The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go

by Amy E. Reichert

  Gina had hoped to get through the rest of the day without another fight. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen. Her mouth froze in an awkward smile, at war with her own impulse to smooth everything over and make nice. Gina didn’t know what to do first, yell at May for her rudeness or apologize to Daniel. Manners, of course, won.

  “I am so sorry, Daniel. I didn’t raise her to behave this way.”

  Daniel put a gloved hand on hers where she had braced it on the counter.

  “I’m right here, Regina. I can hear you,” May said. Her voice was much too loud for the confined space. “And stop touching her, dude.”

  Gina straightened and pulled her hand away from Daniel, then turned to May.

  “Control yourself, please. You . . .” Gina paused, then sniffed. Something was burning. She turned to the griddle, where the buttered toast was singed along the edge and smoke wafted off of it. She quickly scooped up the slices with a spatula and peeked at the underside. Completely black. “Mother fudge. Give me a few more minutes, Daniel. I’ll get another one going.”

  “No need. Another time.” He gave her a quick nod and wave and walked out of sight. Gina threw the burned sandwich into the trash, turned off the griddle again, and faced May, who still stood with arms crossed on her chest. If their mutual anger could catch fire, they’d be standing in an inferno. All thoughts of good parenting and understanding teens evaporated. Gina was pissed.

  “What in the hell was all that about?”

  “Are you dating him? Is he, like, your boyfriend or something?” May’s arms dropped straight to her sides, her hands in fists like she used to make as a toddler right before flopping to the ground. At least back then Gina could pick her up and carry her to her room for a time-out.

  Boyfriend. Gina gaped at her daughter.

  “Where is this coming from? He’s one of my best customers. Not that it’s relevant, but no, I’m not dating him. And even if I were, you do not speak to me or our customers like that. This is how I pay the bills, our bills. If I lose customers, especially regular ones like Daniel, then I can’t pay them. If I can’t pay bills, then we can’t have things like cell phones, or those fancy leggings you like, or a house. Do you want to move to Illinois with your aunt and uncle? Lose the house where we lived with your dad? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

  Gina scowled at the burn marks on the cooktop and turned the vent up to clear out the smoky odor.

  “You can scrub that back to pristine and think about your actions today . . . and, yesterday.” She pulled out a bottle of vinegar and scouring pads. “I know you’re not happy about spending time with me, but if you’re going to be difficult, I can make it difficult right back at you. Get the gloves, because this is going to get hot.”

  May put the thick leather gloves on and grabbed the scouring pads, her eyes narrowed and lips thin, but at least she obeyed. Gina didn’t care if she didn’t like it. She could be angry, sure—but these outbursts had to stop.

  Gina splashed the vinegar on the hot cooktop, where it sizzled and sputtered.

  “Now scrub quickly before it all evaporates.”

  May glared at her but attacked the stove. At least she got to work out her anger. Gina still wanted to scream. Instead, she stared at the wall and took deep breaths, trying to find some peace, her eyes landing above the stove. Next to a framed Al Waters restaurant review of Grilled G’s hung a picture of Gina and Drew on their wedding day. Happy thought.

  In the photo, Drew wore a slightly too big black suit while she wore a simple sleeveless cream dress with a brocade pattern, and a bouquet of red roses tied up with a matching ribbon. It had been a small ceremony with only a few friends and his parents. Her own had refused to come. Well, to be fair, she hadn’t invited them. After the way they’d rejected Drew, she hadn’t wanted anything to do with them.

  On the same day he’d shown her Polish Fest, Gina drove them to the country club after they’d changed their clothes. She wore a bright pink shift dress, pearls, and cream kitten-heeled sandals. Drew stoically wore the unofficial club uniform of pressed khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and a navy-blue sports jacket. Locks of golden hair kept falling onto his forehead that he tried to push back, but Gina loved those unruly strands. He’d spent an extra fifteen minutes making sure all the grease was gone from under his fingernails. He was determined to win over her parents even though Gina told him it was pointless. She tried to tell him that unless he had a secret medical degree, or a few extra million in the bank, they would dismiss him out of hand, but he refused to give up hope. Yet another reason she loved him.

  Her mother and father sat at one of the many dark wood tables in the even darker wood-paneled bar that overlooked the eighteenth hole. The crowd hadn’t changed much since Gina was younger, just more wrinkles on the older generation. The other tables were full, as club regulars downed their cocktails before moving into the dining room for the Friday night fish fry—or in her mom’s case, the baked cod and steamed vegetables. Her mother wore white, wide-legged pants, a loose-fitting silk tank top in a rich burgundy, and a white cardigan tied around her shoulders. Her hair rested in a precise light-brown line with her chin. It strategically became lighter brown with each passing year, making it easier to hide the growing number of gray hairs that were slowly winning the battle over her head. Her father wore the exact same outfit as Drew, except his shirt was a light blue—the one acceptable deviation. The main difference between them was that everything Floyd wore was custom fit by a tailor. Her father’s high cheekbones were cleanly shaven, and his nails freshly trimmed and filed.

  Mom and Dad stood to greet them, and Gina introduced everyone in a round. Drew shook her mom’s hand first while her father looked him over from head to toe reaching his own hand out.

  Lorraine loud-whispered to Gina, “His hair is a bit long.”

  Drew’s lips twitched so she knew he had heard. “Please sit. We ordered a bottle of champagne,” Floyd said.

  A waiter poured Drew and Gina glasses from the waiting bucket, and Drew raised his glass for a toast.

  “To meeting the woman of my dreams and her family, and to our first family gathering and the many more to come.”

  Simple and elegant, not too much. Gina happily clinked her glass with Drew’s, and her parents followed suit. Even her dad looked moderately pleased as he set his champagne flute onto the center of his cocktail napkin. This might not be too bad, after all.

  “So Andrew,” her dad said. “Your last name is Zoberski? That’s Polish, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Born and raised in the old neighborhood. Not far from where Gina said her Aunt Roza lives.” Her mom’s eyes went to Drew’s face.

  “Ah.” Her father tapped his fingertips together. “I hear you work at Harley. Who are you working under? A good number of the C-suite are members here.”

  Gina groaned to herself. He phrased the question clearly assuming Drew was an executive and worked for one of the VPs. Like smelling an incoming storm, she could sense this was the moment where the conversation would go sideways.

  “Oh, I’m on the floor. I work on engines,” Drew said.

  “You’re an engineer?” Floyd asked as he crossed his long legs, his brow at rest.

  “No, sir. I’m a mechanic.” Lorraine pinched her lips and sipped her champagne. How did she manage to get any into her mouth with her mouth pursed like that?

  “He can fix anything. He’s always assigned to the most important projects,” Gina said, wanting to move quickly from this topic. “So, I hear you’re planning a trip to the Bahamas. Tell us about it.”

  Her dad pulled out a pressed, white handkerchief and rubbed it on his right hand, ignoring Gina’s prompt.

  “I expected your work to be a little more . . . white-collar,” her dad said.

  Drew had opened his mouth to speak, but he shouldn’t have to defend himself to her parents.

  “Drew’s fantastic with all things motor, Dad,” Gina said.

  “What your fa
ther is trying to say, is we just always expected you to end up with someone more like . . . us,” her mom spoke. She studied Drew carefully, her eyes flicking to watch Gina, then back to Drew. The more she studied, the deeper her frown. Gina knew damn well they would have preferred she marry an executive, preferably from an Ivy League school and wealthy family, but Drew was polite, well spoken, and reliable. He didn’t look out of place at the country club in his neat khakis. Was his choice of career really a deal breaker to them?

  “What does that even mean? I write boring documentation so the people who do the real work, like Drew, can do it. Though in this case, Drew is the one who helps me do my job.” Her mom scanned the room to see if anyone had noticed. Maxine Fuller and her husband sat at the next table and were definitely leaning in. She lowered her voice. “Just because he doesn’t wear a three-piece suit to work, doesn’t make him unprofessional—”

  “We merely want what’s best for you, for you to be protected. Financially.” Her mom spoke barely above a whisper, hoping those around them would lose interest. But that was a lost cause, given the way Maxine was half off her chair—an elephant could skip through the bar and she wouldn’t even notice. “Victoria is dating a nice man your father introduced to her.”

  “Of course, she is.” Gina’s hold on propriety was dissolving. Drew patted her knee under the table, reassuring her he was fine. He could be as fine as he wanted, but this was unacceptable. She had always tried to play nice and have good manners, look on the bright side and make them proud, but this time her parents were going too far.

  “You . . . you’re fucking kidding me, right?” The entire room went silent this time. Her mom gasped, and her dad clasped his hands on the table. The only clue he disapproved was the muscle twitching on his left jaw. Even Gina was stunned at the words that had spewed from her mouth, but she didn’t care. She was done. “I don’t even know where to begin with you both. I love him. I don’t care if you disapprove of his career. He’s hardworking, kind, and treats me like the center of his universe. That’s more than Dad ever does for you.” She pointed to her mom. “He asks about my day and actually listens. He thinks I look my best when we first wake up in the morning, with my horrible hair and dragon breath.” She was on a roll now—nothing was going to stop her. She pushed back her chair and stood, looking down on the people who had disappointed her. Her mother’s nervous fingers clenched her omnipresent gold cross necklace. “Yep, we sleep in the same bed almost every night—something you two have never done.” Her dad’s face reddened, and her mom stared at the tabletop, as if not looking at Gina would stop the deluge of embarrassment. Maxine stared—she’d obviously given up any attempt at subtlety. “You say you’re disappointed in my choice. Well, I’m disappointed in you. He is everything to me, and you can’t even be happy. We’re only dating, but it’s serious, and after the nonsense you’ve pulled tonight, I see no reason for you to be a part of our life. I hope Vicky gives you lots of perfect grandchildren, because you’ll never meet our kids.”

  She turned and left, Drew scrambling after her, grabbing her hand as they stormed out together.

  When they made it to the parking lot, Drew pulled her into a hug.

  “You were glorious,” he whispered into her ear. “I think you’d jump in a river for my wianki, right?” Gina chuckled into his chest, wishing her tears would stop falling. “A top-five best exit, too.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Gina said. “That was so much worse than I expected.”

  He cupped her face.

  “If they don’t matter to you, they don’t matter to me. I will always have your back.”

  Gina set her notepad and pen on the hospital nightstand, then pulled the warm garlic bread from the parchment paper package meant to keep the pooling butter from escaping, but it really provided the perfect dipping spot. She bit into the crusty edge, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, and sprinkled with the exact right amount of garlic salt. Mama Mia’s garlic bread, the ultimate comfort food—all carbs and fat. After dropping May off at home on her way back to the hospital, she’d swung by for the necessary comfort-food fix. Now that she thought about it, their iconic bread would make an amazing grilled cheese sandwich. She’d have to find out who their supplier was—maybe they could work out a partnership. She’d add it to her list.

  When she had dropped May at the house with Vicky, her little nieces and nephews were already building snow forts and rolling snowballs in the backyard. They had looked like mini-Yeti, snow caking the outside of their hats and snowsuits. She loved each of them, but Gina needed quiet time before engaging with little people. Besides, if she spent any more time with her daughter today, she might say something she would regret. Gina hoped that her little bit of self-awareness was a sign she wouldn’t turn into her mother—though she never imagined her mother regretting anything she had ever said.

  As she licked the dripping butter off her hand, her mom watched her—maybe more closely than she ever had before—one side of her mouth still drooping more than the other. Would it ever go back to normal? With her still-simmering anger and the memory of the day her mother had hurt Drew’s feelings so fresh, it was difficult to see her mom as less than the strong-willed, waspish woman she normally was. She never really thought about how much her mother had changed over the last decade. Her hair was more ash-blond than light brown now, and her deep wrinkles proved that there were times she had smiled and laughed. Before the stroke, even, she’d been moving slower, less sure of her balance. When she went down stairs, she made sure both feet were solidly on a step before gently moving to the next one. Her mom had grown old. With so much distance between them, did Gina really want to go back to the way things had been between them? Or did she want to go forward?

  Gina nudged her chair a bit closer to the rolling table near her mom’s bed.

  “I suppose you think I should use a napkin?”

  Her mom shook her head. No.

  Her mom’s eyes moved to the bread.

  “You want some?”

  She nodded. Yes.

  Gina had never seen her mom eat anything as fattening or as greasy as Mama Mia’s garlic bread. She rolled the table out of the way and moved the chair so she was right next to the bed, then pulled a small piece off and swirled it in the butter. Her mom opened her mouth like a baby bird. Gina set the bread inside. Lorraine closed her eyes and slowly chewed. When she finished, she opened her eyes and smiled a lopsided smile.

  “More?”

  A nod. Yes.

  Gina repeated the actions. It wasn’t so different from feeding May when she was little—making sure the pieces were small enough she couldn’t choke, making sure she chewed and swallowed before giving her another piece. Seeing her mom so dependent reminded Gina about how much she didn’t know.

  “I didn’t know you liked Mama Mia’s, Mom.”

  Lorraine opened her mouth again in response. Gina gave her another morsel, then took a big bite for herself. They finished the brick-size piece of bread this way—a nugget for her mom, a larger bite for herself. Gina tossed the greasy paper in the garbage can when they finished. That might have been the most pleasant meal she’d ever spent with her mom.

  “Do you remember when you met Drew?”

  Her mom nodded.

  “I never told you, but he begged me to ask you and Dad to the wedding.” She wiped the butter off her fingers with a napkin.

  It was the biggest fight they had ever had. Drew sat on the edge of her bed draped in her bed sheet and nothing else while she got dressed for work.

  “They deserve to see their daughter married,” he said.

  “They deserve nothing.” Gina slid her arms into her purple button-down shirt. He’d been needling her on the subject since she had gotten out of the shower. Her head pounded from grinding her teeth at each of his stupid comments. She buttoned her shirt and turned to face him as he stood, the sheet falling off his body. Now he was fighting dirty. She turned her back to him.

 
“Do you really want to cut them out? Forever.” He gently turned her around to face him. “You’re crooked.”

  She looked down; the buttons were in the wrong holes. He started to unbutton and rebutton her shirt. She shoved his arms away, causing one of the buttons to tear off.

  “Gah! Stop trying to fix things. My snobby parents made it clear they felt you weren’t good enough for them. Well, they’re not good enough for us. End of story. Full stop. Finite. I’m done with them and you are, too.” She poked him in the chest. Even with her shirt wide open, angry heat boiled off her. Why wasn’t he agreeing with her? Maybe he wasn’t who she thought he was.

  Drew rolled the button that tore off from her shirt between his fingers and nodded.

  “If that is what you want, I support you. Always.” He hugged her and all the anger ebbed away. It was his superpower.

  “I couldn’t understand why he would ever want to see you again after the way you and Dad treated us.” Gina smiled. “He was right. He knew that family found a way through the tough stuff. God, I miss him.”

  Her mom nodded, again. The realization that her mom really did understand snapped her back to the present. Gina leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, her folded hands resting on the edge of the bed. She studied her mom’s makeup-less face, the dark circles under her eyes, and the earlobes, drooping from years of wearing heavy earrings. Her normally smooth, straight, shoulder-length hair was ruffled, and her blue eyes were watery. This was the woman who had held a precious secret inside for forty years, never giving up any hint.

  “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Unsteadily, Lorraine pulled Gina’s notebook off the nightstand and set it on her lap. It was already open to the list of questions Gina wanted her mother to answer. With a shaky finger, she pointed at one of the questions Gina had written.

  What is your biggest regret?

  “You regret not telling us that our real dad was Joe Sandowski and not Dad—I mean Floyd?”

  Yes.