by L. D. Davis
“No,” I said firmly. “You need to do what you need to do, and I need to do what I need to do. You’re just going to have to get used to the idea that what we need to do for ourselves may not always bring us together.”
He frowned and rolled his eyes. “Fuck, Donya,” he growled. “You make it seem like we’re doomed.”
I hadn’t thought about us being doomed. I had only thought about how our roads were going in different directions with the occasional crossing, but since he put it like that…
“Don’t say that,” I admonished.
He rolled his eyes again and sighed loudly. “Yeah, okay.”
I didn’t want to argue, and I didn’t want to be exposed to his worsening attitude.
“I’m going to go.” I opened the door and quickly stepped into the hallway. “I’ll call you soon,” I promised.
Emmet simply nodded, acknowledging that he had heard me, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. I walked away, letting the door close behind me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
My mother looked sick, I decided. She looked sick, and she acted sick. Though she had the skin tone of dark caramel normally, she was looking a little pale. She had lost weight, she was overly fatigued, and she couldn’t do much without wearing herself out, and it was very, very obvious that she was in a great deal of pain.
I stood in the doorway to my bedroom watching her move around the suite, packing for our trip to California. She walked as if every inch of her body hurt. She looked twice, if not three times, her age of thirty-seven. She wasn’t wrinkled or gray, but she looked old, nonetheless.
Whatever was wrong with her was making her deteriorate fast. Every day she was a little worse than she was the day before. Admittedly, I tried not to notice. I went on with my life, pretending everything was fine. She didn’t have to accompany me to work, so almost daily I left her in the hotel in the mornings. I had refused to actually look at her and see what was happening. I told myself she was just under the weather and maybe a little depressed, and she would get better eventually, but the truth was staring me in the face, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Mom,” I said her name in a way that demanded attention. I wanted her to look at me, to see me and hear me.
She turned around and looked at me. She folded her hands in front of her and tried to stand up a little taller. Andrea Stewart did not know her daughter well at all, after years of living only inside of her own head, but she knew me well enough to guess at what I was about to say.
“What is it?” Again I spoke in a way that demanded an answer. My voice was hard, and my words crisp.
She took a breath and said, “You have a lot on your plate already for a child,” she tried to beg off. I noted that she did not deny that there was an It to speak of.
“We both know I am not much of a child,” I said rigidly. “I took care of you for years, like the adult.”
That hit her hard. She swallowed and blinked rapidly for a moment. “Well, now I’m taking care of you,” she said gently.
“But you’re not,” I pointed out. “I appreciate you being here with me, but you’ve been more like a companion and legal advisor than a mother.”
I remembered how she insisted on taking pictures of Emmet and me before Felix’s party. That was as close to a mom as she got. It had annoyed me then, but as I stood before her weeks later, my heart expanded in my chest, and I felt touched by that one sentiment. Facts were facts, however, and the fact was that we didn’t have many moments like that like other mothers and daughters.
“I don’t know how to be your mom,” she said softly in a quavering voice.
I was stunned. I expected her to feed me bullshit, or to cop an attitude and try to turn it around on me, but she didn’t. She spoke truthfully, and obviously from her heart.
“You’re more Sam’s daughter than mine,” she continued. “I don’t even know you.”
“I’m here,” I said patiently. “If you want to know me, I’m here, Mom, but you can’t bullshit me. If we’re going to try to be a mother and daughter, you can’t withhold things from me. Tell me what is wrong.”
She started muttering more shit about me having enough on my plate, but I cut her off.
“Andrea!” I shouted her name and slammed my hand on the door.
She looked at me with a hardness in her eyes that had not been there moments before.
“Last year before you left for the summer I found out I had breast cancer. Stage four and it had metastasized. I declined chemo because it will only kill me faster, and I wanted to see if I could at least see my daughter graduate from high school before I died, but I’m pretty sure I won’t make it that far. I’m pretty sure that I will be dead before the year is out. I’ve accepted the dying part, but the not seeing you graduate from high school part, I haven’t accepted. I haven’t accepted all of the years I lost with you. I haven’t accepted all of the years I will lose with you in the future. I haven’t accepted what a terrible mother I have been and how much you suffered because of me. I’ve accepted that I’m going to die, Donya. I just haven’t accepted all of the shit I’m leaving behind.”
Speechless. Dumbfounded. Confused. Hurt. Angry. Mind blown.
I pushed it all aside because it wasn’t about me.
I moved across the room and embraced my mother—gently so that I wouldn’t hurt her.
“You should have told me,” I whispered.
“I didn’t want you distracted,” she said, echoing Emmet’s words. “I’m very proud of you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I chuckled to hide the pain I felt.
“You’ve done more than I have ever done,” she said, petting my hair. “Your dad and I didn’t do right by you, but you’re still so strong and good, and responsible.”
I didn’t feel strong, though, or good, or responsible.
I pulled away but kept my hands on her frail shoulders. I dug deep into that place I’ve had to dig into many times over the years and produced a smile for my mother.
“Have you ever been to California?” I asked her lightly.
She smiled too as she wiped at a few tears. “When I was about your age, me and your Aunt Candy hitchhiked our way to San Francisco. I felt bad and called my mom to let her know we were okay. Don’t you know she came all the way to California and beat our asses all the way back to Philly?”
She laughed softly at the memory, and I forced myself to laugh with her. I had never known my grandmother. She died when I was a toddler, and my mom rarely spoke about her. I had no idea what she was like, but strangely the story reminded me of Sam.
“I want to hear more about her,” I said. “You can tell me some stories on our way to L.A.” I walked back towards my room. “And if I get this part, we’ll celebrate with a shopping trip on Rodeo Drive and have dinner in the nicest restaurant.”
“We can’t afford that,” she said behind me. “But thanks anyway.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find the money,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m almost finished packing. As soon as I’m done I’ll help you. Sit down and relax.”
“I can do it.”
I turned around, just inside my room. “Mom, please,” I said in a soft, but pleading voice. “Let me help you.”
She looked like she was going to cry, but she nodded silently. I forced another smile and went to finish my packing.
When I met Emmet later, I didn’t bother telling him about my mom. I didn’t feel like discussing it, and I didn’t want any pity or for him to ask me if I was okay every five minutes. We ate dinner at what was becoming our favorite pizza place, and I tried to keep the focus on his upcoming internship at a law firm near his apartment. I tried to keep the conversation light and comfortable and hoped that when it was time to say goodbye, he wouldn’t give me a hard time again about Felix and the trip.
“What’s wrong?” Emmet asked as we left the pizza joint.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, putting my hand
in his.
“You’re really good at hiding your true feelings, but we’re connected, remember?” He stopped walking and put his hand over my heart and softly said, “I know when you’re hurting, angry, happy, or sad.”
I put my hand on his and squeezed it gently. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
He sighed and looked away from me as if the sight of me vexed him.
“Emmet,” I said, touching his face. I waited until he was looking at me again. “It’s not about you or us, okay? But I don’t want to talk about it. Just show me a good time for the next…” I looked at my watch. “…half hour.”
A devious smile that made him look like a naughty little boy appeared on his face. I couldn’t help but to smile, too. He hadn’t even said anything really, and he had the ability to make me feel better.
“Is that enough time to get back to my hotel room?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“No,” I laughed. “But it is plenty of time for you to buy your girlfriend an ice-cream.”
“As long as it makes you smile,” he said and kissed my smiling mouth.
I left my worries there on the sidewalk for the rest of the evening. There would be plenty of time to pick them up later.
*~*~*
The plane ride out had been enlightening. I heard a lot about my grandparents and my mom’s childhood. Her father worked at the DuPont plant in Delaware, and her mother cleaned offices and houses a few days a week from time to time to supplement their income when things got a little rough, but, for the most part, she was a stay at home mom for my mother and her three siblings. The kids never knew they were poor because my grandparents always made sure that they had plenty of food to eat and nice, clean clothes.
Mom had been close to her siblings when they were growing up, but her oldest brother died in a car accident when mom was around my age. My other Uncle Roger met and married a Brazilian beauty and moved to Brazil. I had only met him maybe twice in my life. Then there was my Aunt Candy. She and my mom had been very close growing up, but Candy had a superiority complex after marrying a well-off Texan. She judged everything my mom did. They went from being inseparable to speaking maybe once a year.
“Do you want to see your brother and sister again before you go?” I had asked her. I couldn’t bring myself to say the D word out loud.
Mom had shrugged like it didn’t matter, but the frown lines around her mouth said differently.
“I’m used to being without them,” she had said.
I didn’t understand that. I wasn’t very close to Charlotte and Lucille and Fred Jr., but I looked forward to seeing them on special occasions. I would not get used to being without them. I knew I would never get used to being without Fred, Sam, Emmy and Emmet. I couldn’t even get used to not seeing my dad. Some days I still thought about him like he was alive.
I had looked at my mom and knew instantly that I would never get used to being without her. We weren’t close, that was true, and as she had admitted, she had not exactly been a model parent, but I knew I would have a difficult time once she was gone. I wouldn’t be able to just get used to being without her.
My mom was exhausted and in pain by the time we made it to our hotel. She tried hard to pretend that things weren’t as bad as they undoubtedly were, but I knew better. I found her stash of painkillers and other drugs, loaded her up with what she needed and left her tucked in the giant bed.
I showered, redid my hair and changed my clothes. I took the script Felix had left at the front desk for me and sat in the living room reading it over. It wasn’t very extensive, as I said. I would only be on screen for a short time, but I couldn’t get the words to stick in my head. My brain was overflowing with thoughts about my mom. How much longer would she live? How much pain would she be in until her last breath? When she died, where would that leave me? Would I be allowed to live on my own? Would I get sent to a relative I barely knew or would I have to go back to Sam and Fred?
Wait a minute…
I put the script down on the couch and went to the phone on the desk. The phone call would probably end up costing more than a few dollars, but I’d worry about that later.
“Thank you for calling the Grayne residence. This is Emmy Grayne, sexy, foxy, hot—”
“How did you know it was me?” I interrupted her ridiculous greeting.
“Caller ID, bay-bee,” Emmy said. “I can’t believe you’re going to be in a movie! I can’t believe you’re screwing Felix Hunter! I want your life.”
“First of all, I didn’t get the part yet. Secondly, I am not screwing Felix Hunter. Now you’re starting to sound like the tabloids.”
“Well, if I believed the tabloids, I’d believe you were screwing my brother too.”
I didn’t think it was possible to choke on air, but there I was, choking on air and then gasping for it.
“What are you talking about?” I managed.
“You know I stalk you via the tabloids,” she laughed. “It’s such a thrill seeing my best friend holding hands with Felix Fucking Hunter and kissing Felix Fucking Hunter.”
“Someone totally blew that out of context,” I said the same words I had said to her two days after Felix’s party. Someone had snapped a picture of Felix kissing me right before I pushed him away. Even though I had shown up at the party with and stayed with Emmet, he had not been mentioned at all. At least not then. My life had become so surreal.
“What are you talking about—with Emmet?” I asked her.
“There’s just a small section in Gossipers with a few pictures of you and Emmet holding hands. They are speculating that you are now involved with our dear brother—gross—and because of that Felix ran away to California, broken hearted of course.”
I rested my head in the palm of my hand. “That’s not so bad I guess,” I said weakly.
“Yeah, except it’s Emmet,” Emmy snorted. “Just the idea of you screwing our brother makes me almost throw up in my mouth.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to sigh too loudly. “Emmet isn’t a dog or anything, you know.”
“Oh, I know our brother is a hottie. That’s not the issue. The issue is he’s our brother, and he’s an okay guy, but he’s essentially your brother, Donya. It just seems all kinds of wrong. Wait.” She paused for a moment. “Are you calling me to tell me you’re screwing my brother? Please don’t tell me you’re screwing my brother.”
Not this time, I thought.
“Our conversation took like three left turns,” I sighed wearily.
“Right. We were talking about you screwing Felix Hunter, and you said you’re not…even though you totally made out with him once…and he flew you and Andrea out there first class, and he’s paying for your hotel accommodations in one of the most prestigious hotels out there. I’ll bet his suite is close to yours, isn’t it?”
“So what if it is?” I snapped, not mentioning that his suite was apparently right across the hall. “Look, I’m not screwing him, and I didn’t call you to discuss who I’m screwing.”
“Who are you screwing?” she asked with a super secretive tone.
“Emmy, my mom is dying,” I said, ending her who’s screwing who line of questioning. “I know you didn’t know, or you would have told me, but Sam and Fred…”
“What?”
I told her about the conversation I had with my mom in New York and my observations before that. I also told her that I believed that Sam and Fred knew and withheld the information from me, and she agreed. Before I even asked to speak to them, she shouted for both of her parents to pick up a phone. It took a minute for them to get on the phone. They tried to begin the conversation with the usual pleasantries and inquiries. Sam even asked about the tabloid Emmy had mentioned, but I didn’t want to talk about all of that.
“Why didn’t you tell me about my mom?” I asked, cutting Sam off as she began a tirade about the tabloid pictures.
There was a moment of hushed silence and then all three of them started talking
at once. I cut in too, trying to voice my anger and feelings of betrayal, but we were all only getting snippets of what was said. It was telephonic chaos until I got sick of trying to shut everyone up and just hung up the phone.
I paced the large room for a couple of minutes, trying to calm myself down. When the phone rang I almost didn’t answer it, but I wanted some answers, and I had a few things to say.
“What?” I replied crossly.
“Your tone needs a slight adjustment,” Fred said carefully.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I realized that he was the only one on the phone. I knew that was the case because Sam and Emmy had the inability to control their big mouths.
“I’m very angry, and I’m very hurt,” I said to him, but with a little less ‘tude.
“I understand.”
“I don’t think that you do,” I said and then dug my nails into my palm to once again reel in my anger. “You held back very pertinent information. Don’t you think that I would need to know that my mother was sick and dying?”
Fred sighed deeply. “You’re growing up so damn fast,” he said, sounding both proud and sad.
“Why? Because I used a big word?” I asked, irritated. “I’ve been using big words since I was a kid.”
“You’re still a kid.”
“I’m not a kid, Fred. I haven’t been an actual kid in a very long time, and we both know it. Don’t tell me one moment that I am growing up so damn fast and then in the next moment call me a kid. I’m not a damn kid. I know chronologically—yes, I used another big word—I am almost seventeen, but we both know that I am older than that. So, please, stop treating me like I’m five and be straight with me. Even little kids have the right to know that their closest blood relative is about to die.”
There was another deep sigh and then Fred said, “Donya, when your mom found out, she wanted to get a second and third opinion before telling you. By the time she got all of that, you were very much interested in pursuing a modeling career. No one wanted to—”