She Effin' Hates Me

by Scarlett Savage

  “The first thought I had was,” Suzanne asked softly, “what else don’t I know?”

  Molly’s arrogant, angry expression faded away. Now she looked confused.

  “I mean, clearly we’re not nearly as close as I thought,” she rubbed her hands on her face, trying to stave off even more tears, “and that hurts, Molly. That really, really hurts. But you know what really kills me about all this?”

  “No.” Molly’s tone was now genuinely curious.

  Suzanne stopped pacing and looked directly into the face of her child.

  “You went through it all alone,” she whispered. “All by yourself. I had no idea. I just didn’t know. And because I didn’t know, I wasn’t there.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “I’ll never forgive myself for that,” Suzanne pressed on. “In fact, I hate myself for that. I could have been there. I should have been there.” By force of habit, she tried to explain. “But there was so much going on—my jobs, all the stuff to do around the house. Then this year, I was so wrapped up in the idea of finally getting rid your dad and so terrified by the idea of being free of him. And damn it, I didn’t see a thing. I should have, I should have. You were so independent, I thought.” She paused to scrub away her tears, knowing her mascara was probably down to her collarbone by now. “I should have been paying more attention. I should have known something was . . .”

  “I wanted you to be thinking about those things!” Molly suddenly erupted. “I was the one who told you to get rid of that asshole. From the time I was ten years old, I wanted you to divorce him. He was right there ignoring me and mooching off my time as much as he was yours, you know. Any chores he was supposed to be doing invariably got pawned off on me, unless I wanted to see you work another eight hours at home once you got home from a double shift. So, I mean, I know you didn’t know, but how could you when . . .”

  Suzanne was already shaking her head.

  “Because you’re my daughter, that’s why! My little girl!! The most important thing in my life! I should have sensed something; I should have confronted you. Instead, you must have just . . . You were all alone. I didn’t help you.”

  The image of Molly sitting alone in her room, lonely, scared, feeling like a freak, feeling like an outcast, considering all of the scary punishments for lesbians in the world, rose to her mind unbidden. Then came another image of herself netsurfing or reading or doing the dishes outside Molly’s room, oblivious to the pain that was only a few feet away, and her nearly spent sobs were renewed. It was time to ask her the biggest question, the hardest question, the question that had choked her ever since she’d read about it.

  “Did something happen to you to make you like this?” she managed to ask.

  “Like this?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow. Brandon gave her a look, and she let it go. “What do you mean, like this?”

  “I read this article that said victims of sexual abuse sometimes . . .”

  “Oh, my God, no.” Molly immediately put a stop to that horrible thought. “No, Mom, of course not. If something like that had ever happened, I’d have told you. But no, nothing like that.”

  “Then how did it happen?” Suzanne asked.

  “It doesn’t really work on a ‘how did it happen’ kind of basis,” Brandon began, but Molly interrupted yet again.

  “That’s why you’ve been so upset these past couple of days?” Molly asked incredulously.

  Suzanne nodded, her face still buried in Brandon’s flamboyant flame-colored shirt.

  “Really? You’re sure? Not even a little bit that you’re disappointed that I’m . . .”

  “A lesbian?” Suzanne pulled away from Brandon and rummaged through her pocketbook for a Kleenex. “Oh, for God’s sake, Molly. I practically grew up in the theatre. There was a time, when I knew more gay couples than straight ones.” She blew her nose good and hard. “I’m not going to lie to you, it was a shock at first, and it took me a day or so to get used to the idea.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, sure.” Suzanne blew her nose again for good measure. “It takes a little time to make a radical adjustment, you know? So now, instead of asking after boyfriends, I’ll be asking after girlfriends, that sort of thing.” She looked down; no use holding anything back now. “But, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m not worried. This isn’t exactly an easy society to be gay in . . . for either gender.”

  “I know all that.” Molly looked hard at her mother. “But if this was so easy for you to accept,” she asked, and the hurt little girl inside her peeped out with these words, “then why have you been avoiding me?”

  Suzanne touched Molly’s hair, tucking it behind her ears. “I told you why, sweetie. Between marrying too young and missing college and job-hopping for the past eighteen years, there wasn’t a whole lot I was proud of in my life,” Suzanne admitted. “But I was proud of my relationship with you. My friendship with my only child. And it seemed like even that wasn’t as good as I’d thought. I just can’t believe that I had no idea whatsoever.”

  “None? None at all?” Brandon asked skeptically.

  Suzanne elbowed him in the ribs. “None at all.” She continued to stroke her daughter’s hair. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of who you are. Look at you, Molly. You’re so . . . You’re such a complete person. Far more so than I ever was, especially at your age. And even better, you’re so comfortable with who you are, with where you’re going. And I had nothing to do with that. I don’t deserve a daughter like you.”

  A moment passed as Suzanne, struggling with her tears, gave into the desire for her tenth cigarette of the afternoon. Counting them up like they suggested online could cause depression, she’d read. But maybe that was the point.

  “Well, that takes some of the wind out of my argument, Mom,” Molly finally admitted. She took her mother’s hands in her own. “Mom, you did help, you did. Whenever I was in one of my funks, you’d make me laugh or take me shopping. You always asked me what was wrong if I was grouchy, and you always laughed with me when I was goofy. But no offense, Mom, sometimes . . . How can I put this?”

  “Sometimes, there’s stuff you just aren’t comfortable talking to Mommy about?” Brandon chimed in helpfully.

  “Yeah, but see,” Suzanne stammered, tears threatening to come again, “I always wished I had a mom I could talk to about that stuff. I told her the first time I slept with Steve, but that was it.”

  “Maybe deep down, you were hoping she’d have a stroke,” Brandon guessed. It earned him a ghost of a smile from the two women, but it was the first smile he’d seen in a while, so he’d take whatever he could get.

  “I always thought we were best friends, you know?” Suzanne said, her voice finally starting to return somewhat to normal. “At least, you were mine.”

  “We were, Mom!” Molly insisted. “I mean, we are! It wasn’t like I woke up one morning and suddenly had it figured out. It took a long time before I could admit it to myself, even.”

  “Did you think I’d judge you?” Suzanne clutched Molly’s hand tightly to her breast. “Did you think I’d try to deny it, or try to convince you it was some kind of crazy phase?” She paused for a second. “Hey, honey, it’s not some kind of crazy phase, is it?”

  Brandon burst out laughing, and Molly groaned.

  “Just when I think you’re the coolest mom of all time, you gotta throw a little bit of old-time, geeky fifties housewife in there,” Molly sighed.

  “Geez, Suze, up till then, you were doing so well,” Brandon complained. “This is definitely going to affect your overall score by the judges’ ruling.”

  “Hey!” she replied warningly. “I haven’t said or done anything to embarrass my kid yet. I’m allowed a few dumb-assed remarks, aren’t I? It’s practically a parental prerequisite.”

  “Well, let’s dial down the embarrassment factor on the Moll-ster just a little,” Molly squeezed Suzanne’s hands tightly, “and let me cut to the chase on a few major points. I’ve known I was a
ttracted to girls—no, wait—I’ve admitted to myself that I was attracted to girls for about a year.”

  “How did you—I mean, what was it like for you before that? I always knew you weren’t as into boys as other girls are, but I thought . . . well, you were so serious about your studies, and I thought you were just trying to avoid getting pregnant in high school like I did.”

  “Mom, not every single thing I do is a direct reflection of you.” Molly rolled her eyes, exasperated.

  “Stay on point, Molly,” Brandon advised.

  “Right, right.” Molly was properly chastised. “Okay. Well, when all my girlfriends were gushing about cute boys, I sort of just went along for the ride. You know, pretended to have a crush on Matt Gruber because everyone else did.”

  Suzanne wrinkled her nose. Matt Gruber had been thrown out of high school amidst accusations of date rape and a proven case of prescription medication theft. Basically, he’d been the new millennium’s equivalent of her ex-husband. Ex-husband, she thought. Wow, did that phrase feel good.

  Time to revel later, she reminded herself. Now it’s time to listen . . . Listen like you’ve never listened before.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it was sixth grade, who knew? I figured I was a late bloomer and sooner or later it would kick in for me.” Molly shrugged. “But, then it never did. I thought I was sort of, I don’t know, asexual. Like it just wasn’t as important to me as other things were.”

  Suzanne nodded, relieved to hear that at least she had understood that part without being told anything.

  “And this past year, you know, senior year, the big one, when three different guys asked me to the prom and everyone else was talking about what party or hotel room they’d get laid at after. The thought of getting intimate with any of those guys . . .” She shuddered. “And then I had to admit, the thought of being with any guy at all made me feel the same way. So, I finally had to admit to myself that boys just didn’t do anything for me.”

  Suzanne nodded. “Well, with your father as an example, I could see why,” she said sympathetically. Brandon winked.

  “And,” Molly squeezed her hands and looked deep into her mother’s eyes, “before you ask yet again, I want you to know, it was nothing you did.”

  “Really?” Suzanne looked back into her daughter’s eyes and saw nothing but sincerity reflected there. “Really? I didn’t fail you in some way and turn you into a lesbian?”

  Brandon groaned, but Molly’s laughter rang throughout the courtyard. “It doesn’t really work that way, Mom. And you didn’t fail me.”

  “You promise?” Suzanne asked fervently. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll look better when I tell this story to my court-ordered shrink?”

  “I swear, I’m not just saying it,” Molly insisted. “I promise.”

  “Suze, trust me on this one,” Brandon reassured her. “She’s not just saying it.”

  “Thank God.” Suzanne sighed, picking up her cigarettes and lighting one up. For once, Molly didn’t make a face or feign a coughing fit. “Because, frankly, I thought if there was a Mother of the Year Award, I’d get the gold.”

  Molly smiled, then pretended to consider. “Maybe the silver,” she said. “You’d have gotten the gold if you’d kicked Dad out sooner.”

  They smiled at each other then happily, both relieved, both with a new respect for the other, but knowing they didn’t need to say it, in words.

  “So, everything’s cool?” Brandon asked softly.

  “Almost. I just need an answer to the most important question,” Suzanne began.

  “Yes, Mom,” Molly smiled. “I’m happy.”

  “Not that, silly.” She looked at Molly expectantly. “Am I ever going to become a grandmother?”

  “She’s gay!” Brandon cried indignantly. Shocked, Suzanne pointed an accusing finger at him.

  “Don’t enforce your sexual roles and expectations on my child, thank you very much,” she said haughtily.

  “Geez, Mom, I don’t know,” Molly said, squirming a bit. “I’m only eighteen. I haven’t even thought about it. Kids are quite a ways away for me, if at all, you know?”

  “Well, you think about it.” Suzanne cupped Molly’s chin in her palm. “You’re my only child, so you’re my only chance at having grandchildren and therefore achieving total happiness in life . . . But no pressure.”

  “You’re only thirty-six,” Molly retorted. “You’ve got some time before that uterus stops ticking.”

  Suzanne started to groan but then remembered her date with Sean the previous night.

  “You know, I guess that’s not completely out of the question. Babies are so much fun,” she added, sounding like Ava to her own ears. “Your grandmother was somewhat disappointed when she found out you weren’t pregnant. Maybe I can make it up to her.”

  “Wow, Suze,” Brandon howled. “You don’t just land on your feet, you bounce back with a vengeance, don’t you?”

  “Well, I was mostly kidding, and what’s with this ‘Suze’?” Suzanne demanded. “I said you could call me Suzanne. I didn’t say you could get cute with it.”

  He shook his head, smiling. “Sorry, Suze, it’s stuck to you like gum to a bedpost.”

  Suzanne turned back to her daughter. “All that matters to me is that Molly Juliet Lauder is happy. And I can’t be happy, ever, until I know that.”

  “I am happy, Mom,” Molly told her. “But I’m not a Lauder.”

  “I hate to tell you, dear, but it’s truly impossible for you to be anyone’s but Steve’s . . .”

  “No, you goofball,” Molly admonished. “I’m giving up the name Lauder. I’ve got no emotional connection to it whatsoever.”

  “What are you changing your name to?” Brandon asked.

  Molly looked at her mother for a moment, her eyes dancing. “I was going to tell you and Grandma together, but . . . the thing is, I’m changing my name to Applebaum,” she said proudly. “I want to be like you and Grandma, and I want the world to know it.”

  Suzanne hugged Molly tightly again. It had been such a relief to go back to her maiden name; it almost felt like reclaiming herself again. For her daughter to want to join her, it was a gesture so sweet that it was beyond tears.

  “Wait a minute,” she paused, suspicious, “Grandma didn’t offer you money to do it, did she?”

  “Nope.” Molly shook her head proudly. “I thought of it all on my own. After all, I’m just as much Applebaum as I am Lauder, and frankly, I’d like to fumigate the Lauder part of my genes. This is a good start.”

  “You are happy,” Suzanne said, and it wasn’t a question. “And if you’re happy, then I’m happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

  Molly’s own tears started now, trickling black eye makeup all the way down her cheek. In Suzanne’s mind, it did nothing to make her look less lovely. “You’re the best, Mom,” she said tearfully, throwing herself into her mother’s arms.

  “No,” Suzanne corrected her, “you’re the best!”

  Brandon couldn’t stand it anymore, and he burst out crying. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this!” He threw his long arms around both of them.

  Suzanne and Molly laughed, and for the next few minutes, the three of them rocked in one long, crazy hug, laughing, squeezing, and crying. It was crazy, dopey, and very, very good.

  TWENTY

  “Are you sure this dressy is a good idea?” Buddy asked doubtfully as he fiddled with his tie. “This seems awfully fancy for a date in the front yard.”

  “See, the chinos balance out the dress shirt and the silk tie.” Brandon straightened it for him, leaning back with a critical eye. “I wish you’d have let me talk you into a pair of distressed jeans. Now that’s a look.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t do jeans,” Buddy said firmly. “Reminds me of all those peacenik bums who were throwing shit at the buses and calling me a ‘baby killer’ when I got home from the war.”

  “No war talk tonight.” Brandon firmly tapped Buddy�
�s shoulder. “The ladies find it a turnoff.”

  “How the hell would you know?” Buddy asked.

  The man had a point.

  “Okay, I’d find it a turnoff,” Brandon admitted, “and I’m not a girl, but I have opinions just as strong as one.” He picked a brush and went to work on Buddy’s hair. “There’s this one cowlick that doesn’t want to lie down, no matter what I do.”

  “That’s been there since the day I was born,” Buddy said cheerfully. “It was the bane of my mother’s existence.”

  Finally Brandon stepped back, finished with his transformation.

  “Okay,” he said proudly. “You look great.”

  “Great?” Buddy asked in dismay. “Great is all I get? I thought you fellas were supposed to be all up on sensitivity and stuff. Look at me. I’m practically shitting my pants here. You’re gonna have to do a lot better than a one-word compliment, even if the word is ‘great.’”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. My bad.” Brandon clasped his hands together and clicked his heels, ever the good servant. “You’re regal, you’re elegant, you’re the man. You’re a tiger. A tiger trapped in the body of a man with the legs of a stallion.”

  “Okay, you’ve officially made me nervous,” Buddy said flatly. “But that’s better. So, I’m ready?”

  “You’re ready,” Brandon pronounced him. “You’ve been ready for this for several decades now, and you damn well know it.”

  “And then some,” Buddy told him, glancing out the window. His beaming face fell just a bit. “She’s not out there.”

  “She’s waiting for you to be out there first,” Brandon informed him, standing. “That’s a lady’s game. Come on, let’s go out and get the table all set up.”

  “You sure?” Buddy worried that maybe she’d changed her mind. The last thing he wanted to be was the schmuck standing in front of her picnic table in chinos and a silk tie while the moon shone brightly overhead, mocking him.

  “I’m sure. You know how they like to make the big entrances,” Brandon said. “Trust me, I know this one.”

  “For someone who’s not attracted to women, you sure seem to know an awful lot about them,” Buddy commented.