'Til I Want No More

by Robin W. Pearson

  With a wry twist of her lips, Maxine reached in her back pocket and pulled out a packet of peanuts and a Nature Valley bar. “Mother texted me before I left and told me to bring these. Which do you want first?” She waited for Celeste to choose one. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew? To see me twist in the wind, get back at me somehow?”

  The teen finished off the peanuts and stuffed the empty package in her back pocket. Her cheeks full, she managed, “You know better than that. When Mama told me, she explained that someday, when you were ready, when it was time for you to tell me, you would. ‘In God’s own time, not ours’ was how she put it. That day, it was time for me to know. Today, it was time for you to tell me.”

  Maxine stared at the thirteen-year-old in wonder, expecting to see Vivienne pop out of the girl’s skin.

  “You can’t be mad at Mama, Max. She was looking out for me. Thanks to her, I felt like I belonged, really belonged. If I can forgive you for not telling me, can’t you forgive her for telling me?” Celeste looped her arm through Maxine’s.

  Maxine tucked her elbow into her side to hold the girl close. “You seem too cool with all this, Celeste. What about your father?”

  “Dad? Mama didn’t tell him I knew. She wanted to keep it between us girls. But when he did find out, he had a cow! That’s why they went to the mountains, to talk about it. That trip wasn’t all about you. You know he usually lets Mama have her way, but he rolled over her to call the family meeting.”

  Celeste’s mouth rounded in an O and her eyebrows nearly merged with her hairline when she looked at Maxine’s face. “Wait. You meant Mr. Lester, not Daddy. Don’t get it twisted. I’m not cool with all this, how you kept it from me. I’ve just had time to work through some of it. Ask my doctors.” She withdrew from Maxine and stopped.

  Maxine filed away the information about First John and shut up so she could study Celeste’s face. The girl looked a little green. “Are you okay? Is there something going on with your heart you haven’t told me?”

  Eyes closed, Celeste took short breaths as if each word weighed a ton. “Yes, but not in the way you think.” When she opened her eyes, fresh tears wet the salty tracks on her cheeks. “I’m grateful you gave me life, Max, and I’m even happier you finally told me the whole truth. We can stop all this dancing around it, put an end to the secrets.”

  Maxine stared at the teen. While she’d felt Celeste’s heartbeat, it was Vivienne who’d guarded it ever since.

  “But it really hurt, Maxine. It still does. I know you love me, but having to be strong enough for you and me both got old. Don’t forget I’m the teenager, not you! And then, when you got engaged, I knew you’d be leaving and having your own children. You’d leave me for . . . for them. I started wondering if I was good enough, and I couldn’t eat or sleep. I couldn’t play. Part of me wanted to force you to pay me more attention. To do something that made you admit it, to explain. And according to everybody else who seems to know everything, going through puberty makes it worse. Then of course, meeting Mr. Lester made everything go whoo!” She spread all her fingers like her head had exploded.

  Maxine’s hand flew to her chest as she accepted responsibility for the trauma she’d caused. “Please forgive me, Celeste! I tried to protect you, to keep you from feeling ‘less than’ without a father. But I’m the one who made you feel that way. Why you’re dealing with anorexia.”

  “Cut it out, Max. It’s not all about you. And no, it’s not anorexia. It’s not really about the food. I started out seeing a medical doctor when I collapsed, but now I talk to a counselor. You’re right about the word you used—trigger. My counselor likened it to post-traumatic stress, and something sets it off. Maybe it was Teddy’s proposal for you.”

  Maxine nodded. “For both of us.”

  “The counselor really helped. And so did Mama. If she hadn’t been praying with me all this time . . . and feeding me. I know I’m too skinny, and she’s doing her best to fatten me up. Which is why I need to get home. These peanuts ain’t cuttin’ it.”

  “Okay, let’s head back,” Maxine acceded. They slowly trudged along the soft ground. “Why didn’t you tell me about the counselor?”

  “Because you didn’t need to know. Mama did. I guess I stopped eating to get attention, and Mama gave me everything I needed. And then some.” Celeste’s voice was matter-of-fact. Not angry or accusatory. Just a simple statement that had complex truths weaving through it. She picked up a large, fallen branch and plucked off its dead leaves.

  For a few minutes, Maxine focused on the swish and squish of their feet as they trekked toward the shoes they’d piled in the grass. A chittering squirrel made her look up, through the twists of limbs and foliage. She turned her face up to the sun, glimmering off the water. Maxine could feel warmth traveling all the way through her.

  “Celeste, could I bribe you?” Maxine held out the granola bar.

  “Depends on what you want.”

  “I’d really love to race leaf boats. We’ll just have to wade across the creek to gather the widest leaves. If you’re up for it.”

  Celeste sighed and glanced back over her shoulder at the direction from which they’d come. Propping a hand over her eyes, she peered into the sun toward the house. Then she plucked the bar from Maxine’s hand.

  Maxine smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  MAXINE SHOULD HAVE BEEN writing notes for her latest article, praying, studying her to-do list, anything but trying to find a new outfit for her bitmoji. She scrolled through the options. Skirts, workout clothes, fan gear, holiday wear. Finally she settled on shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Hey, there! Sorry we’re late.”

  She set down her phone and looked up. “Reverend and Mrs. Atwater . . . hey! You’re right on time. I’m afraid it’s Teddy who’s late.” She stood and embraced them both. When Maxine pulled away, she got a look at Lilian’s outfit. Then she threw her head back and laughed.

  As usual, Lilian was nattily dressed, this time in an A-line, coral summer dress with cap sleeves and a hemline that swayed gently just above her knees when she moved. The same dress Maxine wore. The older woman pointed and chuckled. “Tiffany’s Boutique?”

  Maxine spun. “I hope I look half as good in mine as you do in yours.” She glanced down at her feet, clad in white low-top Chuck Taylors, courtesy of Celeste. “Next time, I’ll wear a pair of cute sandals like those.” She nodded toward Lilian’s feet.

  Reverend Atwater held out his arms. “What about me? Nothing for the man in the polo shirt and khaki pants?”

  The women’s eyes met. Lilian’s rolled first. The shaking of her head made the diamond in her nose flash in the sunlight. “Maybe we should just sit down and wait for Theodore.”

  “If he’s coming,” Maxine murmured after she hugged the minister and sat down, not counting on when this time. A scan of her watch told her he was eight minutes late.

  “I’ll wait for him outside.” Reverend Atwater headed for the front of the restaurant.

  Maxine focused on the menu. It had been a long time since she’d been to Dairy Queen.

  When Teddy had called her to set up this date with the Atwaters, Maxine was taken aback. Technically, this would be their seventh and final premarital counseling session, not that either of them saw it that way. She couldn’t even see it as a “date.” At first, his choice of meeting place had flummoxed her. Maxine only had time to murmur, “Yes,” and jot down the time and location in her calendar before he’d ended the call.

  Lilian’s fingertips danced along the tabletop to some invisible band. “So how’ve you been?”

  Relieved to stop feigning interest in the plastic menu in her hands, Maxine dropped it on the table. “Okay. Busy. How about you?”

  The woman arched an eyebrow. “Just okay and busy?”

  “How about ‘better’?” Maxine felt a light touch on the back of her neck, and she looked up. Better, much better. That was how she’d describe Teddy as w
ell. She scooted back her chair.

  Theodore took her hand with one of his and stared at her for a moment. Then he extended a long white box.

  Maxine slowly unfolded her hand from his, but she took his offering, set it on the table, and lifted the lid. When she peeled away the green tissue, her breath hitched. One blaze of orange nestled in the midst of cranberry, purple, and green. Holding back a sob, she dropped the cardboard with a clonk on the floor and stepped toward him.

  Teddy drew her close.

  Maxine ignored the smell of chili, the crinkle of paper-wrapped sandwiches, the whir of the blender from the kitchen, and the Atwaters, who must have been looking on. She closed her eyes and held Teddy, something she hadn’t been able to do for weeks. Something she’d wanted to do but feared she’d never do again. Her heart full, she pressed him closer and let the tears trickle down his neck.

  They both released each other in small increments. First, she braced her hands on his shoulders. Then he cupped her face. They leaned their foreheads together, and he kissed her near her ear as he stepped away. His fingers trailed down her arms, then squeezed her hands before letting go altogether. Cool air rushed between them when they parted.

  “Friends?” Teddy’s lips hinted at a smile, and he extended his hand.

  Maxine reached in her pocket and set a ring-shaped box in his palm. “Always.”

  ________

  My Daily Grace—At the Table

  When my grandma bakes a peach cobbler, she makes sure her topping crunches when she breaks through it with a spoon. That sound shows it can support a scoop of ice cream without getting mushy. Thing is, she can tell that it’ll make that sound just by peeking at it through the oven door. She doesn’t have to test it or use a timer. Grandma knows when it’s ready by its color.

  She developed that insight over time, from experience. It’s not that she was born wearing an apron. Once upon a time she probably forgot to stir her butter beans from the bottom and she kneaded her biscuits too long. It’s hard to believe she’d ever serve a mushy crust, but I know it’s possible. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the best thing in the kitchen since sliced bread—and I’m talking about her corn bread that tastes like pound cake—but Grandma isn’t perfect, in the kitchen or otherwise.

  All those healed scars on her forearms and on the backs of her hands attest to what she does—that she can really burn in the kitchen. In the best way possible, mind you. They also reveal her mistakes, that she’s constantly misjudging how far she should reach into the oven or how close she is to a baking dish. Yet they don’t reveal who she is—a loving wife, precious mother and grandmother, a faithful friend, an only daughter. Nouns that don’t say enough.

  People, places, and things . . . chapters in my story, all. The tan lines around my ring finger? That sparkly diamond that rested there before I returned it in its original box? My daughter, my past, my broken heart? Some people might think these stand out like Grandma’s scar tissue, proof of my mistakes and poor judgment. I know I used to.

  But they’re my testimony. They remind me of lessons learned, of how I can love and live better. The scars don’t reveal faults and weakness. They prove I’m a warrior princess. A true princess doesn’t hide her tiara in her jewelry box when she appears in public. She doesn’t hide behind the throne when she doesn’t feel good enough. As a daughter of the King, I need to own the proof of my heritage. Show off my “crown jewels,” the evidence that I’m one of His and that I have as much right to stand before the throne as the next heir.

  No, I’m not perfect. But I’m “fearfully and wonderfully made,” as Psalm 139:14 attests. I’m not trouble free. Yet God has tried me. He knows my anxieties and my cares. I’m not less than because He is more than enough, and I take after my Father. All my shortcomings, troubles, and scars are as much part of my story as my blessings and successes. They all reveal the faith in the Man who sacrificed all for me, the Spirit breathing new life within me, and the Father who has always loved me.

  God made me who I am, and in case I ever feel empty, I can look to Psalm 107:9: “For He satisfies the longing soul, And fills the hungry soul with goodness.”

  Maxine gave a war whoop and stowed away her laptop. That was her last column about the-wedding-that-wasn’t. Taking a deep breath, she counted the cars in her grandparents’ yard. It looked like a nearly full house. She relaxed her grip on the wheel and reached for the box of chrysanthemums. She didn’t want the flowers to die.

  As Maxine tramped across the yard, she stopped to admire the wide fields around the house. Empty cornstalks waved in the sun just beyond the patch of blueberry and blackberry bushes. Eventually local hog farmers would help cut the stalks to use on their own property while leaving some behind to fertilize the Tagles’ soil. She wondered when she’d be called upon to pick the cantaloupe and butter beans planted in the back. Surely they were ready for harvest.

  “Finally! I was startin’ to wonder if somebody had swooped you up and toted you off.”

  Maxine laughed and walked to the porch, where Mama Ruby had planted herself, a hand braced on each hip. “Mama Ruby, nobody would want me. At the very least, they’d bring me back the minute they realized what they’d gotten ahold of.”

  Ruby held her granddaughter at arm’s length and peered into Maxine’s eyes for a long moment before pulling her in. They rocked together from one foot to the other.

  Maxine inhaled the kitchen smells embedded in her grandmother’s hair. “Mmm . . . I see I finally get to have some pork roast.”

  Ruby pulled back but didn’t let go. “I figure it’s about time. Whatchyou think? What’s in the box?”

  “Flowers, to honor the occasion.” She let herself be led from the porch and into the wide foyer. She cocked her head. “Who’s here? There’s a lot of clanking going on.”

  “Everybody. We got tired of waitin’ on you, so we got things started. It’s startin’ to warm up back there.” Her grandmother looked at her, knowingly.

  “I imagine the temperature is pretty hot right about now. Sorry I missed the fireworks.”

  “Well, you didn’t miss them all, from what I recall.”

  Maxine and Ruby turned toward the voice that was as dry as the bare cornstalks flanking the house. Vivienne had a hand balanced on the frame of the doorway opening to the kitchen.

  She beckoned. “Come on here, girl. You’re needed.”

  “I’m going to see what’s happenin’ with my blueberries.” Ruby took the box and gently pushed Maxine in the middle of her back to set her granddaughter’s feet in motion.

  She heard the screen door slap closed behind her as she moved toward her mother. She stopped a few inches from her. Vivienne pulled her the rest of the way. But Maxine didn’t need anyone to make her wrap her arms around her mother’s waist. She wanted to.

  “Did you have a good meeting with the Atwaters?” Vivienne spoke into her daughter’s neck.

  Maxine inhaled a whiff of Estée Lauder’s Beautiful. As usual, the scent transported her back twenty-five years to the day she broke that perfume bottle in Vivienne’s bathroom. Since then, she’d always equated the scent with a spanking. That was Mother, a heady mixture of love and discipline. Maxine pulled away so she could see her face.

  “What?” Vivienne’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Nothing.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No ‘uh-oh.’ It was good to see Teddy, to talk things out with the Atwaters present. We finally had the premarital session we should have had months ago—just without the ‘marital’ part happening. I guess you would call it bittersweet.” Maxine paused and squeezed her mother’s free hand. “Kinda like my conversation with you last night.”

  Vivienne squeezed back. “Emphasis on the sweet, I hope.”

  Maxine released her. She crossed her arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I remember a long time ago you told me mothers and daughters couldn’t be friends. Do you remember that day?”

  “Yes. You were fourteen, a
nd you wanted to wear my fiery-red lipstick and have me drop you and Evelyn off at the mall.” Mirroring her daughter’s stance, Vivienne crossed her arms.

  “I remember you looked at me like I was crazy. Kinda like you are now, just thinking about it,” Maxine laughed. “But I thought if you loved me, you would do it, give me what I wanted. Be my friend. And you told me then you were even better than a friend because you didn’t give me what I wanted. You gave me what I needed. It stung because I wanted more.”

  “Like what?” Vivienne uncrossed her arms.

  Maxine looked over her mother’s shoulder into the kitchen and past the murmuring, hustle and bustle, and clinking of utensils and pans, background music for her thoughts. “To feel worthy. I thought I found it in that baptismal pool. But that only motivated me to change my outside and hope the inside would follow.”

  “Just like raising your baby didn’t make up for me leaving mine. I know I already told you, but I’m so sorry. We’re all in the same needy boat, love.” Vivienne swiped under her eyes.

  “Sometimes sinking, sometimes floating. But God saves, He redeems, and He fulfills. Celeste came out of all this with the best of both worlds, a sister who loved her like a mother.” Maxine smiled at Vivienne. “And I have a mother who’s becoming a friend.”

  “But you better not ever call me by my first name.”

  Maxine knew she’d never dare. Thinking of her as “mama” was good enough.

  The front door creaked open. “Y’all still jibber-jabberin’ away in here?”

  Vivienne bumped her hip against Maxine’s and told Ruby, “Perfect timing. Just wrapped up our girlfriend chat.”

  Ruby harrumphed as she walked through the foyer toward the women. “Well, I need to put some water on these flowers and see to my kitchen help. Sounds like too much fun and not enough work’s going on in there. Y’all gon’ let me by?”

  Maxine noticed her grandmother’s hands. “I don’t see any blueberries.”