“There wasn’t much in the way of family.”
“Just me and my mother and she was …”
She sat for a while. “There’s no two ways about it, Mom was loose. Morally, I mean. Not to me, to me she was just Mom, but looking back … she was a cocktail waitress-I’m not saying that was bad, she worked incredibly hard, she took care of me, put food on the table. But she also … supplemented her income. By bringing men home, when I was little I thought it was normal. Locking me in my room with cookies and candies.”
She bit her lip. “That didn’t stop me from seeing some of them. Hearing them. All kinds of men, different ages, races, it was like … she called them her friends. ‘Time for quiet time with these Oreos and Kit Kats, sweetie. I need to spend time with my friends.’ ”
I said, “At some point you realized that wasn’t typical.”
“I realized it when I started kindergarten and saw how other kids lived. My first years were kind of isolated, we lived in a trailer park. Don’t get me wrong, it was a nice trailer, Mom kept it up, planted flowers all around, there was a little birdbath where sparrows and finches would come. We were pretty close to a nice neighborhood, working class, solid people, lots of religious types. It didn’t take me long to catch on that other mothers didn’t do what mine did. I never said anything because Mom loved me, took care of me, I always had nice clothes and good food. The same things other kids had, who was I to be ungrateful?”
More tears. “I shouldn’t have said that. Calling her loose, that was wrong, really mean.”
Another tissue interlude.
She said, “She’s gone, can’t defend herself … I just feel it’s time to be honest, you know? Confront reality. So I can understand myself.”
“Now that you’re becoming a mom.”
“I don’t want to be like her,” she said. “I mean in some ways I do, I want to be loving, to take care of my Aimee, to give her everything. That’s why I married Matt, he’s a totally great provider.”
“When I talked to you at your house you said you’d worked most of your life, had a career until recently.”
“That’s true.”
“You set out to be independent.”
“Yes. So?”
“So even though Matt’s maturity and industriousness were qualities you found attractive, you never intended to rely upon him totally.”
“I … yes, that’s true, I guess you’re right. You’re saying Mom made me tough?”
“I’m saying you’re an obviously capable, thoughtful person. Does your mother get some of the credit? Sure, but in the end you made your own decisions.”
“I guess I did … but I’m still sorry. For saying that about Mom. I miss her so much!”
She burst out weeping, took a while to compose herself. “She passed three years ago, Doctor, she suffered so much. I guess I’ve been angry at her for leaving so young, she was fifty-four. Even though that’s not rational. I was being selfish, I’m too selfish, period, I shouldn’t have
“Did you treat her unkindly when she was alive?”
“No, of course not. When she had to go to hospice-she had ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease-I was always there for her. It was terrible, she hung on for three years. I paid for whatever Medi-Cal and insurance didn’t cover. I was there all the time. Her mind was still working but nothing else was, that’s what made it so horrible. At the end, she could still move her eyes, I could see the love in them. So how could I
“Your life’s in flux, Holly, it’s normal for old feelings to come back. You love your mother but some of the things she did frightened and embarrassed you. You’ve never expressed how you felt about it. It’s okay.”
“You’re telling me it’s okay to say things like that? Calling her
“It’s a word, Holly. Your actions spoke much louder.”
Long silence. “You’re so nice. Your wife is lucky-are you married?”
I smiled.
“Sorry, sorry, I need to mind my own business.”
“It’s not that, Holly. This is about you.”
She smiled. “That’s sure different. Being the star. Though I guess I was the star to Mom. She never had any more kids. I guess one whoopsie baby was enough.”
“You know for sure you were an accident.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your mother sounds like an organized person.”
“You’re saying she intended me?”
“Did she make any other whoopsies?”
She pulled at the tissue. Tugged at her ponytail. “I see what you mean. She always told me I was the best thing ever happened to her.”
“I’m sure you were.”
She glanced at Blanche. I gave the
Holly said, “Is she allowed up here?”
“Absolutely.”
“If you want you can come up, cutie.” Blanche leaped effortlessly to her side, moved in close for a snuggle. Holly stroked the folds of her neck. “She’s so soft. Like a stuffed animal.”
“As cute as a toy,” I said, “and a whole lot smarter.”
“You’ve got it all, don’t you,” she said. “The house, the dog. Maybe a wife-sorry … so maybe that’s why you think I was a deliriously desired baby. Okay, I’ll go with that. My Aimee’s wanted, that’s what’s important. Let me ask you something: Do you think permissive’s the best way to go or keep up the discipline?”
“Depends on the child.”
“Some kids need more discipline.”
I nodded.
She said, “Matt sure doesn’t need any more, he’s the most self-disciplined person I’ve ever met.”
“How about you?”
“I’m okay … I guess I know how to take care of myself … I wonder what Aimee will be like. Not that I’m trying to box her in with expectations. I mean obviously I’d like her to be beautiful and brilliant-healthy, that’s the most important thing. Healthy. So you’re saying I need to get to know her before I work out my plan.”
“You may not need a plan,” I said.
“No?”
“A lot of people have good instincts.”
“But some don’t.”
“How about your mother?”
“She had excellent instincts,” she said. “The best.” Wide smile. “Now I feel better. Saying something nice to make up for the other thing.”
She crossed her legs. “That was your plan, right? To guide me to say something nice.”
“Like I said, Holly, sometimes a plan isn’t necessary.”
“You knew me well enough to just let me go on.”
“You know yourself.”
“I guess I do, Dr. Delaware.” She placed a hand on her belly. “This is mine, I own it. I’m not saying Aimee’s not a separate person, I get that. I’m talking about the process. Carrying her, nurturing her with my body. A woman needs to feel she owns that … I feel much better now. If I need you can I call?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t care anymore about the house or the remodeling or any material crap,” she said. “That kind of ownership doesn’t matter.”
CHAPTER 30
