There was less beeping and rushing here, too. Rehab had more of a hotel atmosphere, with more comfortable chairs and mostly carpeted rooms. People here were meant to get better and go home, which was encouraging to say the least. The therapists came to her room, rather than demanding she be wheeled across the entire hospital, to work with her on speech and movement, trying to reconnect all those neural connections that had been blown to bits during the stroke. She even had someone training her to use an iPad to communicate, but that was more bother than benefit.
Roza’s laughing voice brought her back to the conversation.
“Lorraine would have lived in a cave with Joe.” Roza sat next to her right side and clasped her hand. “Right?”
Yes.
Well maybe not a cave, she did have some standards. But with Joe, it would have seemed possible.
Regina and May sat on the moss-green love seat. May nestled into her mom’s side, and Regina played with the frizzy, bleached chunk of hair—they still hadn’t remedied that.
“I don’t understand why Grandma would marry someone she didn’t love?” May asked. Smart girl.
“May,” Regina said, squishing her to her side. Roza laughed, and Lorraine would have too, if she could. Such an impertinent question did not bother her anymore. Instead, she was quite proud of May for asking it. Lorraine nodded at Roza to answer.
“Times were different. Lorraine was raised by a very strict man to marry well, pick a charity to support, learn to host a dinner party, then have children she would teach to do the same. When she fell in love with Joe, she threw all that away. He adored her so much she didn’t mind that they didn’t have any money. So when he died, she had no useful degrees and no practical skills that would earn her enough to care for a toddler and another baby on the way. She only had a high school education, and her best subject was home ec. She didn’t have many choices.”
“She could have gotten a job,” May said.
“Yes. But doing what? Waitressing two jobs? She didn’t have the practicality God gave a goose—I had to teach her how to iron a shirt, for heaven’s sake. She needed to give you the best possible future, and she couldn’t do that on her own. When Joe died, her entire future had been taken from her, and she was afraid of failing you two girls. Fear and love are powerful motivators. She wanted to give you all the same opportunities she’d had—even the choice to pull away.” Roza winked at Regina. “She loved you both so much that the possibility of not succeeding canceled out all her options, save one—and she was lucky that she even had that option. She needed to return to what she did know, and her father wasn’t about to let her come home with two babies and no husband in sight. She needed a husband. Floyd wasn’t a bad option, all things considered.”
Lorraine smacked the blanket covering her lap to get Roza’s attention. Wasn’t a bad option. There was more to the decision than that.
“Really, you want me to get into that?” Roza raised an eyebrow.
Yes.
“All right, but remember you said this. You remember that Floyd was much older than your mother? And he didn’t want a wife in the traditional sense—he wanted someone to help him crack into Milwaukee’s social circles. In your mom, he had someone who could introduce him to possible customers. With you girls . . . well, you kept people from asking certain questions. A little bit of smooth lying, which was much easier in the days before the Internet. In return, he provided her with all the security she needed. His only rules were that no one ever knew you weren’t his children or that she had been married before, and that she didn’t share with anyone that their marriage wasn’t . . . intimate.”
“But didn’t he wonder why you were around all the time?” Victoria asked.
“What do you mean? I was your nanny.”
“You took an awful lot of naps for a nanny,” Victoria said.
“You had a lot of energy.” Roza folded her hands in her lap.
“Wait, what did you mean when you said that thing about marriage?” May asked. Everyone’s eyes flashed to Lorraine, and she laughed. That girl was amazing. Why had she never noticed before? She had spunk—not that it came out often, but it was there. It reminded her of Joe, how he always spoke what was in his heart. Lorraine could see twinkles of the bold woman May would become. Her heart glowed with pride.
She nodded for Roza to explain.
“Well . . . Gina?”
“He was gay, honey. Grandma and Grandpa never had sex,” Regina said. May’s mouth opened to ask a follow-up question, but Regina answered that, too. “Back then, an openly gay businessman would have had a difficult time fitting in in Milwaukee. It wasn’t like it is now—and having a wife and kids preemptively answered any questions. So for both of them, it was a win-win. He built his business and met new potential customers, and Grandma didn’t have to worry about how she would provide for us.”
“They didn’t love each other, though. It wasn’t real?”
“I don’t know.” Regina looked toward the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Dad since we found out about Joe.” Her eyes found Lorraine’s. “He was never a great dad, but he was a great provider. I don’t have any of those warm fuzzy daddy-daughter memories, but I do have a lot of good memories of swimming at the club and family dinners. None of those would have been possible without him. He cared for us in the way that he could. If that’s not real, I’m not sure what is.”
Regina was right. Without Floyd, they wouldn’t be here together.
“We went on some great trips together, didn’t we?” Roza chimed in. “Remember that time we went snorkeling in the Bahamas, and I kept feeding the stray cats that lived on the resort property. We had so much food at the buffets that I would bring bits of fish and bread back to the room and put it outside the sliding door. By the time we left, our patio looked like a cat hoarder’s.”
“I remember that,” Vicky said. “A few even let us pet them. Dad couldn’t figure out why they were outside our room and kept trying to shoo them away so he could read his paper.”
Roza chuckled.
“Yes. We never did tell him why they were there. They kept you girls occupied for hours so me and your mom could relax and read. We took care of each other, didn’t we Lorraine?” Roza patted her leg.
Yes.
Roza shared her big heart, which was enough for both of them. For far too long, Lorraine had closed off her own heart, afraid it would crumble if she opened it wide. Looking around at her beautiful family, regret rose up in her chest. Why did she wait so long to notice how strong the women she raised were? And now Regina and Victoria were raising their own strong children. She wanted to tell them all how proud she was. How amazed. How she wished she had had Regina’s strength or Victoria’s frankness. When Lorraine was most honest with herself, which she tried not to do very often, she was ashamed. She had married a beautiful and perfect man, who was honorable and loved her with every inch of himself. Without a second thought, she had shut that all away and taken the easy way out after everything fell apart. She hadn’t even tried. It hadn’t even occurred to her to stay in that little cozy house. Instead of grieving and growing, she had buried those feelings and pretended those early blissful years never happened.
In all those years married to Floyd, there were even moments when she forgot Regina and Victoria weren’t his—and that felt like the biggest betrayal of all. She had caught herself noticing a twitch of the mouth or an awkward hand movement and attributed those quirks to Floyd, ignoring the fact that both of her daughters had Joe’s nose with a tiny bump on the bridge and his long, graceful fingers.
All those nights alone in her bed, reaching for Joe—it didn’t have to be that way. She had distanced herself from her daughters, believing she was doing the right thing. But had she been? They could have grown up next door to Roza and her grandchildren, learning that happiness and love were gifts not to be tossed aside. She had tossed aside Joe’s memory instead of sharing it. Now her memories were distant and fuzzy from
disuse, like silver left alone in a drawer for too many years. She wanted to polish each one and share it with her daughters. They deserved to know that Joe would walk Regina all night when she had a fever, then fall asleep with her on his chest. She would wake to find them in the recliner, snoring in tandem. Victoria deserved to know that Joe would sing off-key lullabies to her stomach and she would kick in response.
They deserved those memories and so many more.
“He died in Vietnam, right?” Regina asked.
Yes.
“Then his name would be on the Vietnam Memorial. Did you ever go see it? Did you find his name when we were there in high school?”
No. She’d thought about it many times—especially when she and Floyd had taken the girls to Washington, DC. He’d been there on business, so she had visited the sites with the girls. They walked the entire Mall, from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial. The girls were more interested in taking pictures of the Washington Monument in the reflecting pond. She could see the Vietnam Memorial through the trees, a black scar on the green lawn. It had called to her. The girls wouldn’t know what she was looking for—she could even say she was looking up a friend from high school who had served. But what would seeing his name do to her? In the end, she had turned her back, as she had so many times.
“We should go as soon as Mom gets better,” Victoria said. Victoria was sitting cross-legged on the bed. At least she had taken her shoes off. Greta and Maggie had grown bored with the movie and snuggled at her side while the other two had moved onto a puzzle at the corner table—though Nathan was dropping more on the floor than finding matching pieces. Victoria looked happier than Lorraine could remember seeing her.
Lorraine shook her head and pointed at the girls.
“You think we should go and not wait for you?” Victoria said.
Yes.
“I suppose we could go on spring break, then May could come,” Regina said.
No. The system was not perfect.
“She wants you to go now.” Thank God for Roza. “I’ll watch the children.”
Yes.
“We can’t leave you with all of them,” Victoria said.
Roza rolled her eyes.
“I may be old, but I am not afraid of a few little children. And May will be here to help, right, May?”
May nodded as Maggie crawled onto her lap to play with her bleached hair, trying to braid it.
“That’s good enough for me.” Victoria had already pulled out her phone. “There are flights leaving early tomorrow morning and coming back late tomorrow night. We could make it a day trip?”
Regina scrunched her nose. She always did that when she thought about something. Lorraine could not remember all the times she had told her to stop or she would get wrinkles. Perhaps it was time to let up. After all, her wrinkles hadn’t ruined her life, any mistakes were hers alone.
“Tomorrow’s New Year’s Day. People like comfort food after a late night.”
“Don’t be absurd—those people aren’t going outside when there are pizza places that deliver. Take the day off.”
“I suppose I could . . . But I’ll need to update my site.”
“Yes!” Victoria said.
“You’re sure you can watch them all, Roza? Five kids is a lot for anyone,” Regina said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have been meaning to steal May for a while—the other ones are bonus. May can show me how to get music on my phone, and we’ll have a dance party.”
“I can show you now,” May volunteered.
“I don’t have my phone with me.”
“If you aren’t going to have your phone on you, then why have a phone?”
Good question, May.
“My son gave it to me so we could video talk, but it never works when we try.”
“I can show you how to do that, too, Aunt Roza.”
Lorraine smiled. That sounded like family.
“Purchased!”
Lorraine savored her family, feeling lighter than she had in years. She had thought sharing the truth would be heavy with sadness and regret, and those feelings were there. She knew they would never fully go away. A person can’t keep secrets for so long without them leaving deep scars. But more than anything else, she felt buoyant, optimistic, even.
WHAT IS THE BEST PART OF BEING MY MOM?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Later that afternoon, May double-checked the order she was putting up in Grilled G’s window, making sure it had all the requested condiments and sides. “Number twenty-two,” she said. It always seemed a bit odd to shout numbers—she never raised her voice that loudly in class or with her friends, never wanting to draw extra attention to herself, but here it was expected, even necessary.
They were parked outside the hospital complex for the dinner crowd. This was always a busy stop in the food truck rotation, giving the employees and visitors a break from the cafeteria options. Especially for those visiting extra-sick family and friends, their grilled cheeses could be temporary magic. She had learned that lesson early. Everyone always assumed it was her mom who was the grilled cheese aficionado, but it was her dad who had mastered the art first.
“Remember when Dad would make us breakfast grilled cheeses?” May asked.
She and her mom had finally found a rhythm where they could work and talk at the same time.
“I miss those,” May said.
Her mom swallowed, then cleared her throat. “I don’t know what he did that made them so good. The Nutella and mascarpone was my favorite. I think he browned the butter first—he always did something to make it a little special.”
She even managed a tiny smile. May smiled back at her.
“I liked the bacon and egg with marble cheese.”
“He grilled that one in bacon grease.”
“The house would smell so good.”
“Except that one time he got distracted by a crossword and burned the sandwiches. It took all day to get the smell of burned toast smoke out of the house. And you have to admit, not every one of his creations was good.”
May scrunched her face, remembering some of the worst. Her mom wiped at her eyes and flipped the sandwiches in front of her.
“Like the pickle and Brie combo. What was he thinking?”
“That wasn’t as bad as the pineapple and blue cheese.”
They both smiled at that one. It felt like something inside of May was getting filled up. Sharing stories about her dad with someone who found them as fascinating and comforting as she did was like a grilled cheese for her soul.
“What did you like best about Dad?”
Her mom’s face grew distant and her lips eased into a grin.
“That’s like asking what I like best about air.”
“What a cop-out.”
Gina laughed and wiped at her face again. “I suppose it is. I loved his patience. He would spend a day carefully taking apart an engine, laying the pieces in order, then putting them back together, cleaning each part as if it were precious. Or how he spent hours teaching you how to tie your shoes. You knew I would get impatient and do it for you, but he would happily wait a half hour until you did it yourself.
“He could always make me laugh, even when I was raging at him. I don’t think he even intended to do it—it was just his instinct to make me happy. This one time, he had left a huge mess in the kitchen after one of his epic experiments and mountains of dirty laundry in the closet, then went out to the garage to spend a day working on an antique bike. I spent an hour scrubbing dried egg and burned cheese off the stove, then stain-treating all the grease stains on his clothes. By the time I was finished, I was tempted to burn it all. I don’t know how he knew—he sensed my moods even before I did sometimes—but when he came back in the house, he was holding the T-shirt he had been wearing in one hand and a box of matches in the other. I lit the shirt on fire in the backyard pit as he stood by shirtless and watched. And he was so handsome. Hot, really. Seeing him shirtless never failed t
o make my knees wobble and brighten my mood.”
“Ew. I don’t need to hear that.”
May served another order.
“You asked.”
“I didn’t mean for you to talk about that.”
“You should be happy. Your dad and I found each other attractive in every way.”
“Stop.” May covered her ears as her mom chuckled. She wasn’t sure how the conversation got so off course. No matter how much she missed her dad, she didn’t need to hear this. She didn’t want to think about her parents having sex, ever. “What drove you nuts about him?”
“It depended on the day, but it was always little stupid stuff, like his laundry. Sometimes I felt like the bike shop was his mistress, and it was tough to compete with chrome and rumbling engines. That never lasted, though. He always came home to me. What about you?”
May had never thought about what she didn’t like about her dad. She was sure there was something. There had to be—no one was perfect. But she always thought about the wonderful parts she missed.
“He would always wake me up by singing the sad songs from the fifties. What was that about? The Mr. Lonely song was the worst. Or he would come into my room and fart, then leave and close the door.”
“He did that to me, too. They were the worst, like rotten eggs and skunk roadkill. I have no idea what that man was eating to do that.” Gina finished a few more sandwiches, and May delivered them to the waiting customers. “He would snore so loudly some nights, I elbowed him until he woke up. And he never once heard you crying at night. Not even when your bassinet was in our room. Now that I think about it, he was probably just a really good faker.”
“And he always tried to kiss me after eating anchovies. He knew I hated them but thought it was so funny to chase me with his anchovy breath.” May faked a gag sound.
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