spare you the anguish of another.” I chuckled and started to glance over the menu, looking up briefly. “Thanks for champing through that one.” She forced a polite smile and looked down at her menu as well.
When our server trotted back over, I ordered myself a beer, and my mom a glass of plum wine, along with all different kinds of rolls. Luckily, my mom and I had pretty much the same taste when it came to food, so we always shared when we went out together. Once I was done ordering, the server bowed, and scurried off into the kitchen.
“So Margret, is there anything new in your life? I hear you’re spending a lot of time with Walker Eastman.”
Her curious eyebrow raise crawled under my skin but I made myself shake it off, replying dryly, “Nothing new, and, yeah, Walker keeps me company. He’s just as banged up as I am.” Almost on cue, the server returned, setting the beer next to my hand. Hastily I grabbed it and drank half the bottle’s contents before looking at my mother’s grimace.
My mom took my hand. “Honey, you know that it’s okay to have feelings for someone else. Even if it is Randy’s best friend. Randy would want you to move on. Please honey, I want grandkids someday.”
The server returned again with perfect timing, our first round of gorgeously wrapped fish flesh being the only savior from the anger I was about to unleash. She had cut too deep that time. “Mother,” my words were low, but scathing, “that is out of line. Just. Stop!” My eyes bore into my mom’s with fury, while she tried to avoid my death stare.
“I’m sorry, honey. I just hate to see you like this. I know I don’t say the right things. It’s just difficult. Ever since your father left, I regret never trying to find someone else. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. That’s all.” Tears were starting to form in her eyes. She tried blinking them back, but a few escaped, rolling down her cheek. Her misguided tears only fueled my rage.
I gripped the edges of the table, trying to even my angry tone, my knuckles turning white while my pulse quickened. Slowly searching for words, my voice quivered and crackled, “This is different. Randy didn’t walk out on his family. He was fighting to get back here to start one.” I hunched in my seat, letting my body calm into my defeated state, letting my head fall in my hands. There was no way to fight the tears; they rushed like waterfalls down my cheeks and neck. Looking up again, slowly, I could see my words cut deep, but I could not stop there, I had to finally say my piece. “I know you were hurt when Dad left, but please, have some compassion for me.” My voice came out weak and pleading, completely crushed.
After a few moments of silently crying and staring at one another, it was evident this evening was too broken to repair. I waved the server over. His once cheery face had faded into concern when he realized we were both crying.
Trying to glower at him, my words came babbling out before I had time to realize how hurtful they were, “Will you please wrap up all of our food? My mother has spoiled my appetite, and my evening.” He nodded quickly, taking our plates with him into the kitchen.
My mom was like a statue the entire time we waited for the server to return with our boxes of freshly prepared food that was probably going to spoil before we even got it home. With his head down, looking at the floor, the server set our wrapped up dinner onto the table and placed our bill next to it, then almost ran back into the safety of the kitchen. I laughed a little when my mom put her hand on the bill, snatching it out of her hand harshly. There was no way she was going to try to make this night better by treating me, and the fact that she was an awful tipper made me never want to let her pay at restaurants. I put an overly generous amount of cash into the black book, stood up and was out the door before my mother even had her purse in hand.
Once outside, my mom hurriedly trotted after me, trying to thank me for dinner, or the lack thereof, in one of her condescending tones. Stopping dead in my tracks, I spun on my heels, my lips primed and I seethed, “Don’t worry about it. It is gladly on me, Mother.”
My mom started to riddle an apology in a shaky voice, and I just held my hand up, shaking my head. There was no saving this moment and I really didn’t want to deal with her trying. I reached the driver’s side of the truck, climbed in and let the sound of the engine lull me into a calmer state. I left the doors locked for a few seconds, while I breathed in the musty carpeting, faded leather, and slight hint of air freshener. Once I had my moment, I unlocked the passenger’s side door, and gave a swift hand wave to coax my mother into the vehicle.
On the ride home, my mom attempted to talk to me, but I simply ignored her. Yes, it was childish, but better that than start in on her again, or worse, break down again. We pulled into the driveway and before I even turned the engine off, I snarled, “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but for now we are not on good terms, and you need to give me space. I love you but I need you to learn how to respect me and my grieving.”
Her eyes slowly met mine, tears still streaming down her rosy, plump cheeks, “Honey, just remember, I didn’t have the luxury to grieve when your dad left. I had a daughter to be strong for.” That was a low blow, and my temper flared. I gripped the steering wheel and started to hyperventilate, fighting for words that were not too harsh.
Before I could start screaming about how I had to take care of her for months while she skipped work and didn’t even feed her six-year-old, she was out of the truck, slamming the door. I cooked, cleaned, and got myself ready for school every day after my dad walked out. Every fiber of my body screamed and shuddered with pain, heartbreak and rage. I wished I was able to express all of my hurt from the terrible memories I had buried deep down, but I knew it would just hurt her more, and there was no point after all these years.
I slammed my open palms into the steering wheel, screaming a few more times, and then whipped out my cell. With trembling hands, I dialed Cali’s number. Her soft, sweet voice cooed into the phone, “Mags? You okay?”
Through sobs, I tried to explain, but all I could get out was, “I had a fucking awful night trying to play nice with my mom. Want to slam back some wine and toast to shitty mothers?” Cali’s mom was worse than mine, if that was even possible, and I was so glad she didn’t ask me to explain. Thankfully, she had gotten home from her trip already. I could hear her douche bag of a husband complaining that she was choosing me over him for the night, but she agreed to head over right away, yelling at him for being an insensitive jackass before hanging up the phone.
4
When Cali pulled into the driveway, I hadn’t moved from the driver’s seat, still buckled in, my head resting on the steering wheel. Cali opened up the passenger’s side door, smiled sympathetically at my melancholy state and climbed in. Her long blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and she had already washed all her makeup off. Judging by her sweatpants and glasses, I had pulled her away right as she was getting ready for bed; Cali was not the type to leave the house with her glasses on, or with makeup-less eyes and cheeks.
Shaking a bottle of pink, fruity wine at me, she giggled thoughtfully. “Are we drinking in this smelly old truck or what?”
Her amusement with her half-assed attempt to make me feel better calmed me down enough to look at her and attempt a smirk. “I guess we should go inside. We are going to need more wine than that nasty, sugary shit you drink.” I nudged her playfully and opened up the driver’s side door. With one big sigh, I jumped out of my seat and waited for Cali to join me. She wrapped me up in a huge hug, and then walked me into my house while a few frustrated tears ran down my cheeks.
Once inside, we made a beeline for the kitchen, where Cali jumped on the counter to sit while I opened her bottle of blush wine and my Malbec. As I started to pour our glasses too full to be classy, my best friend cocked her head to the side with a sly grin as she saw our oversized portions close to spilling over the edge. I rolled my eyes playfully, “What? It’s not the night for damn formalities, Cal! Trust me.”
She grasped her glass in both hands, slurped her first sip and giggled, slowly smiling from ear to ear. “Elena must have done a number on you tonight.” She jumped off the counter and hugged me again, while I let myself cry for a moment.
