could serve as a foundation for Eve and me to have, as Maddy would say, a serious talk. I bring it back to the table, already open to the page.

June 25, 2013

Eve got sent home from her boyfriend Aaron’s house because they were caught kissing. Aaron’s mom escorted Eve to the door like a common criminal, reporting the aforementioned kissing like it was a close second to murder. Poor Eve’s face was red as a fire truck. I’d never met the woman before, so I thanked her for giving Eve a ride home and reached to close the door.

She put her hand out to stop me and said, “If you don’t mind, I want to know how you plan to handle this. I think it’d be best if she and Aaron had the same punishment, so we can send a consistent message.”

I nudged Eve inside and took a deep breath, trying to decide how to respond to this lunatic. I first confirmed they were only kissing.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t say ‘only’ kissing,” she replied. “That does lead places, you know.”

I laughed. “I think as mothers we can certainly agree there.” She didn’t find that funny, so I said, “Look, Eve isn’t getting in trouble for kissing your son. I’m sorry if she broke one of your house rules, but she hasn’t broken one of ours.”

The woman stormed off, leaving the distinct impression she’d be praying for my soul this evening. I sat on the floor in the foyer and laughed until Eve found the courage to come in. It seemed like a good time for installment two of “the talk.” Brady is away, so I took her out for Japanese. During our last talk, when she was eleven, we covered the scientific stuff. This time, at fifteen, I gave her details, including the dreaded birth-control lecture. She asked questions like, “How do you know when you’re in love?” and I asked questions like, “Are any of your friends having sex?” We probably should’ve ordered in—we got odd looks from the table next to us—but it was a great night. She let me peek into her world, giving me confidence in her ability to control her own destiny. Eve is not a girl who’s going to sleep with someone out of pressure. Curiosity maybe, but not pressure. As we drove home she said, “You really are good at the whole mother thing.” A kudo of the highest order …