“Can’t you leave me alone? Jane invited you, not me,” she snapped.
“Jane? Why do you call your mom Jane?” he asked straightforwardly. He nearly stepped on the banana that was still on
the carpet. He looked at it with revulsion, then down at Emma with the same expression. Her frail body seemed lost in the oversized nightshirt. Her face looked skeletal, her cheekbones high and pointed, her eye sockets accentuated by the dark circles under her dull, angry eyes. Maybe she’s just on drugs, Eric thought.
“Jane is not my mother,” she asserted vehemently.
“But—”
“But nothing. Why are you here? What are you, some sort of child molester?”
Realizing that his presence alone in a house with a teen-aged girl could be misinterpreted and was not the most prudent idea, Eric turned around swiftly and headed for the front door. It would be best for him to wait in his car. He reached for the doorknob just as Jane rushed in, colliding into him and nearly knocking him over. The flowers fell to the floor.
“Oh my God, Eric!” she exclaimed as she held onto him to keep him from falling. “I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, feeling incredibly overwhelmed.
“I had to stop off at the store and then lost my debit card, I went back to the store, then got stuck in traffic and—” Jane broke down and started crying. It was terribly awkward for Eric. He hardly knew this woman. Yet her daughter had cursed him out and questioned his intentions, Jane had run into him, nearly knocking him to the floor and now she was standing there crying like a child. Was he supposed to hold her? Tell her everything was alright? Worse, she was a disaster and had an offensive sour, fishy smell to her. What on Earth was he thinking? Emma walked toward them furiously.
“Can’t you shut up? I can’t even hear the tv,” she yelled and stormed off.
“I think I should leave,” Eric said as he took a step toward the door.
“Please don’t,” Jane begged, not caring how desperate she came across.
“Maybe another time,” he said, without smiling. It was all too much for him. It could never work out.
“Eric, I—”
Before Jane could finish her sentence, he was gone. Jane had neither the strength nor the willpower to run after him. She dropped
down to the floor and sobbed uncontrollably. She could hear Emma laughing and knew it wasn’t because of anything that was on the television.
What was she thinking, inviting Eric over to this nightmare of a home? She was full of so many regrets. Nothing she did was ever right. She had been a failure as a wife, had clearly failed as a mother and now, had failed to keep a man interested long enough for a second date.
Wallowing deep in self-pity and still sobbing, Jane stood up and slowly walked to the kitchen. She had no appetite but knew she needed something to coat her stomach. It felt like someone had dumped gasoline in there and set it ablaze. She just had to drink some milk before taking a shower and calling it a night.
“What the—” she said out loud as she looked at the messy counter and big garbage bag on the floor. She peered into the garbage and was shocked to find what used to be most of the contents of her pantry and refrigerator. Emma’s gone mad, she thought, as she noticed that her steaks were amongst the discarded items.
Fuming, she walked straight into the living room to give Emma a piece of her mind. Emma was leaning up against the arm rest of the couch with her legs spread out before her. She looked sickly, like she had the flu or something. The sight was almost disconcerting enough to make Jane forget why she had approached Emma. She wanted to touch her forehead to check if the feeble-looking child had a fever. Then she noticed the banana on the carpet. Being exposed to the air for so long had turned the gooey mess a putrid blackish color. It looked disgusting. It quickly jogged Jane’s memory.
“Have you lost your mind, Emma?” she yelled.
Emma didn’t bother wasting her strength looking at Jane. She stared catatonically at the television.
“Leave me alone,” she said in a low, disinterested voice.
“What would possess you to throw all of that food away?”
“You stink Jane,” Emma replied nonchalantly.
“Answer me,” Jane demanded. “Why did you do that?” Her voice was shaky and tears filled her heavy, puffy eyes.
“Quit crying over your fatty foods. I did you a favor. Look in the mirror, you’re a beast. You should be eating bird seed until you lose all that fat. Maybe then your boyfriend wouldn’t walk out on you,”
Emma spat venomously.
Jane had grown accustomed to Emma’s hurtful stabs, but the latter part of what she said was particularly cruel. It had a ring of truth to it. Perhaps if Jane had the model figure she once had, Eric wouldn’t have made such a hasty retreat from her home.
Without even thinking about the groceries that were still in the trunk of her car, without thinking about Emma’s mess or even Eric, Jane walked slowly upstairs. Her mind needed a break from all the stress in her life. She just wanted to take a shower and tune out the world.
Jane gasped when she entered her room and saw shards of ceramics all over her hard wood floor...and ...glass? What kind of glass was that? The answer came quickly as Jane walked further into her room and saw the mangled laptop on the floor. She wanted to scream at the top of her lung but was too angry to make a sound. She realized that she was shaking—actually physically shaking with rage. She was glad Emma was not in the room, even though deep down she knew she would never have the heart to hurt her daughter.
Jane wondered if she was having a nervous breakdown. A moment ago, she had felt distraught over everything that had happened to her. Now she felt nothing at all. It was as though she just gave up. First things first, she thought rationally. She took a nice, long, steaming hot shower, washing away all of her cares. She felt like a zombie; her mind was blank. Her only focus was on how good the shower felt. Even her abdominal pains seemed to subside some. Her problems were pushed far back in her mind and when she was done showering, she would go to sleep. She wouldn’t feel anything else tonight.
~15~
Jane awoke feeling completely disoriented, fearful that she had slept in too late. She had gone straight to bed after showering and hadn’t even set her alarm clock. The room was still dark, so it couldn’t have been too late. The clock on her nightstand confirmed her sound reasoning. In fact, she could have slept for another hour if she wanted to—it was only 5:40 a.m.
Feeling well-rested, at least physically, Jane decided to get up and start her day. She was sure it would be full of further disasters and pitfalls, but she didn’t care. There was nothing she could do about her life but accept her misery. She had shed enough tears. Where did it get her? Nowhere.
Jane pulled her small trash can over to where the broken laptop was on the floor. She started picking up the big pieces, careful not to cut herself. She threw what was left of the laptop in the trash can. She knew it was too early to use the vacuum cleaner to pick up the smaller bits. That would have to wait until she returned home from work later.
Jane walked over and picked up the large broken ceramic pieces from her frame. It was then that she noticed that Emma had torn up her most beloved photograph. By chance, the innocent, smiling face of a loving eleven-year-old Emma stared up at her from the floor. Almost instantly, long tears flowed from Jane’s eyes as she remembered the daughter she once had, the daughter she yearned for again. There was no way she could harden her heart and move on as though Emma no longer existed. She refused to give up hope, as hopeless as it all seemed.
She threw the scraps of torn-up picture into her trash can as she cried silently. Emma could hate her until the end of time, but she would love Emma forever, no matter how many insults she hurled into her soul, no matter how many of her possessions she destroyed, no matter what. In a couple of hours she would wake Emma for school and tell her that she loved her. She hadn’t said those words to
&nbs
p; her in several weeks; she really hadn’t had an opportunity to, with Emma yelling at her and insulting her every moment they spent together. She knew Emma would regurgitate her feelings of hatred toward her, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that
Emma would know how much she loved her.
Jane thought of Eric and the advice he had imparted—how children should be loved unconditionally and accepted as they are, even their faults. He was right, even if he was wrong in so many other regards. She didn’t think she would ever see or hear from him again, which was starting to suit her just fine. He wasn’t the decent man she had first envisioned. Yet, the idea of falling in love again had been so alluring to her. Who knew how long it would be before she found another opportunity at love.
Jane switched her focus on to other things, like the fact that she still needed to call her bank and report her debit card lost/stolen. Even though it was barely six in the morning, she called the toll free number designated to report lost and stolen cards. She gave all of the necessary information and hoped that her account hadn’t been drained. If she had been even remotely rational last night, she would have taken care of it as soon as she learned that no one had turned it in to the management at the Save ‘n Shop. Who knew how much damage had been done.
Jane had grown so used to her stomach pains that the burning sensation she felt hardly even registered as pain. She remembered that she didn’t drink a glass of milk as she had intended. In fact, she hadn’t eaten or drank anything since lunchtime the day before, and that meal had made an unpleasant exit from her stomach. She felt lightheaded. Just thinking about food made her stomach growl. She quietly walked downstairs to the kitchen.
It was a depressing sight—all that good food wasted. Jane may not have been very religious, but she knew that wasting such food was certainly sinful, not to mention costly. Emma had wasted hundreds of dollars worth of food. Jane opened the pantry door. Her heart sank. There was hardly anything left. She thought of Old Mother Hubbard, “...and when she looked there, the cupboards were bare....” She would have chuckled if she wasn’t so depressed by it all. Even the pancake mix was gone. Jane wondered if Emma had thrown away the eggs as well. She reluctantly checked the refrigerator.
Amazingly, the carton of eggs had survived Emma’s food massacre and Jane was delighted. Of course, the bacon was a casualty, but scrambled eggs and toast would do just fine. She thought about making enough for Emma but rightfully concluded that it would only have been more food wasted.
Jane cooked fluffy scrambled eggs and set them on a dish next to two slices of toasted wheat bread. They smelled divine. Her stomach continued begging to be fed. It was making such a loud noise that Jane was surprised Emma didn’t wake up. She was glad that she had this peaceful moment alone to enjoy a meal.
Lately it had seemed as if she either had no appetite at all or had been too upset, too nauseous, or too much in pain to eat. When she finally forced herself to have lunch yesterday, it was back up before dinnertime. Jane knew she needed a good, solid meal. She had been feeling weak and lightheaded too often. She knew that she was losing weight, without even trying. Her clothing—even those that had been too tight—were now loose on her. It was the only silver lining to her dark, stormy days.
After three bites of egg and a nibble from a piece of toast, Jane’s stomach hurt too much for her to finish eating. She left her plate on the breakfast bar and walked back upstairs. She hoped to feel better after using the bathroom.
Nothing seemed to alleviate Jane’s discomfort. She wanted to call in sick and finally go to the doctor, but she didn’t want to risk her job and she didn’t have a doctor’s appointment scheduled anyway. She knew she would just have to tough it out. At least she didn’t feel quite as lightheaded as she had earlier. The protein from the few bites of egg she had ingested made a world of difference.
Jane walked back downstairs and began to clean up the mess in the kitchen. She discarded her unfinished breakfast, along with all the food that had been left on the countertop. She tied up the garbage bag and took it outside. Then she washed the dishes and wiped down the countertops. The kitchen looked presentable once again.
She walked back upstairs and took a shower. Afterward, she stood in front of her closet trying to figure out what to wear. She changed her outfit three times before settling on a khaki-colored skirt and a striped pullover sweater. The sweater looked unflattering, but she didn’t care about how she looked. In fact, she was happy about
it. She had shed several pounds without any effort whatsoever. Yet her stomach seemed bulgier than before. It looked bloated. It struck Jane as odd that she was losing weight everywhere else but gaining weight around her abdomen. Well, at least I know I’m not pregnant, she joked to herself, though in reality, she could have passed for a woman entering her third trimester of pregnancy.
At 7:05, Jane knocked on Emma’s bedroom door to wake her up. Once again the door was locked, and again, Emma remained silent.
“Emma? It’s after seven, are you awake?” Jane called out.
Jane knocked again, louder. Still no response from Emma.
“Emma, you need to get ready for school now,” Jane yelled.
Emma remained silent.
“Answer me, are you awake?” Jane shouted, growing agitated. Emma was making it hard for her to say those three little words, as she had planned. What’s the point anyway, like Emma would really care? Jane could hear Emma moving about on her bed. Emma was completely ignoring her.
“I know you can hear me, if you want me to make breakfast for you or give you a ride to school, let me know,” Jane said, and walked back to her own bedroom. She was more disappointed at herself than with Emma. She had fully intended to let Emma know how much she loved her. Why had it become so difficult? Jane knew she was just frustrated. She would try again before she left for work.
At 7:25, Emma was still locked in her bedroom. Jane hoped she was getting ready for school. She listened at the door before knocking. It was completely silent. Jane pounded loudly on the door.
“I hope you’re awake in there and getting ready for school,” she yelled. No answer, as expected.
“Emma!” Jane shouted, losing her temper. She was incredibly annoyed that Emma had refused to acknowledge her, even just to say “get lost!”“
“Fine, Emma. I get the message loud and clear. But I want you to know that I love you. Don’t be late for school.”
Jane waited a few seconds for any sign of life from Emma, but turned and walked downstairs when it was apparent that Emma would continue ignoring her. She picked up her purse and car keys and left for work.
Emma was still in bed and heard the front door close. She had heard every word Jane said but had no desire to reply. She hated the fact that Jane woke her up so early when there was no way she was going back to school. There was no point. She’d be moving soon anyway.
With that thought, she sat up in bed. In another half an hour or so, her father should be at his office. She would call him and tell him how bad Jane had been to her. She might not even have to ask him if she could move in, he would probably offer his home to her. He did say he had missed her and loved her. And if he didn’t offer, Emma would ask. How could he possibly say no to his own daughter? Just like he came through for her with the party, he’d come through for her again. He’d rescue her from her deplorable life with Jane.
Even though she had slept for over eight hours, Emma felt exhausted. She didn’t want to get out of bed. Lately her body ached all over, her head hurt, her stomach hurt, she felt weak, lightheaded, nauseous. Even her menstrual period was late, which might have concerned her if she wasn’t a virgin. She wondered if she had the flu or something. Whatever it was, it justified her absence from school, not that she was concerned about that anyway.
Emma fully intended to call her father at 8:00 a.m. sharp, and she would have done so, had she not drifted off to sleep. It was nearly ten when she awoke again, feeling worse than before. She was su
re she had contracted something dreadful—probably during that horrible party.
Her body was stiff, she needed to get out of bed and stretch a little, as unappealing as it sounded to her. She slowly sat up, feeling like an eighty-year-old crippled woman (or so she imagined that was how an eighty-year-old crippled woman must have felt). She even moaned and groaned, reminding herself of the elderly people she had observed during one of her school field trips to a convalescent home. The thought sickened her. She didn’t want to be like them any more than she wanted to be like Jane.
Putting forth a great effort, Emma stood up and walked downstairs. She poured herself a glass of water and eyed the remaining contents of the refrigerator. The sight of food made her stomach rumble. She was feeling hungry, but she knew that she had to watch what she ate. Jane had once been a decent-sized girl too,
and look how she ended up.
Emma pulled out a bag of raw baby carrots. She pulled one out of the bag and gnawed on it. She ate about three quarters of the two inch stumpy carrot and tossed what was left into the trash can. It was the only thing she had eaten since lunch the day before—the few bites of banana she had—one of which hadn’t successfully journeyed down her throat and still lingered on the living room carpet.
Emma picked up the phone and pressed the redial button. Her father’s office number appeared and Emma pressed the call button. The phone rang a few times before the secretary picked up.
“Hi, it’s Emma Winston, can I talk to my dad please?”
“I’m sorry, he’s in an important meeting right now. Can I leave a message for him?”
MOTHER: A Novel Page 17