I Was Told It Would Get Easier(40)
I decided to ask her. I took a deep breath.
“I suddenly realized I might have messed up your plans. I’m sorry.” I felt bad, and hungry, and a little bit tearful, but I was holding it together. “You’re my mother, not the other way around.”
Mom frowned at me. “I’m not sure what you mean . . .”
“Well, maybe you wanted to sleep with that guy. You know, he was good looking for an old guy and, you know, helping the poor and everything. I don’t know anything about your . . . romantic life.”
Mom burst out laughing. “Emily, I had no intention of sleeping with him, and I appreciate that you defended me, despite the fact that we can never go back to that hotel bar again. For future reference, I can take care of myself, I’m a fully grown woman, but that doesn’t mean a little support isn’t appreciated.” She checked her watch. “Besides, what a dick.”
I still felt upset. “I’m sorry. I never really think about you . . . like that. Maybe you have a very active . . . life. Maybe after I go to sleep at night you’re on Tinder, swiping away and creeping out for secret hookups.”
Mom snorted. “Oh yeah, that’s me. When you come in to kiss me good night and I’m already in bed with the lights out, you think maybe I’m fully dressed under the covers, waiting to spring out and climb down the ivy outside my bedroom window?”
“There’s no ivy outside your bedroom window.”
“I was speaking metaphorically. Do you think maybe it’s a pillow under the cover, and I’m out at a sex club?”
“Not really. And, ew.”
“You’ve seen me go on dates.” Mom was smiling at me. “You helped me fill out my online dating profile.”
I grinned at her. “Yeah, but, you know, it wasn’t super successful. You insisted on putting in that part about only being available between 7:00 and 8:30 p.m. every other Wednesday.”
“Well, I didn’t want to leap into anything. I really am very busy at work, Emily, and what free time I have I want to spend with you.” She shrugged. “Look, that sucked, but now we’re meeting Grandpa, so let’s pretend it never happened. You didn’t do anything wrong, we’re good, okay?”
I nodded, not completely convinced. But then we pulled up outside the restaurant, and I saw Grandpa, and things started to feel better.
11
JESSICA
I’ll be honest, it was good to see Dad. He’s old, he’s ornery, he refuses to quit smoking his hideous pipe or move closer to my sister and me, but he still feels like a safe place when I hug him. I wonder how I feel to him.
After Mom died I assumed Dad would simply fade away, because she was always such a driving force. But after wandering aimlessly around their big DC apartment for a couple of months, he pulled himself together. He moved to a smaller place in Philadelphia, worked a bit for old colleagues and clients, played bridge competitively, and still drove the ridiculous sports car he bought himself for his sixtieth birthday. He cooked for himself, or he went out. He got bored eating alone, so he dated, largely because there were more single women his age than single men. But he told me once that he still loved my mother and would never marry anyone else. And now, nine years after her death, it seems he spoke the truth.
Emily clambered out of the Lyft and ran to him, hugging him much the same way she’d hugged Anna, back at home. It’s weird, watching your kids having relationships with other people, especially people who loom large in your own life. For the first few years after Emily was born we’d lived in DC, close to my parents. I dropped off the baby at their house almost every day and went to my job. If it weren’t for them, I would never have been able to continue working, and even though I don’t think single motherhood was a dream they had for me, they made it possible because it was something I wanted. I’d appreciated it at the time, but not as much as I did now. Back then I appreciated the help with Emily, I really did. Now I realize my baby was very much their secondary concern; their own baby was the one they were caring for.
I watched Dad now, talking to my sixteen-year-old about the little metal model kit he’d given her. (Sidenote: On the one hand I love the fact that this is a bonding thing between them, and I appreciate how good she is at making shiny little aircraft or tiny wooden buildings or whatever, but it’s my house that’s filling up with all these pointy little objects. How many of you—be honest—have stood with a black plastic trash bag in one hand and a child-made creation of questionable value and struggled with throwing it away? Right, all of us.)
Maybe I was jealous. I don’t remember him talking to me very much at all when I was sixteen, except to ask about school. My sister Lizzy was the sociable one, and he always seemed to have time for her. Mind you, she’s easy to hang out with; it’s not her fault. I wanted to debate Big Questions with him, like the LA riots and police brutality, whereas she wanted to show him her Breyer horses. I know which one I’d pick at the end of a long day arguing in court. Now that I had a teen of my own, I realized how reasonable my parents had been, twenty years too late. This is why grandparents look so happy all the time: They know they’ve made their point.
Dad had chosen Harrisons, one of those classic chain steak restaurants that haven’t changed in fifty years. This one, in Philadelphia, was pretty indistinguishable from the one in Washington, which we’d visited maybe once a month throughout my childhood. It was my mom’s favorite, even after they banned smoking at the tables. She’d always had filet steak, rare, creamed spinach, french fries with gravy, and a slice of cherry cheesecake. Emily had always loved it, too, and as we’d gone to DC several times a year throughout her childhood, going to this place was a highlight. We’d come less since my mom died because at first my dad couldn’t face anything that reminded him of her. But eventually it morphed into Emily’s favorite restaurant and shook off its sadness.