Not My Daughter

mother. Tension? Disapproval? Rejection? Did she want it? Need it?

'I could fly back and forth,' Ellen said, sounding defensive. 'I have the money.'

'You hate flying.'

'I can do it.'

'You don't really want to.'

'How do you know?' She softened. 'Not that you need me here. You have Rick. You have friends.'

'I need you here,' Susan said. It was a knee-jerk reaction-but not. The only way to deal with old baggage was to open it up and sort through. How else to know what to keep and what to toss?

'There are hard feelings.'

'I always wanted us to be closer.'

'You must hate me for what I did,' Ellen insisted, seeming determined to confront the issue.

'It was a long time ago,' Susan said, not wanting the confrontation just then, but her mother wouldn't let it go.

'You can't have forgotten.'

'Okay. I still try to understand the why of it.'

'Aha. You do have hard feelings.'

Pushed far enough, Susan cried, 'How could I not? You threw me away. I was young and scared, and you banished me for something I didn't even know I'd done until it was too late. Do you think I planned to get pregnant? My daughter did plan her pregnancy, and when I found out, I was furious. So I did what you did. I shut her out. If I have hard feelings toward you right now, it's because you set a bad example.'

Ellen seemed taken aback by the outburst.

Telling herself her mother had asked for it, Susan continued. 'So how do you feel about Lily being pregnant?'

Ellen swallowed. 'Not as bad as I'd have felt if your father were still alive.' It was quite an admission. Susan was trying to process it, when her mother went on. 'I'm sorry she's pregnant. I'm sorry about this scare with the baby. I'm sorry these things happen.'

'But they do. And you need to be okay with it. Because, honestly, Mom, much as I want you to be part of my life, it won't work if you don't accept my daughter. I don't want history repeating itself.'

'It can't. I wasn't a good mother. You are.'

Of all the open sores, this one went deepest. Needing encouragement from the voice that mattered most, Susan asked, 'What makes you say that?'

'I saw you with Lily back home. I see you with her here. There's a connection between you. You like each other.'

'I love her. She's my daughter.'

'It's more. You're friends.'

'I let her get pregnant.'

'Like I let you get pregnant?' Ellen smiled sadly. 'I was a bad mother, but not because of that. I didn't stand up for my child. I didn't speak up to your father.'

'That was your relationship with him.'

'It was wrong. He was wrong.' Her eyes held Susan's, daring her to disagree.

Unable to, Susan bent over to tuck in the sheet. 'I survived.'

Ellen tucked in her side. 'Without my help.'

'I forgive you.'

'Maybe you shouldn't. I don't know my own granddaughter. What kind of person does that make me?'

'It's circumstances.'

'No. It's choices. I made bad ones.' She paused. 'Lily seems like a very nice person.'

'She is,' Susan said. 'So are her friends. If she had to be involved in a pact, I'm glad it's with this group.' She drew up the comforter.

Ellen did the same on her side. 'Isn't a pact just a group of people who bow to peer pressure?'

Remembering the discussion in the car Thursday night, Susan said, 'Sometimes.'

'Then my friends and I formed a pact against you.'

Susan straightened. 'I'm okay with it, Mom. Really. Let's try and forget all that.'

'Hard to do back home. All the memories.' Ellen frowned for a minute. 'I met a young woman on the plane. She asked about my knitting, and we got to talking. She said she didn't have the patience to knit. I told her she had it backwards, that knitting gave me patience. She said her grandmother says the same thing, and that maybe she'll feel that way when she gets old.'

'You're not old,' Susan said, because fifty-nine wasn't old and Ellen looked good. She was stylish and trim. If there were wrinkles on her face, they were faint.

'Not in years,' she replied. 'In mind-set. But I keep hearing that word-old-and not wanting to be. Old is stiff, unable to bend. Funny, I'm okay when I knit. When I make a mistake, I rip back to where I botched it, even if that means ripping out hours of work to get it right. Why can't I do that in life?'

'It's a luxury we don't often have.'

'I have it now,' Ellen said with a direct look. 'I want to know Lily. And I want to know her baby.'

Still afraid of being hurt, Susan made light of it. 'Oh, a baby is a total blob. You don't want to be changing diapers.'

'There you go again, telling me what I want. Y'know, Susan, you're just like your father. 'I know what you want,' he always said. But he didn't, and it got so I didn't either. We both assumed he knew best. But maybe he didn't. Maybe he needed to ask once in a while. Maybe he needed to listen. But he's not here anymore, so it's too late. And maybe I wouldn't have had the courage to say it to him, anyway. But I'll say it to you. You need to listen.'

Susan had never had an open discussion with Ellen-certainly not about mistakes-but her mother kept talking. 'You invited me, so I'm here. I got on that plane. I could do it again. I don't have to be entertained, y'know. But I could help. I could be a good mother.'

Listening, Susan heard her say mother. Not grandmother. Not great-grandmother. Mother. And suddenly the old baggage was wide open, lots of bad stuff, but one big thing she knew she wanted to keep. It brought a lump to her throat, along with the dire need to hug and be hugged.

But she didn't have a physical relationship with Ellen, never had.

So she simply nodded, swallowed, and said a soft, 'I'd like that.'

The need to hug and be hugged lingered. Back in her own room later that night, Susan thought of calling Rick, but hesitated. Something else came back to her from the discussion in the car Thursday night. Mothering was elemental. It was life's first relationship, the one from which everything else sprang.

Ellen. Susan. Lily.

Light-footed on the creaking floorboards, she crossed the hall to her daughter's room. In the faint glow of the butterfly nightlight, Lily was still just a blip under the quilt. Lily and her baby. Not as bizarre a thought as it had once been.

The girl stirred, but it was a minute before she realized Susan was there. Scooting back, she opened the quilt.

As soon as Susan was underneath, Lily snuggled against her. She was quiet, breathing evenly. Susan was beginning to think she had fallen back to sleep, when there was a whispered, 'Awesome.'

'What?' Susan whispered back.

'Your mom. She's different from the way she was in December.'

Place played a part, Susan knew. So did time, no funeral now. And mind-set, Ellen's own word. She had chosen to visit.

'She's evolving,' Susan whispered against the top of Lily's head.

'Awesome.'

'Would you be okay if she stays a little while?'

'Totally.'

'Rick, too?'