Wet tendrils of hair were piled on her shoulders. It looked like she’d done nothing more than rake a comb through it. She didn’t need to do more. With her bangs wet and swept off her face, she radiated youth. No one would guess she was a business owner in her mid-twenties.
She cracked an egg and it nudged me into action, which was to plop my handful of grapes on her tiny, square table. Glasses. I could get those. Did I need to do anything else for grapes?
Her butt jiggled delightfully as she whisked the goop in the bowl. “After I eat, I need to get to the hospital. Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?”
I sat on a chair I wasn’t sure would hold my weight. “We can do the same thing we did the other night. I’ll call my driver.”
She whipped around to look at him. “You have a driver?”
I froze, my mind spinning. “No, no. The Uber driver.”
Turning back to her eggs, she chuckled. “I was gonna say, those sales must be good.”
They were, and it was none of her business. “Tell me about your mom. How’s she really doing?”
Mara’s shoulders tightened as she stirred the eggs around the skillet. “She has multiple sclerosis.”
“What’s that exactly?” I’d heard of it, knew it was a disease, probably had seen various fundraising stuff cross my desk for it.
“An autoimmune disorder that attacks the nervous system. For Mom, it started in her thirties. Weird numbness in her hands and feet, her vision would get wonky. Doctors’ visits. She carted me along. It was just her and I.”
Where was her dad? Another nasty divorce where the father hadn’t stuck around?
I couldn’t afford to feel sympathy toward her. Mara was no better than my mother, going after Sam for money. But, in many other ways, Mara was way better than my gold-digging, heartless mom. I hadn’t witnessed one rude comment from Mara, not to someone’s face, not behind their back. Mara’s possessions were cared for, even if they weren’t high-end. My mother blasted through clothing and jewelry for the sake of her image.
But then Sam probably hadn’t seen that side of her when he’d first met her, either.
Mara kicked a foot against her leg and stirred. “When we found out what the cause was, we thought, okay, we can do this. Some people live a full life for decades.”
My breath stalled. The rest of her story wasn’t going to be good.
“But her relapses grew more frequent, more debilitating. Treatment helped, but eventually, she grew so disabled I couldn’t take care of her by myself. She can barely walk.” She clicked off the stove and pulled out a couple of plates.
The patterns didn’t match. Who had mismatched dishes?
Eggs were piled onto his plate. She plucked some grapes out for each of us.
“Voila.” She sat in the chair opposite me, tension dulling her eyes.
“Where does she live then?” I should quit asking. Her mom’s health obviously bothered her, and I no longer doubted her mom was really in the hospital.
“A nursing home one of my customers recommended. It’s been excellent for Mom. Her health is better with routine care and a steady diet.”
We ate in silence. I thought of my mother and how she’d kill herself before she allowed me to put her into a home. She threatened suicide all the time. I suspected she thought of new and unique ways to off herself. The typical ways people killed themselves would be too gauche for Jennifer Robson.
Dehydrate herself and sit hours in the spa’s sauna. Fabricate a parasailing accident in the Bahamas. Pufferfish poisoning. Crushed by a rack of designer clothing.
It’d be in a way that wouldn’t appear to be her fault. People would utter that poor woman and talk about her for weeks, months if my mom planned it right. If she wasn’t in therapy, I’d be more concerned her comments were more than a ploy to control me.
“What do your parents do?” Mara’s question was hesitant. Was she searching for family money?
My mom is a viper who lives off of whoever will feed her gourmet handouts. “My dad passed away and my mom…does whatever. We’re not close.”
Sympathy filled her gaze, but it didn’t make me uncomfortable. It wasn’t the I’m sorry your dad wanted nothing to do with you and passed away look. Or the poor kid left with the bat-shit crazy mother one. She genuinely felt bad I’d lost the parental lottery.
“I didn’t know my dad.” She shrugged and stabbed at her eggs. “Sperm donor.”
“I feel like you’re fortunate. To know your dad and then lose him…it’s hard.” I wasn’t talking about Sam’s death, either. Going from spending all weekend playing games, watching movies, and hanging out to almost zero contact hit a kid where it hurt. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, what my mother had done that was so horrible a man would cut off his child without explanation. Only as I had gotten older had Sam treated me more like a business partner and probably only because Sam had had no one to leave his empire to.
“I can’t imagine how hard it must be. That’s what I’m going to experience with Mom and—” She sniffled and pushed back from the table. “Sorry. I don’t want to ruin a wonderful morning by bawling. Finish your food. I need to grab a few items before we go.”
My appetite was gone. At least I’d eaten most of my food. Her plate was half full, but she carried it to the sink anyway and left.
I picked up my plate and went to set it beside hers, but paused. Should food be left sitting on the counter? It never sat on mine, but all I did was heat my portions. Ms. Gibbons took care of the rest and my counters sparkled when she was through. And my
