Mother called today.
I was at work, so I wasn’t able to take her call. Roger was also at work and the kids were at school, so I’m pleased it went straight to the answering machine, that way I could delete it remotely. Roger wouldn’t understand and the kids would just be frightened. Mother could be a little scary for the uninitiated. It’s strange, but she never calls Roger’s mobile and she just seems to know when I’ll be there to pick up the phone at home. It’s never her on the other end when Roger or the kids answer.
The last time she called she asked why I never call her. She never complained that my brother Geoff never called. You must be thinking that I’m a real bitch, I mean because I don’t call my mother. Nothing could be further from the truth; Mum could be quite demanding. It wasn’t just that she placed high standards on herself, but she always demanded more from my brother and me.
Whatever high grade I received in a school subject, Mother always thought I could’ve done better. My brother may have scored a goal in his soccer game, but Mother always thought he could’ve probably scored one more if he’d only tried that little bit harder. Father never defended us against Mother’s demands, after all she did it so nicely and in such a constructive manner that nobody would think of her as being unreasonable. Father always congratulated us but never corrected Mother’s criticisms. That may have been due to the fact that Mother could be very demanding of him as well.
Geoff had always been stronger than me. He shrugged off Mother’s objections when he said he wanted to obtain a mechanic apprenticeship. Mother thought he could do so much better for himself even though he’d always been mechanically minded. I’d always had a desire to study at university. I loved reading and thought I’d make a pretty good librarian, but I simply didn’t have enough confidence. I’m not blaming Mother entirely, but I did have a bit of an insecurity complex because of her high demands. I’ve always worked in the food industry. I just drifted into it, that’s why I work as a waitress currently. Mother isn’t a harridan despite what I’ve told you. She has many fine qualities. She’s affectionate and demonstrative, but try as I might to concentrate on those better qualities, I seem to dwell on her demands and her need for us to excel at everything we undertook.
Naturally she isn’t very happy with my choice of employment, current and former. Geoff worked for a national chain of motor mechanics. It was a very good job, great wages and conditions, but Mother felt that he could do so much better for himself if he only opened his own garage. Now you have some idea what Mother is like.
I thought our usual lunchtime rush had ended when a group of eight or nine arrived. I was busy clearing tables and taking orders when Lucy, the other waitress I work with, informed me that there was a phone call me. Tony, both the owner and our head chef, was shouting something about more marinara sauce to the rest of the kitchen staff. I asked Tony if I could take the call in the office to avoid the noise of the kitchen. He glared at me but gave me a curt nod. Tony was normally a jovial, good-natured boss. He always praised his staff when we pulled together, opened a bottle of wine and provided snacks after we’d successfully hosted an event. Tony’s pet peeve was staff taking or making too many calls during work hours, which was entirely understandable.
I closed the office door and tentatively picked up the phone, pressing the flashing red button to accept the call on the outside line.
“Hello, Susan Parnell speaking.”
“Suzie?”
It was Mother.
Instinctively I gripped the phone tighter. Her voice was thin and reedy and she sounded breathless.
“Suzie, why haven’t you called me?”
“You know why,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
Mother chose to ignore the remark.
“Why haven’t you visited me?”
I let out an exasperated breath. “You know why I haven’t been over to visit you.”
“Do I? I can’t seem to remember. I’ve been feeling a little fuzzy-headed lately. Come over for dinner on Sunday. I’ll cook roast lamb.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Good, I’ll see you Sunday, dear, bring Roger if you feel you want to.”
There was silence on the other end. I felt my anger rising. Once again Mother had ridden roughshod over me and gotten in the last word. I tried to calm myself down as I left the office and walked through the kitchen. Lucy rushed over and told me to grab an order of carbonara and a chicken parmigiana for the new diners. She whispered that Tony wasn’t very happy about the phone call.
Believe me, I’d tried everything to discourage Mother’s calls. I’d changed the home number and simply told Roger I’d been getting crank calls. I changed my mobile phone number, but she still managed to find it out. I even changed my email address. Mother didn’t own a computer and she definitely didn’t know how to use one, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I thought about having the home phone disconnected, but I’d have trouble satisfactorily contacting Roger. That aside, the kids were too young for their own mobile phones, so I had to reject that option. As I tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep that night, I still hadn’t reached a reasonable resolution regarding Mother’s calls.
Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016 Page 25