Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(62)

“Did your mom ever tell you the story about Grandma Larson and how she met your grandfather?” Aunt Margie asks.

I shake my head back and forth and sniffle loudly.

“Oh, I just love this story, ever since Peggy first told it to me years and years ago,” Aunt Margie says. “Well, your grandmother threw herself a twentieth birthday party and invited a few friends over to your great-grandparents’ house,” Aunt Margie starts. “She’d gone on a few dates with your grandfather, but she wanted to play a little hard to get, so she ignored him for a few weeks after their previous date and was waiting for him to come to her. But she still made sure he knew he was invited to the party by telling her friends, who told his friends. Well, your grandfather showed up to your great-grandparents’ house with none other than Dirty Neck Bertha.”

My mom laughs and shakes her head.

“Oh jeez, I forgot all about Dirty Neck Bertha!”

“Do I even want to know about this Dirty Neck Bertha person?” I ask.

“She was the town floozy,” Mom says, taking over the story from my aunt. “She got her name, because she liked to do a lot of necking in the back of cars with a lot of boys she wasn’t going steady with. Anyway, your grandmother flipped her lid when Dirty Neck Bertha walked into her party on the arm of the man she really liked, but didn’t want to let on how much she really liked, and also never told the man in question how much she liked him, even though he’d made his feelings known on their first date. Well, one thing led to another. There was a lot of shouting, a punch bowl got knocked over, your grandmother told your grandfather he had a lot of nerve dating someone else when she was pretty much in love with him, and your grandfather was in complete shock, because he just assumed she wanted nothing to do with him, what with the whole ignoring him for weeks thing and never saying one word when he basically told her from the get-go how much he liked her. Anyhoo, Dirty Neck Bertha went home with Dirty Hands Dan—who got his name because he worked as a mechanic in town, not because he did dirty things with his hands, mind you—and your grandmother and grandfather were married three months later.”

Mom lets out a breath when she finishes the story, and I just sit here staring at her.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Aunt Margie finally asks.

“What exactly am I supposed to say to that?”

“Oh I don’t know. A thank you would be nice, considering we just helped you with all your problems,” my mom says.

“How in the hell does that help me?” I shout.

“Language!” my dad yells from the kitchen.

“Go back out to the garage, Henry! This doesn’t concern you!” Aunt Margie shouts back.

We hear his footsteps stomping across the kitchen floor and then the slam of the back door.

“Your grandfather might have married Dirty Neck Bertha, all because your grandmother didn’t talk to him. Never told him how she felt. Was never honest with him. Never listened to him when he told her how much he liked her and enjoyed her company when they went on their dates,” Aunt Margie explains. “You might not even be here right now because of that. Or you would be, but you would have grown up calling your grandmother Dirty Neck Grandma, instead of Grandma Larson.”

“That would have been really unfortunate, especially on Grandparent’s Day, when grandparents get to go to school and have lunch with their grandkids and are presented those adorable little cards their grandkids make for them,” Mom says. “Do you remember the one year you made Grandma Larson a card that read, ‘Grandma Larson is the best grandma in the whole wide world!’? Imagine the phone call I would have received from the principal if you wrote, ‘Dirty Neck Grandma is kind of okay, but also a floozy.’”

My head drops down to my knees that I’m still hugging to my chest, and I wonder what it’s like for daughters who have normal families. But I do get what they’re saying now, sort of.

I should have listened to Brent that day in his bedroom. I should have heard all the things he was telling me, instead of shutting him out and assuming the worst about him.

Feeling my mom’s hand on my arm, I lift my head to look at her.

“I’m sorry, Heidi. I think this might all be my fault.”

“How in the world is any of this your fault? I’m the one who screwed all this up.”

“Have I ever told you just how easy of a child you were growing up?” she asks. “I’m sure I have. I used to brag to anyone who would listen. My friends would go on and on about how trying it was to have a teenager, when their kids would get moody and defy them and be all mouthy and argumentative or completely shut down. And I’d think to myself, Heidi’s not like that. Heidi’s so sweet, and shy, and agreeable, and just so easy. And I let you continue growing up like that, never realizing I might be doing you more harm than good. I shielded you from the bad and uncomfortable stuff. I fixed all of your problems before they could even turn into problems, just so you never had to feel an ounce of pain. I never spoke to you about important things like boys, or sex, or relationships, and I never taught you how to be strong, and confident, and brave, because I just figured, I’m your mom. No one will ever hurt you as long as I’m around, and even if they do, it will be fine, because I’ll fix it and make it all better. The first thing I did when I started this conversation with you after I turned off Jeopardy was ask you to tell me what was wrong, and then told you I’ll fix it. By not giving you a chance to get hurt, by not letting you figure out how to fix things on your own, I never gave you a chance to find your voice. I never let you see you could be strong, and confident, and brave. I think I did you a big disservice, Heidi.”