Bitter Rose

by Melody Carlson

  “Yeah,” I say, “that’s probably true.”

  “So what can I do about it?” He looks at me as if I should have the answer.

  “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that you better take care of your own life, Dad. I mean, when it comes to getting your heart right with God, that’s about all you can do right now. Get right with God and see what he wants you to do. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that sermon you gave me last week.”

  “Sermon?”

  “About forgiveness.”

  “You mean Father Thomas’s sermon.”

  “Right. Anyway, I know what you said is true. And I’m trying to get back to that place, Maggie. It’s just not easy. I have a boatload of guilt to deal with.”

  “Why don’t you come to church with me tomorrow?”

  He looks surprised. “To our old church?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  He frowns. “Isn’t it your mother’s church? I hate to infringe.”

  “It’s not like she’s been going, Dad. Seriously, she hasn’t been there since Christmas, and that was only because Elisa insisted we go.”

  “I guess I could go.”

  “We could go together, Dad. I’ll even pick you up if you want.”

  He smiles. “Okay, then, let’s do it. It’s a date.”

  With that settled, I tell Dad I need to go home to get ready for work. I don’t mention that I also feel the need to check on Mom and make sure she’s okay. I mean, how pathetic is that?

  “See you tomorrow,” he calls as we head for our cars.

  And as I drive home, I’m thinking maybe there is hope after all. Maybe my parents aren’t totally a lost cause. But then I see Rich’s El Camino in the driveway—without a scratch or dent on it—and I want to scream.

  I walk past the kitchen, where Mom and Rich are getting something to eat, and head straight upstairs. I ignore my mom’s greeting and Rich’s “hey” as I go into my room and slam my door. Okay, maybe I am acting juvenile, but then I am the kid here, right?

  The next thing I know, Mom is knocking on my door.

  “What?” I demand when I open it.

  “While you are living in my house, under my roof, you will show a little respect, young lady. Rich and I both said hello to you, and you were extremely rude.”

  “Respect?” I practically spit the word out at her. “Why should I respect you, Mom? Where were you last night? Why didn’t you call? Do you consider yourself respectable?”

  Her loss of words convinces me that my assumption is correct and, at the same time, it makes me feel sick.

  She narrows her eyes now. “Don’t judge me, Magdela.”

  “I wonder what Tia Louisa would think of her baby sister now,” I say, instantly wishing I hadn’t.

  Mom looks like I cut her to the heart. I see tears in her eyes, but she just turns away and stomps off. I know I should say that I’m sorry, but the words get stuck in my throat.

  I quickly dress for work and leave without speaking to either of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom changes the locks again while I’m gone. I have a feeling I may have to take Dad up on his offer to live with him sooner than I’d planned.

  I feel miserable as I work, and I know that I have blown it big-time. Yet at the same time, I feel this deep sense of indignation, like it’s Mom’s fault for sleeping with Rich. How can she expect me to respect her after that?

  Realizing I can’t go home under these circumstances and not really wanting to explain the situation to Dad, I call Claire during my break and ask if I can crash at her house tonight.

  “Sure,” she tells me. “It seems like we haven’t really talked in ages.”

  So after work I go to Claire’s, and trying to be somewhat responsible, I actually call home and leave a message. Then I dump all my latest crud onto Claire, and she listens patiently.

  “Wow,” she says when I finish. “I can’t believe your mom really did that. It is so unlike her.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s like my parents weren’t really who I thought they were in the first place anyway. It’s like everything in my life is upside down, and I’m not sure what to expect.” Then I tell her about Dad and how he agreed to go to church with me.

  “That’s great, Maggie. So your dad is really coming back around, then?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then maybe they’ll get back together.”

  “I don’t really think so—I mean, not with the way Mom is acting. It’s like they’re just totally out of sync. Maybe God never meant them to be together in the first place, Claire. Maybe it was just a big mistake right from the start.” But even as I say this, I don’t think it’s really true.

  “Well, really all you can do is take care of yourself, you know.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I think you’re right about that.”

  twenty-one

  I FEEL AS THOUGH I DON’T EVEN KNOW MY MOM ANYMORE. IT’S AS IF she’s turned into someone else, someone I don’t like and cannot respect.

  Dad, on the other hand, seems to be turning back into his old self, only better. He seems more humble and human and understanding now. And he keeps telling me I need to forgive Mom.

  “I know you’re right,” I tell him at lunch after church. It’s the second time he’s been back to church, and he says he plans to keep going. “I’ve been asking God to help me forgive her, and sometimes I think I almost have, but then I see her with Rich and …” I make a groaning sound. “It’s like I’m stuck.”

  “Well, it might take time.”

  “Dad,” I begin, “remember your offer? For me to move in?”

  “Sure. You need to take me up on it?”

  “Maybe so.”

  “Because of Rich?”

  I nod, trying to hold back the tears burning in the back of my eyes. “I know they think I don’t know, and they’re being really sneaky and quiet, but I know he’s spent the night, and it just makes me feel so uncomfortable, like it’s not even my home anymore. I get up in the morning and there he is, reading the paper as if he belongs there more than I do.” Now the tears come. “And I just can’t take it, Dad.”

  “I understand. Move in anytime you like.” Then he gets a thoughtful expression. “Just try to do it right, Maggie—for your sake and for your mom’s.”

  Do it right? How do I do it right? Is there a right way to tell your mother that you don’t know her anymore, that you can’t stand how she’s living, that you no longer feel at home in your own house? I don’t think so. Even so, I tell Dad that I’ll do my best.

  So I go home after lunch and begin to pack my things. I find some boxes in the garage, along with some big trash bags, and before long, my car is stuffed with most of my belongings. I’m not sure where Mom is, but since her car is still here, I’m assuming she’s with Rich. To be honest, I’m not even sure they came home last night, since I went to bed before I ever heard them and when I got up the house was quiet, which was actually preferable to having Rich in the kitchen drinking coffee like he owns the place.

  I wait around for a while and even think about leaving a note, but then that seems pretty impersonal and cold. I decide I’ll just call her later, after I get settled in at Dad’s place.

  I’m just getting into my car when she and Rich pull up, and she immediately sees my loaded-down car and hops out of the El Camino and comes marching toward me.

  “What are you doing?” she demands.

  “I’m moving in with Dad,” I say in a calm voice.

  “Just like that?” She glares at me. “Sneaking away while I’m gone? Not even planning to tell me?”

  “I planned to tell you, Mom, but you weren’t here. I was going to—”

  “It figures!” she snaps. “You’re just like your father. Well, fine, go then. See if I care.” And then she walks away.

  I am trying not to cry as I drive across town, trying not to replay the hatred that I’m sure I saw in her eyes. But I remem
ber something Ned told me once—about how he feels torn between his parents, how it’s hard to choose which ones to spend holidays with. And while I know that Dad’s not pulling at me right now, I realize what a minefield this might turn into some day, and it’s disheartening.

  Two weeks pass rather uneventfully, and I don’t see or talk to my mom once. But here’s what’s weird: As much as I feel that I don’t like her or know her, I find that I do miss her. But it’s the old her I miss, not this new person, Rich’s girlfriend. I think as much as I’ve been grieving the loss of Tia Louisa, I am also grieving the loss of my mother. Will this ever end?

  “We met with the divorce attorneys today,” Dad announces as I make a salad. We’re both helping to make dinners these days. Dad thought it wasn’t fair to put the full burden on me, and I really do appreciate that.

  “How did it go?” I ask as I slice a tomato.

  He moans. “Not so great.”

  Then he tells me about how Mom is going for everything. “She wants the house, wants me to pay off her car, wants alimony, the works.”

  “So hearing about your circumstances didn’t really soften her up?” I ask as I start to peel a cucumber. I know that last week Dad finally told her about losing his job, breaking up with Stephanie, and all the other crud. He thought it might help her to be more understanding when it came time to negotiate some kind of out-of-court settlement.

  “Apparently not.”

  “So will the divorce have to go to court?” I ask.

  “Unless she backs down on some things.” He dumps the pasta into the boiling water. “She’s asking for more than I can possibly give, and it might take a judge to explain it to her. Unfortunately, that will end up costing us both a lot of money, without much to be gained.”

  “That’s too bad.” I don’t remind him that it’s costing us all a lot, and more than just money too. He knows that already.

  “Yeah. I wish she could see that she’s creating a lose-lose situation.”

  “Do you think it would help if I talked to her?”

  Dad frowns. “I don’t want you caught in the middle of this, Maggie.”

  I have to laugh. “It’s a little late for that.”

  “Well, do what you think is right.” He pauses. “And be sure to pray about it first.”

  “Yeah.” I toss the salad ingredients together. “I have been. And I think the time has come for me to tell Mom that I’m sorry and that I forgive her.”

  He smiles now. “That’s good to hear, Maggie. I know you’re going to feel a lot better when you take care of that. I sure did.”

  “You told Mom you were sorry?”

  “Lots of times.”

  “But she hasn’t forgiven you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet?”

  “She’ll come around, Maggie—eventually. She’s a good woman—a good woman who’s been deeply hurt. That’s my fault.”

  So I stop by Mom’s office after school the next day. I realize I probably should’ve called first since she could be in a meeting or out showing a house, but I find her sitting in her office thumbing through a big stack of papers.

  “Maggie!” she looks up in surprise.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I sit down. “I just want to talk. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” She gets up and closes the door, sitting down in the chair beside me. “Are you okay?”

  The sincerity in her voice gets to me. It reminds me of who she used to be, the mom I’ve been missing.

  “I just want to tell you”—my voice breaks now—“that I’m sorry, Mom. I said some mean things to you, and I know that I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, mi hija!” she exclaims, hugging me. “I’m sorry too.”

  “And I’ve missed you,” I tell her.

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  Tears are coming now. “And I want you to know that I forgive you too. I mean, you probably don’t even know why, but the truth is, I’ve been really mad at you about Rich, and I realize that I can’t hold it against you anymore and I need to forgive you.”

  And then we just hug and cry for a little while. Finally, we let go, and Mom digs a box of tissues out of her desk so we can wipe our eyes.

  “Are you moving back home now?” she asks hopefully.

  I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t even considered this possibility. Finally, I ask about Rich. “Are you guys still together?”

  She nods, tossing her used tissue into the wastebasket and sitting a little straighter. “Is that a problem?”

  “It just makes me uncomfortable,” I admit.

  She frowns. “I don’t know why you’re so hard on him, Maggie. You should get to know him. You might even like him.”

  While I seriously doubt this, I just nod, acting like she might be right. I still have serious misgivings about El Camino Man. “Yeah, I suppose I’ve been judging him,” I say, “and I’m sure you wouldn’t like him if he were a jerk.”

  She laughs now. “Don’t be so sure. I liked your father, and he was a jerk.”

  I feel like I need to bite my tongue now.

  “So how’s it going with him?” she asks. “Did he come home all angry about the meeting yesterday?”

  “No, not angry—just sad mostly.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I can just imagine.”

  “Really, Mom. He totally regrets this whole mess.”

  “It’s his mess, Maggie.”

  “I know. He knows. But how is he supposed to clean it up? I mean, you’re not exactly being reasonable. Aren’t you ever going to forgive him, Mom?”

  She crosses her arms across her front, leaning against her desk with a hard-to-read expression. “I don’t know, Maggie. I don’t know if I ever can.”

  I nod. “Right. I understand that. Sometimes it’s a matter of timing. But then eventually you have to choose, Mom. Eventually you have to decide to forgive.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m not ready to do it yet.”

  So then I try to calmly discuss the divorce settlement, trying to make her see that taking their problems to court will only waste money, and suddenly her eyes are flashing at me again, and I can see she is getting angry.

  “Your father sent you here, didn’t he?”

  “No, Mom, I came because—”

  “No, he sent you. He thought you would soften me up—that I’d agree to his stupid settlement. Well, tell him he can just forget it, Maggie! And tell him that he should act like a grown man and fight his own battles. And tell him that I will see him in court!” And then she resorted to swearing in Spanish, and I told her I had to go.

  Her words still stung as I drove home, they stung as I got ready for work, and they stung as I drove to Casa del Sol. But then I remembered my choice to forgive her, and I realized I would have to forgive her all over again. So I asked God to help me, and I asked him to take the sting of her words away. And by the time I parked my car and walked into the restaurant, I felt a little bit better.

  Later as I drove home from work, I realized that without forgiveness we would all live very unhappy lives. Without forgiveness we would all become bitter and jaded and mean. And without forgiveness my mother would never be happy again.

  “God help her,” I prayed as I parked my car in front of the town house. “Help her to forgive and move on.”

  twenty-two

  GRADUATION IS JUST TWO WEEKS AWAY NOW. THE DIVORCE IS FINAL. MY mom finally agreed to a settlement, so my parents didn’t have to go to court. It wasn’t the settlement that Dad’s lawyer wanted, but it also wasn’t the settlement that took everything. Mom sold the house and moved into a condo with Rich. My grandmother isn’t speaking to her, and the rest of the family doesn’t know what to think. I wonder what Tia Louisa would say. I’m guessing she would calmly tell Mom to get her act together, and then if my mom refused, my aunt would probably still love her anyway.

  That’s what I’m tryin
g to do, although it’s not easy.

  Elisa and Marc are still in shock. They both figured that Rich was just a bad phase, Mom’s knee-jerk reaction to Dad’s unfaithfulness. Turns out they were wrong.

  “I don’t care what Mom says,” Elisa tells me, “that man is not coming to my wedding.” Elisa got engaged in April, totally out of the blue, to a guy she’s known only since Christmas. The wedding is set for September, but due to our family’s problems, Elisa might just elope. “It’ll save money,” she assures me.

  “But what about the rest of the family?” I ask. “Don’t you think we’d enjoy a wedding? And it doesn’t have to be really expensive. You know how our relatives love to cook. Hey, maybe you could have the reception at the restaurant.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she says, “but I’m still not talking to Mom.”

  Marc still blames Dad for the divorce. If one has to cast blame, I suppose Dad’s the most obvious target, and he certainly doesn’t deny his responsibility. In fact, he feels the pain of his mistake almost daily. And he’s apologized to everyone more than once. I think, in time, Marc will forgive him. Probably a lot sooner than Mom ever will, although Dad seems certain that she will forgive him eventually.

  I still get mad sometimes. I get angry that my parents’ choices and mistakes have altered our family forever. And it bugs me that I don’t have a “real home” to go back to. I mean, it’s nice living here with Dad, and now that it’s warm out, I’ve been enjoying the pool. But I think about going away to college, and I wonder what I’ll do for holidays, vacations, and, like Elisa, what I will do if I ever decide to get married. Who will I invite? Who will be blacklisted? Or is God’s grace big enough to cover everyone? That’s what I’m hoping.

  I’ve been trying to get to know Rich, and I’ve learned that he actually has some good traits—like he’s very loyal to his mother, who still lives in Mexico. He sends her money every month. He’s pretty much what you’d call a self-made man, since he came to this country with nothing more than the clothes on his back about thirty years ago. He taught himself English, put himself through school, and then got his Realtor’s license. So really, who am I to judge him? Even if I don’t like his choice of automobiles or bling bling.