by Wendy Wax
Twenty-six
Kendra
“I can’t believe you had the nerve to come here.” Lauren moves toward the table, her face a rictus of anger, horror, and outrage that she somehow manages to mask with an icy disdain that I have no idea how to crack through.
For the first time I understand the expression “if looks could kill.”
Bree moves almost protectively beside her, but my eyes are locked on Lauren’s face. If my hands weren’t clamped so tightly to the back of a chair I’d already be on the floor. I want desperately to turn and run, but I can’t do that now, not without at least trying to explain.
“What do you want?” Lauren’s words are pitched low as if there’s some chance everyone in the place hasn’t fallen quiet in order to hear.
What I truly want—to turn back time and make different choices—is impossible.
Yet here I am. “I can’t let you leave town without at least talking this through.”
“You can’t actually believe there’s anything you could say that would excuse what you’ve done.”
We are all frozen in place as if suddenly overcome by an avalanche. Lauren’s holding herself so stiffly I’m afraid she might break. “Please, sweetheart. Just sit down and listen.”
“No. I want you to leave. Now. Or I will.”
“Lauren.” Jake gets to his feet.
For a moment I’m afraid that he’ll leave and take Lauren with him. That they’ll all leave and this will be over before it begins. So much for my hope that Lauren would be unwilling to create a scene or storm out of a public place.
Her eyes go to Jake. “Did you know she was coming here?”
Jake sighs. My heart trip-hammers in my chest. It’s a setup. The ultimate payback to give me hope then snatch it away. I should never have come here. She’s just not ready. There’s nothing I can . . . But he doesn’t lie or evade. “Yes.”
“How could you after what she’s done?”
For a moment I think Lauren is going to storm off and I will have ruined everything not only for myself but for Jake, too.
“Because as sad and angry as I am, I loved her. And because she’s your mother and raised you to be the incredible person you are.” Jake speaks quietly and in a matter-of-fact tone that not even Lauren argues with.
In the silence that follows Bree motions to Clay but addresses Lauren. “We’re going to go home and give you all a chance to talk, but I’ll be up in case you need anything when you get back to the house. Thanks for dinner, Jake.”
“I’ll go take care of the bill and give you some privacy,” Jake says as soon as Bree and Clay head for the door.
“No.” Lauren shakes her head. “I’m not listening to her unless you are.”
“Okay.” He motions me to the chair directly across from them.
As I sit Spencer takes one of Lauren’s hands in his. A waiter arrives with after-dinner liqueurs. I take a sip as I try to gather my thoughts. Lauren downs hers in one anxious gulp and I am reminded yet again how much I’ve hurt her.
I can barely swallow around the panic that rises in my throat. As hard as it is, I look her in the eye. “I have never loved another human being, including myself, as much as I love you.
“My one clear thought when you were born and after was that I had to keep you and protect you.”
She’s still glaring at me, but she hasn’t left. So I keep talking. I am like Scheherazade only the words that rush out of my mouth are not meant to stave off a king but to hold on to my daughter.
“I was barely twenty-one and I had lived a pampered and sheltered life. I had no business being a mother, no understanding of what it really meant. I was so uncertain of what I wanted that I couldn’t even marry the person I loved.” Memories of that swirl of panic envelop me. So much damage done. “But from the moment they placed you in my arms all I could think about was keeping you safe. And that meant keeping you away from my father, who wanted me to give you up, and his influence over me.” I swallow back tears before rushing on.
“I always intended to tell you and your father about each other. Only when you were barely one, my aunt Velda told me Jake was getting married.” I remember how much that news hurt. How much I missed him and how desperately I clung to it as proof that I’d been right not to marry him. “It was a horrible blow. Because I’d already realized what a mistake I’d made in running. I, you see, I still loved him. To this day I don’t really understand why I ran.” I can’t even look at Jake while I admit this. “But I figured there was plenty of time until you were old enough to even understand. And, of course, everyone here had already assumed I’d lost a husband. And I had never corrected them.”
“You were only thinking about what people would think of you.” Lauren’s words are black and white. There is no hint of gray.
“No. Jake had already married someone else and my father was still looking for me and pretending even to our family that my pregnancy had never happened.
“By the time I was ready to tell your father, he was not only married but had started a family. I was keeping a roof over our heads and we were all right. It seemed better to let things be.” Painful as they are the words continue to spill out. “And then you turned five. I’d promised myself I’d tell you when you were old enough to understand. It was also the year you started asking about your father who ‘went to heaven.’ You’d just started Sunday school and that was how your teacher referred to him—when Velda started telling me about Jake’s wife and their . . . situation.”
I look to Jake to make sure he understands that I’m going to tell Lauren all of it. His expression is pained but he nods.
“You already told me she was unstable.” Lauren says this as if it’s nothing. “I don’t see . . .”
“That’s because you never had to see.” I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “But I knew firsthand what it meant. My mother was in and out of institutions. Never really there even when she was physically present.” I can feel my heart racing. I’m strangely light-headed. “And I heard that Jake’s wife was obsessed with being second choice. That even a mention of me or my family could set her off.”
Lauren looks to Jake for verification. He nods again. The toll it took is in his eyes and on his face.
“I couldn’t expose you to that, Lauren. And I believed it would only make the situation worse for Jake and his children. I couldn’t be the one to push her over the edge or set her off. Because I knew exactly what that could do to a child. To a family. I couldn’t.”
Lauren has gone still but I can see that she doesn’t want to believe any of it. Spencer is also silent, taking in every word and nuance.
“I would give anything to go back and see a way to do things differently.” I’m exhausted and heartsick from the admission I’ve been forced to make. The pain I’m causing is too sharp to be borne; a knife to my heart. “But I did what I thought was right. And this is where we are.”
“You taught me to always tell the truth,” she whispers. “You said it was the most important thing after love.”
“It is.” My voice breaks on the last word. “Only I thought this truth would destroy too many lives.”
“You chose protecting them, their family, over giving me my father.”
I don’t know what to say to this. Jake sits motionless in his seat. Lauren watches my face, but I don’t know what she’s looking for.
“I can understand you protecting me as a child. And your concern about Jake and his family,” she says finally. “But I am forty years old. And as far as I can see you intended to carry this secret to the grave.” Her eyes fill with tears that she does not shed. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to forgive that. Or how I could ever trust you again.” The sheen of tears is replaced by a frightening resolve.
My mouth goes dry with fear.
“Is there anything else you want to sa
y?”
“Only that I love you and that I am truly sorry for not making sure you knew your father and your grandparents.” I swallow. “And that I . . . I hope that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”
There’s a long terrible silence. Without another word she pushes back her chair. We all stand. Spencer puts his arm around her shoulders and as dazed and bereft as I feel, I’m grateful that she has someone who loves her to lean on. She turns without saying good-bye and they make their way to the door.
Jake hangs back for a moment. “I realize she’ll need time to come to terms with what’s happened, but surely she won’t . . .”
“Cut me out of her life like I cut you out?” I know as I say this that it’s entirely possible. I know our daughter in ways Jake never will, thanks to me, and I’ve watched how she’s handled what she sees as defection or betrayal. She and Bree were as close as sisters and even now she hasn’t really forgiven her or moved on. What I’ve done, or failed to do, is far worse. “It would be poetic justice, wouldn’t it? And no more than I deserve.” I huff out a breath. It’s that or cry and I will not do that here. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry, Jake. And I’m glad you’ll have each other.” My voice cracks again. Unable to meet his eyes or watch him leave I walk as slowly as I can manage to the ladies’ room, barely feeling the eyes that follow me. I sit in the stall dazed and dry-eyed until I’m certain the coast must be clear.
Then I walk to my car and drive home. Life as I’ve known it is over and I have no interest at all in a new one.
* * *
Lauren
Despite the two Tylenol PM I downed before I crawled into bed last night, I didn’t sleep or avoid a hangover. I feel like roadkill. A glance in the bathroom mirror confirms that I look like it, too.
For the first time in decades I am not consumed with fear because I have to fly. In fact, I’m so emotionally drained that all I care about is going home even if I have to get on a plane to get there.
Apparently, finding out your mother is not at all the person you thought she was is all it takes to cure a fear of flying. I’d notify the airlines and my readers of this shocking discovery except the dull ache hiding beneath my righteous anger tells me that not many people—including me—would choose this remedy.
Spencer managed to look surprisingly alert this morning when he went out for a run despite my tossing and turning and my three A.M. suggestion that we go ahead and get on the road.
I heard him and Bree talking when he first went downstairs. Even though I couldn’t make out what they were saying I have no doubt she now knows everything that was said after she and Clay left Blue Point.
By the time I go downstairs in search of coffee Clay and Lily are gone. Bree is dressed and ready to leave for the store. She pours me a cup then creams and sugars it the way I like. As she hands it to me, her face is scrunched up in the way that always signaled she was screwing up her nerve. “You are going to forgive her at some point, aren’t you?” She looks at me hopefully.
The coffee I’m sipping turns bitter. Much as I need the caffeine, I barely manage to swallow it. “Have you forgiven your parents?” I’m way too hungover and sleep deprived to wait for an answer. “At least they didn’t pretend to be abandoning you for your own good.”
“But you can’t mean to cut her out of your life. Not when you’ve been so close. Not when . . .”
“Maybe we were so close because we were all each other had. Do you really think she had the right to keep my father and me apart? To let me believe he was dead?”
“But she was protecting you. And Jake and his family. She devoted her whole life to you.”
I snort. “She lied to me my entire life. She’s created more fiction than I ever have.”
“Oh, Lauren. I know it’s all a huge shock. Anyone would be upset. But she tried to make the best choices she could in a really difficult situation. That’s what good parents do. That’s all anyone can do.”
The coffee churns in my stomach along with my anger. I’m so mad I can barely look at her. “So I just don’t understand because I’m not a parent? That’s bullshit. A total cop-out. That’s what weak people say when they make the wrong choices.”
Bree doesn’t back off. “You’re always in the right, aren’t you? Everyone else is at fault. We’re supposed to stand in line and beg your forgiveness.” She shakes her head. She’s angry, but I hear the sadness, too. “I have some experience with your inability to grant it.”
“Is that right?”
Brianna’s face is still scrunched up and forlorn. Once again she’s the victim. The one other people abandon and treat badly. “I didn’t go to New York with you. I chose another path. It’s not like I ruined your life.”
I blink. The anger that’s been simmering so close to the surface since Jake first appeared and the truth came out boils over. Bree is not the only one who’s ever been a victim. “You went back on a lifelong promise. A shared dream. And . . .” I stop.
“And what? You always act like it was some great, awful hardship,” she says. “It’s not like you didn’t come out the winner here. What could have possibly been so terrible?”
“I was alone in the most terrifying city on the planet. And because my roommate backed out at the last minute, I couldn’t afford the place I spent six months finding for us. I couldn’t afford to live in any safe, decent place.”
“I know. You had to beg strangers to let you camp on their couch.” She tosses out the words as if they’re nothing. “But isn’t that part of what twenty-one-year-olds do when they go there? Live on someone’s couch. Eat ramen noodles. Isn’t that the whole I-conquered-New-York, rite-of-passage thing?”
Normally I stop there. I don’t even like to think about what happened when I arrived in New York. But that tone of hers, its insistence that I’m overreacting, isn’t going to cut it. Not today. For the first time in twenty years I tell the complete truth about what happened.
“Yeah, well, unfortunately I didn’t even know any strangers that I could beg to let me rent a couch from when I got there, did I? I didn’t know anyone, Bree. And it didn’t help that I got mugged less than twenty minutes after I got off the bus.”
Her face falls. And I know I should stop now. Stop and walk away with my pride intact and my “story” in place. But apparently at this moment I need someone else to feel as bad as I do.
“In fact, if I hadn’t tucked away three hundred-dollar bills inside a sock, a shoe, and my underwear like I’d read in an article, I wouldn’t have had any money. I made it last for three whole weeks at this filthy, horrible hotel in Hell’s Kitchen—when it really was hell and not the trendy neighborhood it is today. And FYI—fleabag isn’t a euphemism. It was so filthy I never got between the sheets and I only slept with my clothes on. Well, I didn’t really sleep. I would just lay there until it was morning.”
She looks slightly green, which suits me just fine.
“Of course, if I had been tucked under the covers and actually asleep I might not have gotten away from the drunk who couldn’t afford one of the prostitutes down the hall and broke into my room and tried to rape me.”
“Oh, Lauren.” Her hand goes to her throat. “Oh God. That’s so awful. Why didn’t you call? Or at least come home for a while and regroup?”
“And give up before I ever started?” My eyes narrow, mostly, I think, so that I won’t cry. I’ll be sobbing all over her if I’m not careful. “The fact that you even ask that question shows how different we really are.” I can’t seem to stop there, either. “I cried for days. And every night I sat awake with a baseball bat in my hand and a whistle on a string around my neck, even though I wasn’t sure anyone would come if I blew it.”
I shudder out a breath. There’s a reason I never talk about this. “Finally, after I started waiting tables, I met another waitress who was looking to rent out the sofa in her sixth-floor walk-
up, and I grabbed it. It took me almost a full year to earn enough to get a room at the Webster. It was only after I moved in there that I put the bat under the bed, the whistle on the nightstand, and actually slept for a whole night.”
Her mouth trembles as if she’s the one who might cry. Horror and pity are etched on her face.
I shrug and pour myself a second cup of coffee as if I haven’t just intentionally scalded her with all the ugly truths that I’ve never shared with anyone, including Spencer.
“I survived. It’s all just backstory now.” I say this with pride. To not only survive whatever New York City throws at you, but to succeed, is a point of honor. Still, dredging up these memories is painful. I feel small and mean for throwing them at Brianna, but I refuse to show it. “Thanks again for putting us up.”
“Oh, Lauren. I’m so sorry. Please . . .”
Her sympathy comes close to undoing me. Still holding back tears, I turn and carry my coffee upstairs to shower and dress. By the time Spencer gets back from his run and does the same, Bree is gone.
Our bags are in the rental car and we’re ready to leave when Clay’s truck pulls into the drive. I wonder uncharitably if he thinks we’re gone and he’s got somebody with him, but it’s not even ten. That’s too early for a nooner, right?
He climbs out and retrieves a large white Kinko’s box from the seat.
I feel a flush of remorse for how badly I treated Bree this morning. It’s all I can do not to read him the riot act about his cheating. How’s that for displacement? “Thanks for having us.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Spencer steps forward and claps him on the back. “We really appreciate you taking us in.”
“No problem.” He doesn’t bring up the wedding or ask when we’ll be coming back, for which I’m grateful. I pull the car keys out of my pocket.
“Do you have room for this?” He holds up the box.
“You want me to take your printing to New York?”