The Things We Cannot Say(67)

Callie sighs impatiently and sinks back into her seat.

“Fine. But I hope you realize—I’ll help Dad with the basics, but if he messes things up completely, he’s on his own.” I start to laugh again, and this time she meets my gaze in the mirror and gives me a resigned smile. “Good for you, Mom. What’s in Poland?”

“Some special places from Babcia’s childhood.”

“She just wants you to visit some places?”

“And take photos. I think there’s more but...I’m not really sure what else. You know it’s been hard to communicate with her, but it’s very clear she wants me to go.”

“So—” She ponders this for a moment, then she brightens. “It’s like you’re going on a quest. You’re not completely sure what the quest is but you’re going anyway and hoping you figure it out on the way. That’s badass, Mom.”

“Watch your language, Callie.”

She smirks and glances back to her book. When we get to the ballet hall, she hops out of the car and scoops her bag up off the backseat, and then for the first time in ages, she actually approaches my window and plants a kiss on my cheek.

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Thank you, honey bear. I love you.”

She throws a casual wave over her shoulder as she runs off toward the hall. I smile to myself as I turn toward the hospital, pleased that Callie was, eventually, supportive of this little venture, and then the day seems even better when we get to Babcia’s room, because not only does Eddie know the way and leads me there with enthusiasm, but Babcia herself is stronger today. She’s already sitting up in bed when we enter her room, and her expression brightens when she sees us. Eddie climbs up onto the bed beside her and cuddles up to her. I take Mom’s iPad from the tray table and with shaking hands, I give Babcia my news.

Alice plane Poland.

Babcia reads the symbols on the screen. I watch her eyes track across several times, then she looks up at me and a smile breaks over her weary features. Her eyes fill with tears, and a soft sob breaks from her lips. She doesn’t need speech to convey her gratitude. The expression on her face says it all.

And just for a moment, I’m not at all torn about this. I know there’s more she wants than photos, and she has no way of telling me what it is, so I’m going to have to hope that I can stumble onto the needle in the haystack. It’s insane—but I’m now certain that I’m doing the right thing.

Of course, that certainty evaporates the instant my mother bursts into the room in a cloud of expensive perfume and fluster. She’s wearing a stiff black suit despite the fact that it’s the weekend. I know she’ll go into chambers today—that’s pretty typical for her. Weekends have never meant much to my mom.

“I’ve just come from hospital administration,” she greets me, and I can see from the set of her jaw that some poor receptionist has probably just copped a dressing-down. “My God. I just wanted to see about getting a Polish interpreter but apparently no one knows how to arrange one on short notice let alone a weekend. Honestly, the fees they charge here you’d think that we could—”

“She’s doing okay, Mom,” I say quietly. “We’re managing fine with the AAC.” I know Mom is worried sick about Babcia. I just wish that instead of focusing all of her energy on battling and belittling the hospital, she’d admit she’s hurting and feeling alone and scared. Maybe she should take the time she just spent throwing her weight around and put it into an honest phone call with Dad, one that ends with a request or demand for him to simply tell his golfing buddies that his mother-in-law is sick and he has to come home.

Then it occurs to me that she doesn’t even know she’s going to be alone for a few days, because I haven’t told her yet. I take a deep breath.

“Mom,” I say abruptly. “I’m going to Poland.”

She blinks at me.

“What?”

“Monday afternoon. Wade and I decided last night. I’ve booked flights and there’s a guide who’s going to take me around—”

“You have got to be kidding me, Alice. I don’t even know where to start here—this is so like you, isn’t it?” For a seventy-six-year-old woman with a successful professional career, my mom sure does do an impressive impersonation of a bitchy fourteen-year-old when she’s pissed. Her gaze narrows, and she goes for the sucker punch. “This is college all over again. Alice has an impulse, so Alice goes right ahead and acts on it. Feel like rebelling? Ignore a decade of planning and working toward law school and study journalism instead. Feeling randy? Get yourself knocked up by your TA—”

“Mom, he wasn’t my TA—” I groan, although there’s no point, because she knows damn well that Wade never taught me—what interest would I have had in nanotechnology? Mom isn’t looking to be factual—she’s looking for dramatic effect.

“Feeling overwhelmed?” she adds now, the snide tone sharpening further. “Drop out of your career altogether before you’ve even given it a shot and stay at home like some 1950s housewife. And now the kicker—feeling pity for a confused old lady on her deathbed? Then jump on a plane for God’s sake—”

“Mom!” I exclaim. “Just stop!”

Mommy hurt, Eddie’s iPad says. Mom and I stare at each other in the strained silence, until Babcia’s iPad announces, Alice okay. Julita naughty.