What Happens to Goodbye(46)

With my dad, my mom was different. Growing up, she’d had years of manicures and blow-outs, heels with everything, dressing not just for dinner but for breakfast and lunches as well. But when I was a kid, she was Katie Sweet, who wore jeans and clogs, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her only regular makeup a slick of clear lip gloss. At the restaurant, she could just as easily be found up to her elbows in Clorox water, scrubbing the walk-in, as at her desk in the office, where she tracked every dime that came in and out. Occasionally, when she went to charity events or weddings, Ihisd see flashes of the person I’d seen in her yearbooks or old photo albums—makeup, hair, diamonds—but it was like she was wearing a costume, playing dress-up. In her real life, she wore rain boots, had dirt under her nails, and squelched around in the garden in the mud, picking aphids off the tomato plants one by one.
Now, though, my mom looked exactly like Katherine Hamilton, high-profile coach’s wife. She wore her hair long and layered, got blonde highlights every other month, and sported TV-ready outfits that were selected by a personal shopper at Esther Prine, the upscale department store. Today, she had a black skirt, shiny boots, and leather jacket over a crisp white shirt. She looked gorgeous, even though she didn’t resemble my mom, or Katie Sweet, one bit. But then she said my name.
“Mclean? ”
Despite everything, I felt my heart jump at the sound of her voice. Some things are primal, unshakable. I’d long ago realized my mother had a pull over me, and me her. All the angry words in the world couldn’t change that, even when sometimes I wanted them to.
“Hi,” I said as she came toward me, arms already outstretched, and pulled me into a hug.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said. “It means so much. You have no idea.”
I nodded as she held me tightly and entirely too long, which was nothing new, but it felt more awkward than usual because we had an audience. “Um, Mom,” I finally said over her shoulder, “this is Dave.”
She released me, although she still slid one hand down to take mine as if she was afraid I’d bolt off otherwise. “Oh, hello!” she said, looking at me, then back at him. “It’s nice to meet you!”
“You, too,” Dave said. Then he glanced around at the crowd of fans streaming past us to the Will Call window and through the main doors of the arena, nodding at the multiple people trying to buy tickets, to no avail. “Look,” he said to me, under his breath. “Like I said, I really appreciate this invite. But I don’t think you understand—”
“Just relax,” I said again. He’d spent most of the walk explaining to me that because I just moved here, I didn’t understand how hard it was to get tickets to a game like this. You couldn’t just buy them. There was no way he’d get in. I knew I could have explained the entire situation, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do so. I was stressed enough about seeing my mom; rehashing the divorce, in detail, would not help matters.
“Did you find your way okay? ” my mom asked me now, squeezing my hand. “This place is a madhouse.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Dave’s been here before.”
“Which is why I’ve been trying to tell Mclean that,” Dave said, glancing at someone to our left holding a sign that said NEED TWO PLEASE!!!!!!, “you really can’t just get in at the last minute.”
My mom looked at Dave, then back at me. “I’m sorry?”
I swallowed, then took a breath. “Dave’s just a bit concerned about whether we can actually get him in.”
“In?” my mom repeated.
“To the game.”

She looked confused. “I don’t think it should be a problem,” she said, glancing around. “Let me just see what the situation is.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Dave told her. “But it’s fine, really. You guys just—”
“Robert?” my mom called, waving at a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a suit, who was standing nearby. He had several laminated passes around his neck and a walkie-talkie in one hand, and when he came over she said, “I think we’re ready to go in.”
“Great,” he replied, nodding. “Right this way.”
He started walking and my mom, still holding my hand, followed. When I glanced back at Dave, he looked confused. “Wait,” he said. “What’s—”
“I’ll explain later,” I said.
Robert led us past the main doors, where masses of people were waiting in line, around the arena to a side door. He showed one of his passes to a woman there in a uniform and she opened it up, waving us through.
“Would you like to go to the suite or straight to your seats? ” Robert asked my mom.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, looking at me. “What do you think, Mclean? We’ve got about twenty minutes before tip-off.”
“I’m fine to go sit down,” I said.
“Perfect.” She squeezed my hand again. “The twins are already down there with their sitters. They’ll be so excited to see you!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dave shoot me another surprised glance, but I kept my gaze straight ahead as we crossed the corridor, then started down into the arena itself. It was already more than half full, with the pep band playing and the video screens ablaze with a cartoon of a dancing Eagle, the U’s mascot, and instantly the noise surrounded us, filling my ears. I thought of my dad, all the games I’d gone to see as a kid with him, the two of us in our upper-upper-level seats, screaming our lungs out.