She Effin' Hates Me

by Scarlett Savage

  “Listen to me, you. At my age, I’m lucky I’m not pushing a walker along,” she’d protested firmly, putting back the spiked heels. “I’m sure there’s a broken hip or three in my future. I’m just in no rush to get them.”

  It seemed to take Ava a day or so to get used to it, but once it sank in that Molly was gay, it just didn’t seem to matter that much. Maybe years ago it would have, when the gays were so shunned in New Hampshire, and everywhere else. But now they were out and about, and everyone loved them. They were even on the television, almost on every show. She watched Friends and Will & Grace every night reverently, to the point of scheduling her meetings around them (not that anyone had to know that).

  “I still want her to find a nice ma—person,” Ava had corrected herself; she didn’t kick herself as badly as Suzanne did when Suzanne did it; after all, it was going to take some time to readjust to an eighteen-year-old assumption of her granddaughter’s straightness, and there was no shame in it that she could see, as long as she kept making the effort. “To take care of her and spend her life with, but she’s got all the time in the world for that. College is for playing the field.”

  Wow, she’s good, Suzanne thought now, letting the sun shine down on her face. She can accept Molly’s lifestyle and slam my life choices, all in one short sentence.

  “Now, show Mom the walk we taught you,” Molly instructed. “Come on, lady, don’t be shy. You can do it.”

  Ava pulled herself up with Brandon’s assistance and began walking, taking careful note to shake her butt lazily to each side as she took slow, long strides. She wobbled quite a bit more than she did in her regular shoes on the way to the gate, but on the way back, she felt as though she was starting to get the hang of it.

  “How did I do?”

  “This must be how momma ducks feel when baby ducks get pushed out of the nest.” Brandon smiled tearfully, pretending to blot each eye.

  “You really don’t think the eyeliner’s too much?”

  “It just takes a little getting used to, Grandma.” Molly handed her a napkin. “But you’re right about the sun and the lipstick: it is a little bright for outdoors. Blot.” Ava complied obligingly, and Molly sang out, “There she is! My grandmother, the new face of Maybelline!”

  “Oh, you,” Ava flapped the lipstick-smeared napkin playfully at her granddaughter. “You’re right, maybe I’m just not used to it. But the look I’m going for is ‘Elegant, Independent Lady about Town,’ not ‘Sixty-Something for Sale.’” She clicked her compact shut and slid it into her Kate Spade knockoff purse that Brandon had insisted she needed. “Now that my looks are conveying a message, I want to make sure they’re saying the right thing.”

  “Trust me, lady,” Brandon chimed in, “no one on the Seacoast could afford you.”

  “I gotta tell you, I’m jealous, Grandma.” Molly took a bite out of her muffin. “When I’m your age, I’ll probably be a raisin. With varicose veins, like Aunt Harriet. No, wait, make that a raisin with varicose veins and no hair, like Nanna Wilkie, Daddy’s mother. Damn, it’s an unfortunate genetic bunch of possibilities I’ve got tumbling around inside of me.”

  “That’s not true,” Ava scolded. “I like to think I’ve held onto a vestige of my looks, and so has your mother—she looks very young.”

  “Anyway, raisins don’t have hair, sweetie,” Suzanne corrected, holding up her Intro to Psychology book to ward off the glare of the sunlight.

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Ever since your mother decided to go back to college this January, Molly, she’s become the Figure of Speech Police.”

  “I’d be going now if I’d gotten my applications and financial aid forms in on time,” Suzanne lamented. But she’d been busy recovering from eighteen years of overwork and no play, so she didn’t beat herself up too hard.

  “Now, you’re next on the Makeover Hit List, Missy.” Brandon started fussing with Suzanne’s thick hair. “This is just crying out for modernization . . . And what can we do with these clothes?” He fluffed out her skirt. “They’re very chic, but we could go for something more sleek and fitting, show off those legs and boobies. What do you think?”

  “I totally agree,” said Molly. “And what are we going to do about those toenails? You look like you haven’t seen a pedicure this side of the millennium!”

  Brandon and Molly gave each other a woeful look; it was clear that, in their eyes, lack of nail care was a crime that should be punishable by exile.

  “We’re going to keep our mitts off me.” Suzanne ducked out from under his hands. “And since you’re a gay guy, you can quit looking at my boobies. I’m perfectly happy in my vintage thrift store clothes, so you’ll have to pry my granny dresses and sandals off my cold, dead body.”

  “Mom practically invented hippie mystic chic.” Molly didn’t sound particularly proud of this fact. “And I taught him all about fashion, Mom, so you can trust his judgment.”

  “Well, you and Anna Wintour,” Brandon amended. “Don’t get me wrong,” he hastened to say, under the weight of Suzanne’s scowl, “It’s a great look for you.”

  “Screw how it looks,” she informed him. “It’s comfortable, I don’t have to be skinny as a stick to look good in it, and it doesn’t need ironing.”

  “Tell me honestly what you think,” Ava commanded Suzanne. “You’ve yet to comment on my new appearance, and that’s not like you, so I’m assuming the worst.”

  Suzanne pulled down her sunglasses, looking her mother up and down as Ava awaited the verdict nervously. Her only child was not known for pulling her punches, a quality that Ava usually found delightful and endearing . . . Just maybe not today.

  “Too much, do you think? Or too little? Brandon wanted me to get a tattoo, a little rose right here,” Ava pointed at her shoulder blade, “but Molly said I should sleep on it.”

  “A tattoo is permanent, Grandma,” Molly stressed. “You don’t want to make a snap decision that you have to live with the rest of your life.”

  “All ten minutes of it?”

  “You’ll outlive us all.” Brandon stooped to kiss her on the cheek. “You’re too fabulous to die.”

  Ava tapped her foot impatiently. “Well? Answer already, you’re killing me here.”

  “I think you look great.” Suzanne pulled her shades back up. She made a move as if to stand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be packing up and getting off your corner.”

  Ava threw down her Kate Spade knockoff. “See!” she said indignantly. “I told you, I do look like an old hooker!”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Suzanne smiled playfully. “You look great. I’m so impressed I’m thinking of letting the Big Man over there do my makeover. Maybe!” she warned carefully, as Brandon started jumping for joy. “I said maybe, so don’t get too excited.” Turning back to her mother, she added, “I just meant you might be a little overdressed for hanging out in Prescott Park on a Wednesday afternoon, but still beautiful. Really.”

  “She’s right, Grandma.” Molly sat up excitedly, swinging her legs over the side of the stone bench. “Let’s find something fun to do this evening—we can’t waste that hairdo here or at home in the courtyard.”

  Ava’s face fell a little for a second. Suzanne wondered if Ava was hoping that maybe her new look wouldn’t be wasted in the courtyard after all.

  “Is there anyone in the village you want to make jealous?” Molly asked. “Like that woman with the oxygen tank who beat you for the lead in Once on This All-Older-Female Island?”

  “Liz Isermann? I hate her—everyone does, I’m just sure of it,” Ava agreed. “You’re right! Let’s all go out to a nice dinner, and then, maybe there’s an outdoor concert, or we could take a small cruise, or . . .”

  “Count me out.” Suzanne picked up her purse in search of cigarettes; it would be her first of the day, and as it was after ten-thirty, she was terribly proud. “I shouldn’t even be here. I’m meeting with your father’s divorce lawyer, and I’m sure after four or fiv
e hours of arguing, I’ll be in the mood for nothing but a hot bath and a Hugh Grant movie.”

  Molly stared at Suzanne for a moment, crestfallen. “Mom,” she said slowly, “don’t you think it would be nice if we all did something together? I mean, believe me, I know you have to get the settlement done so you can get your own place and start to enroll in school, but . . .”

  “Do you have any idea how long we had to wait for both our lawyers to be free?” Suzanne puffed away on her cigarette. “Almost four months. I’m sorry, honey, but you’ll just have to go without me this time. Next time, I promise, I’m there.”

  “But it’s just, well, we’re only here for two more days, and then we’ve got to take the bus up to Vassar. They like the freshmen to get there a couple of days early.”

  “And I’m a student advisor,” Brandon said proudly. “Can you believe that? They actually trust me to guide these terrified, gullible little creatures.”

  “It just seems like since I’ve been here,” Molly said, staring down at her toes, “everyone’s been really busy. I was hoping we could all spend a little time together.”

  “And I promise you we will, sweetie.” Suzanne rubbed her daughter’s arm. “But I’m really and truly under the gun here, and I’m just nervous that if I don’t get it all done now, then I’ll lose my motivation and give up the money he owes me that I poured into the house he gets half of. Then I can forget college, because I’ll wind up waitressing and doing retail sales jobs for the rest of my life.”

  “Your father was a salesman,” Ava pointed out. “No shame in it, and a damn fine paycheck if you know what you’re doing. And you certainly inherited your father’s verbose charm.”

  “Why, thank you, Mother.” Suzanne smiled again, this time a trifle ruefully. She fished around in her pocketbook till she found her billfold and plucked out the one credit card that she still held with Steve’s name on it. “Have a good time, though, on me, and bring me back the doggie drinks.”

  Molly looked back at Brandon, officially surrendering, while Ava scowled at Suzanne. Drinking jokes didn’t fit in with her program.

  “Well,” said Molly finally. “I guess I’ll get back to the house, then.”

  “Honey, will you run with me to the drugstore before we go back?” Ava pointed to the Walgreen’s on the corner. “I need some new nylons if we’re getting all gussied up tonight. Do I need new earrings? I don’t have anything long and dangly. Maybe I could borrow some of yours?” She stopped then, reaching out to touch Molly’s hand disarmingly. “Oh, I hope I didn’t offend you, sweetie. Do lesbians wear earrings?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Molly, “but they gotta be made out of flannel.” She took a last look at her engrossed mother, then halfheartedly stepped over Suzanne’s feet on the way to the sidewalk. “C’mon, Bran.”

  “I’ll wait,” he told her, leaning back to let the autumn sun splash on his face. “I’m enjoying the sunshine. I need a little color before I hole up in a classroom for the next nine months.”

  After basking in the sun for a few minutes, Suzanne suddenly felt the weight of a gaze upon her. The little hairs on her neck all stood up at attention. She opened her eyes and then gasped, startled at the cold expression in Brandon’s eyes. “Jesus, God. What the hell are you looking at? What is it?” She twisted around, expecting to see a serial killer or a member of the Bush family behind her bench. “What the hell are you looking at like that?”

  He shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” She looked at him, aghast. “So, staring at me like I’m a piece of garbage, in your book, is nothing? Because to me, it’s not nothing. In fact, to me, it sure looks like something.”

  “Wow.” His expression never changed. “Wow, I sure didn’t mean to stare at you like you were a piece of garbage. And, boy, if I did, I sure apologize.”

  “And you can cut the ‘gee whiz’ and ‘golly’ crap around me.” She realized she was a bit over the top with the anger she was releasing on him, but venting felt so good she couldn’t make herself stop. “Please remember you’re dealing with Molly’s mother, and she didn’t exactly inherit her take-no-bullshit-and-give-no-bullshit attitude from her constantly bullshitting father.”

  “Okay, I’ll remember that,” he agreed, amiably enough. “Can I get a map?”

  “A map?” she asked, baffled. “What do you mean, a map? A map of what?”

  “Your mood swings,” he said in that same calm voice. “I’d like to avoid the next land mine.”

  Oh, you arrogant little shit, she thought. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” She was on her feet now, bloodshed in her heart. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, it’s been rather a stressful summer; stressful year, stressful goddamn two decades, as a matter of fact. So, if my moods have been a little off while you’ve been a guest in my home, I’m so incredibly, deeply sorry.” She realized, even as she said it, that technically, he wasn’t staying in her home—he was staying in Buddy’s. But when she was angry, she generally looked for the first guilt weapon in verbal reach. She gave a short scream of frustration; it scared her even more than it scared the other people enjoying the autumn weather. Several startled kite-flyers looked toward the sound of her screech; a few mommies with babies on blankets held their children close, for just a minute.

  Before her humiliation had set upon her completely, Brandon leaped up onto the bench, holding his hands up in an “I surrender” gesture. Clearly, he understood that, whatever he’d said, he’d gone too far. After all, he was just a kid; kids were always running their mouths off about the wisdom of the world to those who knew better.

  They stared at each other for a second before the ridiculousness of the situation completely overtook them, and then dissolved into giggles.

  “I’m sorry,” she said finally, holding up a hand, helping him down, and plopping down beside him. “I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”

  “You missed your calling, sister. You should be a collections agent for the local loan shark.” He shook his head, half-admonishingly, half-admiringly. “Or a principal of a high school. You could have cut through that oak over there with the power of that nasty glare alone.”

  “I used to practice in the mirror when I was a little girl,” she told him confidentially. “Back when I was going to be an actress and have three Academy Awards before I hit thirty.”

  “I didn’t know you wanted to be an actress,” he said, delighted. “That’s terrific. What happened to that plan?”

  “Um, let’s see,” she pretended to think. “Oh, that’s right: I got knocked up before I graduated high school, third time in my life I’d ever been drunk. I didn’t like it that much, because of my mother’s, you know, problem. But I noticed it made some of the awkwardness around guys sort of float away, so I tossed a few beers back, maybe a couple of shots of tequila. In fact, I was so preoccupied with that all-important task—finding someone to buy booze for me—that I completely forgot to buy the condoms. That put the kibosh on my Academy Awards, college plans, and life in general.”

  “Well, clearly you had your priorities in order.” He patted her on the back. “Were you madly in love with him, or was it just, you know, all those hormones and nowhere to go?”

  She looked sideways at him through a pillar of smoke, exhaling. “I either love your brashness or I hate it. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Nice redirect, counselor.” He applauded. “Compliments me to distract me, albeit backhandedly, and completely gets us off the question without benefit of an answer.”

  “If I didn’t know better,” Suzanne groaned, “I’d swear you and Molly were twins separated at birth. But so far as I know, only one gay child has come from this body.” She sipped her coffee. “In answer to your question, at the time, I thought I loved him. He was a musician, and I’ve always loved people who could create music. Actually, we weren’t going to let the fact we had a baby stop us. No, we were going to move to Manhattan and take
turns taking care of the baby while the other one auditioned and worked. We were going to be the East Coast Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.”

  “In case you didn’t know, that didn’t turn out so well.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She smiled, thinking of that long-ago naiveté. “It was a heck of a plan . . . till the baby actually got here. We were going to save up a little every week until we had enough money to go. But somehow, nothing ever got saved up. After a while, it just became that thing we were going to do, when we talked about it at all. And awhile after that, we just stopped talking about it altogether.”

  “You could do it now that Molly’s off doing her own thing,” Brandon said excitedly. “Lop six, seven years off your age, and say you’ve been studying in London. Go live the crazy lifestyle: sleep on other actors’ floors, clean theatres in exchange for acting classes, waitress till four in the morning. I grew up in summer stock, and the theatre is a drug like you can’t imagine; besides, Estelle Getty didn’t start out till she was in her fifties. Kathryn Joostyn was in her late fifties when she started auditioning, and BAM! she’s on my hero Aaron Sorkin’s first TV shows.”

  He was comparing her to a Golden Girl, and a sexagenarian, and this was supposed to encourage her? Mama Mia, as her dad would have said, I’m old. True, there was a lot of theatre in the Seacoast, and she supposed maybe one day she could drop in on an audition, just to see what it was like—if it looked like fun, or something she’d die of embarrassment while trying.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m sure I’d become a Hollywood casualty without the benefit of actually seeing Hollywood.”

  “So get yourself a new dream.” He patted her on the leg. “You’re still young. Well, at least you’ve got a few good miles left in you.”

  “You are one wise eighteen-year-old,” she marveled, looking at him with both amusement and amazement. “Or a hell of a kiss-ass. One of the two. Look, I’m really sorry about before. It’s just . . .” She drew a deep breath, trying to find a Cliff’s Notes version for all she was feeling. “Divorce sucks,” she said at last. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s the right thing for me; hell, I’d have chewed my own arm off to get out of that trap if I’d had to, but we were married for eighteen years. That’s literally half of my life—so, it’s like saying that half my life has been a complete waste of time.”