She swiveled around, and raised her arms as if she were a conductor. “And a one, a two, and a one, two, three,” she said.
Summer’s friends tried, but fear made their voices weak and watery. No one had lit the candles, she noticed, blinking back tears as she made a wish anyway.
I wish my mom would die.
The thought, as private as it was, horrified Summer. But it entered her mind unbidden. The song ended. Willow grasped a huge bread knife in her unsteady hand and as she leaned forward to cut the cake she lost her balance and smashed her entire fist down onto what had been such a lovely creation.
It seemed to Summer like the whole thing happened in slow motion. Willow’s hand touched the frosting and then broke through its pristine surface. The top of the cake itself gave way, and her forearm plunged deeply into it.
Summer and her friends gasped.
Willow seemed not to notice until her fist had reached down into the bottom layer, and then she stopped the motion abruptly and said, “Oh, my.”
That was it, Summer thought. “Oh, my.”
In her attempt to extricate herself from the mess, Willow toppled the other way, flinging the knife into the air before it clattered down onto the floor.
Summer’s friends stood frozen, staring at the mess in the dining room. Summer fled. She hid, alone in her bedroom, until long after her friends’ sober parents came to pick them up.
***
The modern day Willow looked exactly the same as she had on Summer’s tenth birthday. And she was just as drunk, too.
“Why, hello, girls,” she said, stretching out the word, “girls” as if it were honey she was licking off a spoon.
“Hello,” Delaney and Josie mumbled, the hilarity from a moment ago leaking out slowly like the helium in ten-year-old Summer’s birthday balloons. They kept folding laundry.
“What are you three up to?” Willow said.
Josie held up the shirt she’d been holding over her face just a moment ago. “Um, folding laundry?”
Willow arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Summer’s instincts prickled.
“Are you drunk, Willow?” she said.
Willow came further into the house, leaving the door open behind her. “Of course not, honey. I’ve been drinking so long, I don’t even get drunk anymore.”
Summer groaned again. Delaney and Josie set down their laundry and stood up.
“You’re not leaving me,” Summer said, her voice coming out in a half-hiss, half-growl. “I need backup.”
They looked at each other, then looked back at her and nodded. “Okay,” Delaney said.
“Fine,” Josie said.
“So, I see the three of you have tackled the domestic duties.” Sarcasm oozed from Willow’s mouth.
“How much have you had to drink?” Summer asked.
“Not nearly enough,” Willow said.
Delaney tiptoed over to the front door and shut it, then returned to her spot and resumed folding laundry.
“I told you that you had to stop drinking if you were going to stay here,” Summer said.
Willow lifted a shoulder and dropped it. So casually. “I just went out for a bit. I wasn’t drinking here.” On the word, “here,” she pointed at the floor.
A laugh escaped Josie’s mouth, and Summer shot her a look.
“You’ve got to move out,” Summer said.
Now Willow laughed, a high cackle that pierced the air like so many tiny arrows.
“You can’t force me to move out,” Willow said.
Josie stood up. When Delaney didn’t, Josie nudged her with her foot. Once the two of them were standing side by side, Josie said to Willow, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, Willow.”
Willow managed to look surprised, although Summer thought it was probably an act.
“Young lady, I don’t believe you have the authority to tell me whether I have to leave.”
“Oh, but I do,” Josie said. “I have more authority to kick you out than you have to be here. Especially in the state you’re in.”
“And what state is that?”
“I think we all know what state that is,” Josie said. “Drunk off your pretty, skinny little ass. And I’m positive Summer told you to stop drinking while you’re here.”
Willow laughed again. “She did, did she? And how do you know?”
“She told us,” Delaney said, apparently having found her voice.
“Well, little ladies,” Willow said, “I have news for you. I’m not leaving. I’m sticking around.”
No one spoke, except Winter, who said, Crickets.
“Why are you doing this?” Summer asked. Despite Willow being a waif by their standards, Summer could tell her friends had entered fight or flight and were getting ready to flee. They stood side by side, their hands nearly touching as if, at any moment, they’d have to help each other escape.
“Why am I doing what?” Willow said.
“Getting drunk off your ass, after I asked you not to.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Willow said.
“I was serious when I asked you not to drink,” Summer said.
“You didn’t ask me. You told me,” Willow said. “You act like it’s so easy,”
“It’s a choice,” Summer said. “I choose to get up every morning and feed my kids. I choose not to get drunk every night. I choose to stay healthy, for them, for my husband, for myself. It’s a choice, Willow, and you’re making the wrong one. You’re fifty-two freakin’ years old, and you’re still making the wrong choice.”
Willow sighed.
“Very dramatic,” Summer said. “But you need to leave now.”
“I won’t,” Willow said.
Josie sucked in a breath. Delaney grabbed her hand.
“This is my house,” Summer said. “You’re no longer welcome here.”
“Was I ever?”
Summer shrugged. “I guess not, no.”
“You need my help,” Willow said, her eyes hardening and gathering sudden focus as she looked hard into Summer’s. “You are barely holding it together. You are on the verge of breaking. You think you’re so strong, you think you have it all figured out. But you’re this close” (she held up her thumb and forefinger, squinting at the measurement) “to an involuntary stint in the loony bin.”
Summer was close to breaking. The truth of Willow’s words stung, but she wouldn’t let her see it.
“You need to leave now,” Summer said.
“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m your mother.”
“You haven’t been my mother for fifteen years,” Summer said.
Derek, of course, chose that moment to walk through the front door. He paused after closing it, taking in the scene with a mixture of fascination and horror.
“Hi, ladies,” he said. When he was met with a steely silence, he said, “Long day at work. I’ll just go shower.”
Summer felt her temper rising yet again.
“I’ll see you out,” she said to Willow.
She moved toward her mother, planning to lead her out the front door, but Willow spun around to get out of Summer’s grasp and shouted, “You can’t make me leave! I am your mother!”
Delaney and Josie grabbed one another’s hands. Summer gripped Willow’s arm and marched her toward the front door. Derek emerged from the bedroom in sweatpants and a T-shirt. “Wait.”
***
Summer froze, and Willow smiled. Summer could see the victorious, catlike glint in her eye. Derek flinched when Summer made eye contact with him.
“Wait,” he repeated.
Summer arched an eyebrow and Willow crossed her arms. Summer could see Willow’s head nodding slowly. She pursed her lips as if Derek were reiterating some point she had made previously.
“Um, I think this is our cue,” Josie said.
Delaney scurried around as if she were looking for something, but Summer knew it was just misplaced energy.
“You can go,” she said qui
etly. “Don’t worry about me, Dee.”
Delaney’s entire body relaxed and she and Josie practically ran out the door.
“You can go, too, Willow,” Summer said.
“I’ll just go to bed,” Willow said.
“That’s not what I—” Summer said, but Derek raised a hand to cut her off.
Willow sauntered out of the living room and Summer was left facing her husband, anger boiling in her veins.
A rapid boil, Winter said.
“What was the meaning of that?” Summer said.
“She’s your mother. You can’t just kick her out,” Derek said.
“Oh, but I can. It’s not your choice, not really. And she’s not my mother.” When Derek didn’t respond, Summer added, “Since when do you get to decide everything that happens in this house?”
Now he held up both hands, surrendering. She knew he didn’t want to fight. He was the non-confrontational one, the one who walked away. Nevertheless, at the moment, Summer felt like being the aggressor.
“Why do you really want her to stay here, Derek?”
She didn’t even bother keeping her voice calm. She could hear it escalating just above the normal range and for once she didn’t rein it in. Why should you? said Winter, who was now her ally, apparently. When Derek didn’t answer, Summer stomped her foot. Because of the tension, she almost laughed at herself, at how much she resembled a toddler with the foot stomping, but she managed not to.
After a tick of silence, Derek said, “Let’s not talk about this right now. We’re both tired. Can we revisit in the morning?”
“Always the peacemaker,” Summer said. “I want to talk about it now.”
Derek adjusted his stance, shifted his weight and shook his head. “Tomorrow.”
Typically, she’d agree. Typically, she’d nod. She’d follow him to bed, they’d kiss goodnight, and they’d go to sleep. In the morning, they’d be refreshed, ready to discuss whatever sticky subject had come up the night before.
But not tonight.
“No,” Summer said. “Let’s get this resolved tonight.”
Derek raised both eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. Why, Derek? Why do you want her to stay?”
“I want it for you. She’s your mom.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. I’m not. I don’t think you should turn her away. I don’t think you should give up on this chance to heal your relationship.”
“What are you, some kind of hippie?” Summer said. “It’s my choice.”
“I think you guys should reconcile,” he said.
“Oh, do you, now?” Summer said. Her voice was so calm it scared her.
“I want this for you,” Derek said.
“Do you really want this for me? Or do you want her here because you feel guilty that you’re having to work so much and you can’t help me?”
Although he’d been looking at the floor, he made brief eye contact with her and she knew she’d struck a chord. But he denied it, shaking his head again.
“If that’s it, I appreciate it,” Summer said, “but let’s hire a nanny or something. It doesn’t have to be her.”
Derek sighed. “She’s your mother.”
“I think we have two different ideas of what the word ‘mother’ means,” Summer said. “Your mother is the epitome of a good mother. She bakes. She hugs you. She brings our kids presents. Because of that, you don’t understand that mothers can screw up your life just as well as they gave it to you.”
“You need to give her a chance,” Derek said.
“I did give her a chance. I’ve given her lots of chances. And she keeps screwing me.”
“But you haven’t seen her in fifteen years.”
“I don’t care!” Summer said. Derek flinched again. She knew her voice was too loud, and she didn’t want to wake the kids. “I don’t care,” she hissed in a whisper she knew she’d hate herself for later. “I don’t care if I ever see her again.”
“Let’s talk about this tomorrow,” Derek said again. “We should go to bed.”
“Ugh,” Summer growled. “I don’t want to go to bed. I want you to go in there and tell Willow she has to leave.”
“I don’t want her to leave, Summer. Okay?”
Summer inhaled, ready to fire back at him. But he stopped her, his palm facing her like a stop sign.
“You’re right on the edge. You’re this close to losing it. I’m afraid I’m going to come home one night and you’re going to have lit the house on fire because you forgot about some bacon on the stove, or you’re going to have forgotten one of the kids at school or totally skipped feeding them all day.”
Summer’s mouth dropped open. “Is that really what you think of me?” She was powerless to stop the shrieking. “Is that what you think of the woman you married? That I would catch our house on fire and forget to care for our children? Have any of them ever missed a single meal? Have I ever left one of them at the grocery store? I am so sorry that I failed to live up to your expectations.”
“It’s not that, Summer, I—”
“Don’t placate me. You think I’ve lost it. You think I’m crazy. Incapable.”
“It’s not that. It’s…” his voice trailed off. “I’m working. You’re alone with them a lot. And you’re working, too. You can’t do it all. You just can’t. And that’s okay. It’s okay to admit you need help.”
“But not from her! I don’t need help from that woman! And you can’t make me!”
This time, she couldn’t help but laugh.
Suddenly, they were both laughing. She fell into his arms, and they giggled and howled and held each other as they wept with laughter.
***
“You can’t make me,” became a joke the year Sarah turned four. A stubborn, spirited little girl, her parents had often had to coax her into taking baths, eating dinner, getting dressed, getting in the car.
Neither of them wanted to yell at her or spank her or threaten her with terrible consequences at every turn, so they started negotiating with her. Every time, they’d get so close, and she’d say, “You can’t make me.”
It was exhausting. But it was funny.
It was funny then and it was funny now.
“This conversation isn’t over. She’s not staying,” Summer said as they wiped tears from their eyes.
“I think I can change your mind.” Derek rubbed her back and let his hand roam down and cup her bottom. Summer swatted it away.
“Not tonight, you can’t. I’m tired.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Summer.”
Not even trying for pretenses, Summer dropped her head onto the kitchen table as Willow approached. “What.”
“I’m really sorry,” Willow said.
This is new.
“For what.”
“Would you look at me when I’m talking to you?”
“No, thanks.”
Summer had gotten up early to steal some alone time before anyone demanded her attention. Six a.m. had just ticked by and although she’d been awake for thirty minutes, Summer felt like it was too early to have to interact with Willow.
“Look. I’m sorry. Okay? I drank too much last night.”
“You drank too much on lots of nights. What made last night so special you want to apologize for it? Why don’t you apologize for drinking too much over the course of my entire childhood?”
“I’m sorry, Summer. I am. The day before yesterday, I—”
Summer cut her off. “‘I finally got away from your madhouse, Summer, and couldn’t resist a couple of nips from the bottle, but don’t worry, I waited until after the kids were in bed to get completely sloshed.’”
“Don’t mock me, young lady,” Willow said.
“Oh, such a parental tone. You are ridiculous. I told you I don’t want you drinking around me or my kids. You say it’s so important to you to rebuild our relationship and to connect with your grandchildren. Yet you completely n
eglect my request to tone it down with the drinking. It’s the one request I make. The single thing I ask for. I don’t ask you to help with the kids, with dishes, or laundry, or all of those things you promised when you begged me to stay here. All I ask is that you don’t get drunk off your ass. Then, last night, you waltz in here, drunk off your ass. Just like you did the day you ruined my tenth birthday. What the hell were you thinking?”
Willow slid into the seat across from Summer. “I did ruin that birthday party, didn’t I?”
It was the first time Willow had ever admitted to ruining anything, and Summer felt her defenses go up. Willow must have an ulterior motive.
Still, Summer nodded. “You did.”
After a pause, Willow said, “We were talking about your father yesterday. Dennis?”
“Yes, we were,” Summer said.
“It got me to thinking,” Willow said. “Thinking about him and how much I loved him. Thinking about how much you’re like him, and how much he’d enjoy seeing you and your children.”
“Would he?”
Willow shrugged one shoulder, and scraped at something Summer couldn’t see on the glass tabletop. Summer cringed. Probably more of that yellow film. “Well, I thought he would,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
Now, Willow ran her palms over the surface of the table. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re right. I was disrespectful of the single request you made, and I owe you an apology.”
A straight apology seemed weird coming from Willow.
There has to be something more to this. She wants something. Sympathy, probably.
A realization dawned on Summer. Willow’d just said, “I thought he did.” What did that mean?
“Did you reach out to him?” Summer said.
“I told you. It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, but it does,” Summer said. “It matters because, for some reason, everybody except me thinks you should stay with us, even though you’re a drunk and you’re exposing my kids to your drunken idiocy. For some reason, everybody thinks I need your help. You don’t even know how to help! For some reason, I’m the only one who sees through your façade. And I don’t want you here. So tell me, is this apology supposed to mean something? Is it supposed to fix something? Because let me tell you, it doesn’t undo all the wrongs you did. You showing up here, after all this time, pretending to be a mother figure to me, is bullshit. So where did last night’s little escapade come from? It matters. It matters to me.”
The Motherhood Intervention: Book 3 in the Intervention Series Page 16