by Liz Fenton
“I know you’re not looking forward to reliving the bad things, but you can change how it all turns out this time, we all can. We’re getting a do-over!”
Claire chewed on the side of her lip as she thought of her mom and Emily. Even with the gift of hindsight she wasn’t sure she could significantly alter anything, and more important, she wasn’t sure she could handle it if she failed again. “That’s not why I agreed to come back here. I did it so you and Gabriela could have a second chance.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to sit on the sidelines while we try to fix our lives? It’s not just Emily who needs you, you know.” Jessie let her words hang in the sterilized air, nodding at a nurse passing by in pastel pink scrubs, squeezing Claire’s hand.
Grant’s eyes lit up when he saw Jessie reenter the room, the innocence and joy reflected in them making Claire wonder if change really was possible. She’d always told herself it was Emily’s stubborn personality that had shaped her choices. But there had been a small voice in her head, whispering to her late at night, that maybe things would’ve been different if she hadn’t acquiesced when she should have stood her ground.
As Claire exited the 134 freeway, she felt her heartbeat quickening, like she was heading to a first date, and hoping that the guy even slightly resembled his profile photo and wouldn’t visibly flinch when she mentioned she was a single mom. She’d learned right away it wasn’t something you should wait to reveal—like your dating history or your desire to get married—after she’d gone on three dates with a man she really liked, before finally working up the courage to say she had a little girl. He’d been stunned, stammering through an explanation about how he wasn’t ready to be a dad, fumbling as he tossed some cash onto the table and giving her a weak apology before leaving. She’d ordered a shot of whiskey, sipping it and feeling terrible as she tried to pretend she didn’t have someone at home who relied on her for survival.
Walking through the front door of her parents’ condo in Glendale, Claire removed her shoes and placed them next to her mom’s gardening clogs. Her heart caught in her chest and she reached down to pick one of them up. Was she ready to see her after all this time? Through therapy, she’d finally accepted everything that had happened, that things had turned out the way they were supposed to. And now here Claire was, about to see her when she never thought she would have the chance again. Claire hugged the forest-green clog to her chest and beelined for her mom, finding her in the kitchen and hugging her tightly.
“Mom!” Claire buried her head in Mona’s shoulder and sobbed into the soft lavender smock she always wore when she was tending to her herbs out back.
“Are you crying? And why are you holding my Croc?” Mona pulled back and Claire quickly wiped her tears, surveying the peeling wallpaper where the walls met the ceiling, the yellow refrigerator that was practically as old as Claire, and Shaggy, her parents’ golden retriever, sleeping soundly under the dining room table.
Claire nodded. “It’s just so good to see you,” she said, taking in her mom’s short silver locks pulled back in a ponytail that she’d secured with a rubber band meant for binding papers, not hair. Claire reached up to touch it, remembering the times she’d scolded her for not using the proper elastic.
“I know what you’re going to say, but my hair is sixty-two years old; a little breakage won’t matter,” Mona said, rolling her eyes.
“You’re right, who cares what you pull your hair back with.” Claire smiled, her eyes filling with tears again.
Mona put her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “You just admitted I’m right? Okay, now I know something’s definitely wrong with you!” Mona grabbed Claire’s upper arms and gave her a once-over. God, how she had hated when her mom did that, Claire always desperate to know the thoughts in her head as she appraised her, if she was passing a test she didn’t know she was supposed to take. She would swallow hard and cross her arms over her body, wishing she didn’t so desperately want the approval of a woman who seemed so reluctant to give it. Only later would she learn that her mom had meant nothing by this, that she loved Claire more than she ever gave her credit for. But by then it had been too late to reciprocate. “You look tired. Did you get any sleep last night?”
Images of her and Mason intertwined under her floral comforter flashed through her mind, and Claire suppressed a guilty smile.
“You’re flushed, sit down.” Mona guided Claire to a wooden spindle chair and filled a glass with tap water. “Drink.”
Claire obeyed, letting the cool liquid rush down her throat while reaching down to pet Shaggy. She ran her fingers through his soft fur, remembering when he’d passed away in his sleep when he was fifteen. She bent down and kissed him and studied her mom. Claire noticed the blue circles outlining her eyes and her frail body beneath her smock, which appeared oversized. Mona had taken up golf and had been walking more in the past year, but it was more than that; now she could see the weight was vanishing in places it shouldn’t have been.
“Do you have a picture of the baby?” Mona asked as she sat next to Claire.
Claire held out her phone to her mom, who frowned as she studied a photo of Jessie and Lucas. Claire already knew what her mom was thinking, and rightfully so. Mona was surprised at how happy Jessie looked. And that was an emotion Jessie hadn’t shown much in the months leading up to Lucas’ birth.
“I’m glad to see her smiling. I figured once the little one arrived, she’d come around,” Mona said finally. “Motherhood is complicated.”
Claire nodded. She and her mom were never as close as Claire had wanted them to be. She’d always felt surges of jealousy whenever Gabriela talked about her mom. In the sixteen years Gabriela knew her mother, she’d been closer to her than Claire had ever felt to Mona. That just wasn’t Mona’s way. She wasn’t a nurturer, she was more of a guide, wanting Claire to stumble so she could teach herself how not to fall. Claire had learned from the hours of sitting on the soft leather couch across from her therapist that by trying so hard to please Emily, she was trying to manufacture a relationship like the one she’d wanted to have with Mona. Claire had become the lenient, easygoing mom she’d always wished she’d had, but she’d been too eager, trying to engage Emily in topics like boys or music, and was often met with eye rolls.
“Speaking of the complications of motherhood, where’s Em?” Claire quipped.
“Finishing up her math homework,” Mona answered proudly, and Claire knew by her satisfied smile what she was thinking, that Emily had given her no resistance, had done exactly as she was told, because she was with Grandma. And it was true, she did listen to Claire’s mom—because Mona was willing to say no to the things Emily asked for, unlike Claire, who tragically underused the word.
“What took you so long?” Emily shot as she walked into the kitchen.
“Hi!” Claire chimed, ignoring Emily’s accusatory tone and throwing her arms around her daughter, then stepping back and looking at her before squeezing her hard again.
“Okay, weirdo!” Emily said, wriggling from her grasp.
“Whoa, Jessie’s new baby has made your mother quite emotional!” Mona said. “Are you running a baby fever?”
Claire laughed lightly and swatted her mom’s hand away. “It’s just so good to see you, Em,” Claire said as she took in her daughter’s loose-fitting jeans and Converses. She was still so young, so naïve. Maybe she could help Emily hold on to that innocence a little longer this time around.
“You’re late. I was supposed to meet Anna at the mall,” Emily whined, pressing her hand into her hip, and Claire’s neck immediately stiffened.
Anna. Claire released an audible sigh, a visual of the wispy girl with white-blond hair and a row of perfect teeth freshly released from their braces coming to mind. Claire thought back to meeting her for the first time, smiling as Anna offered pleases and thank-yous to Claire at every turn, even asking to help with the dishes from their after-school snack. Claire later lingered outside Emily’s room t
o listen in on them talking about a boy they both thought was cute. “I’d hit that,” Anna said, and cackled loudly. Claire had flinched and grabbed the doorjamb, unsure whether to burst into the room and mortify her daughter or pretend she hadn’t heard it. She’d chosen the latter, telling herself Anna was just going for shock value, repeating something she’d heard on TV. But over the next year, Anna proved to be problematic, interested in pushing every boundary and determined to take Emily with her. Claire finally had to forbid Emily from hanging out with her. This time, she’d stop that friendship in its tracks immediately.
But as she looked at Emily’s pouty lips, she felt the familiar rise of guilt.
“I’m sorry.” Claire uttered the beginning of an apology. But then, as a smile appeared on her daughter’s lips, Claire thought of Anna again and the hell she’d gone through with Emily. Because she’d wanted to be a friend when she should’ve been a mom. She had to be different this time, or why did she bother coming back at all? She could tell herself it was only for Gabriela and Jessie, but deep down she did have some hope she could make her own life and Emily’s better too.
“Actually, scratch that. I’m not apologizing to you because I made you late for a shopping trip—especially not one with Anna, who I’m not a fan of by the way. It’s you who should be saying sorry for taking that tone with me,” Claire said sharply, and Emily’s large eyes widened.
“Sorry,” Emily said obediently, and Claire felt a surge of hopefulness as she made eye contact with Mona, who was nodding her head in approval. Maybe taking a stand against Emily’s attitude was exactly what her daughter needed. “So, Aunt Jess had a boy, right? What did they name him? I bet the twins are excited to have a little brother!”
“Lucas,” Claire responded, taking a strand of Emily’s hair and playing with it the way she used to, wrapping it into a knot, and Emily shaking it free reflexively. Claire had forgotten how beautiful her long dark blond hair had been at this age, cascading down her back in natural waves. In just a few years, Claire knew Emily would spend the night at a friend’s house, hack off several inches, and cut severe, uneven bangs that fell into her eyes, then color it black in a tiny pedestal sink, the ugly green undertones of her cheap dye job always a reminder to Claire that she had completely lost control of her daughter.
“Will you stop? I hate when you do that!” Emily yanked her head away, and just like that, Claire’s hope was sucked out of her.
Claire stepped back and watched as Emily pulled a pink Nintendo DS from her pocket, her eyes dropping away from Claire as she stared at the tiny screen, remembering how she’d regretted the purchase, wishing she’d been firmer when Emily had whined that she was the only kid in her grade that didn’t own one.
“Please put that thing away. It’s time for us to go.”
“Wait a sec, I just started a new race on Mario Kart.”
As Claire watched Emily’s metallic purple nails rhythmically move over the arrows, she knew if she said nothing, Emily would continue to play the game for as long as it took, never stopping to do what she’d been asked.
She pried the device out of Emily’s hands and stuffed it into her purse. “I said, it’s time to go. Now say good-bye to your grandmother and thank her for taking care of you. Now.”
Claire raised her hand as Emily began to protest. “One word and you won’t get it back for a week.”
“Whatever,” Emily huffed, finally squeaking out a bye and thanks and stomping toward the front door past Claire’s father, who was clearly tuning them out as he watched TV in his leather La-Z-Boy.
Claire smiled at her father, who winked at her when he caught her eye. Claire hadn’t realized how good it would be to see him like this, when ignoring the squabbles of his female family members was his biggest problem.
“What’s gotten into you?” Mona said, coughing loudly as she appraised her daughter.
“I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired of her attitude,” Claire responded, thinking she was actually exhausted by it, having dealt with it for the better part of a decade, gently rubbing her hand in circles on her mom’s back as she hacked. “You okay?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Mona nodded. “Just a bad cough I can’t seem to shake. I’ll be fine.”
“You should see a doctor,” Claire said, trying to sound nonchalant, willing the tears in the back of her eyes to disappear.
“Don’t be silly. It’s nothing.”
“Probably. But let’s get it checked out anyway. Please?”
“Fine. I’ll think about it. Are you sure you’re okay? First, you bring the hammer down on Emily and now you’re acting like I have cancer or something?” Mona laughed deeply and waved good-bye as Claire made her way down the steps of her childhood home, the tears she’d been holding exploding from her eyes like missiles.
You do have cancer, Mom. I’m just hoping this time we can catch it before it’s too late.
CHAPTER NINE
* * *
Jessie shot up in bed as a baby’s cries woke her, her heart pounding, disoriented as she tried to figure out where she was. She squinted at the clock—it was just after 1 a.m., and as she started to drift back to sleep, she realized it was Lucas who was wailing because he needed to be fed. She’d forgotten how hard it was to make that transition from hospital to home, where you aren’t just taking care of your baby, you’re caring for your entire family. And there’s no kind-eyed nurse to take your bundle to the nursery whenever you need a break. Jessie had been looking forward to the benefits of being ten years younger, but had conveniently forgotten how exhausting a newborn could be—how her bones would ache from lack of sleep, how her breasts would throb when they got too full. That even though her skin glowed and her metabolism was still working properly, she was just as exhausted as she’d been at fifty, maybe even more so.
She rose to feed Lucas, rocking in the yellow chenille glider, calming her breathing to match Lucas’ as she lifted his mouth to her breast, closing her eyes and attempting to melt the past away.
When they’d returned from the hospital and Grant swung the front door open as the handle of Lucas’ car seat pulled on the crook of her arm, she’d gasped. She hadn’t seen her home, their home, the way it was with Grant, in years. After he’d been gone six months, making it very clear he had no plans to move back in, she’d redecorated, not wanting the house to resemble them. It was too painful to look at anything—the worn oversized chair they’d once made haphazard love in, the framed watercolor painting they’d purchased while on a weekend at a bed-and-breakfast, and even the dishes. Every mug, every plate, every spatula had a memory attached to it. Whatever Grant hadn’t taken with him, she’d replaced. But it wasn’t until the twins had returned from a weekend at their dad’s, and she showed them the final transformation, that she’d regretted what she’d done. Instead of giggling and jumping up and down when they saw their new rooms, their eyes had gone cold. Their dad was gone, and now their familiar surroundings were too. Again, Jessie had failed them.
That first night home from the hospital with Lucas in a sling against her chest, Jessie had run her fingers across picture frames, tabletops, and tchotchkes throughout the house. She bit back the tears as she remembered frantically calling Goodwill and Salvation Army, where she’d sent most of their items, only to be told they were either purchased or shipped away to another location. Jessie winced as she ran her hand over the oak desk that she’d once sat at signing thank-you cards for the baby gifts she’d received for the girls. That was one of the many pieces she’d asked the movers she’d hired to put on the curb along with a cardboard sign with the word Free written in black Sharpie. It was her way of distancing herself from the person she had been. If only her heart could be mended as easily as replacing furniture.
Grant had caught her staring at a lamp and pulling at the fringe on a rug, and laughed. “You’ve only been gone a few days.”
She hugged him. “It feels like years. I missed you.”
<
br /> Grant laughed again and kissed the top of her head. “You sure all those meds are out of your system?”
“Just promise me you won’t go anywhere. I need you,” Jessie said, keeping her grasp tight.
“I’ve got the whole week off,” Grant said.
That hadn’t been what Jessie was asking, but she stayed silent.
Jessie struggled to settle back into a routine she’d forgotten long ago; jogging through the aisles of Vons like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep, tossing whatever she could into the cart knowing Lucas could wake at any moment and scream for his milk; preparing the girls’ lunches and filling their cereal bowls while Lucas yelled from his vibrating chair, his arms outstretched for her. She had assumed her baby memory would kick in the way a muscle might after it healed from an injury. And in some ways it had—like how she could clean up a diaper blowout with only one wipe, or the way breast-feeding felt like second nature. But there were still things she felt like she was relearning, like how to keep from getting pissed off at Grant when he wasn’t around to help after that initial week at home with her. She realized being back here again just how much she’d romanticized her relationship with Grant in his ten-year absence. She’d buried the memory of how the deep lines around his eyes and slumped shoulders kept her from thrusting Lucas at him the second he walked in the door, so she could get a few minutes of reprieve. She was tired too, but he didn’t seem to notice.
It was a miracle she survived after Grant left, still postpartum and grieving his alienation. Each day felt like climbing a mountain, finally reaching the peak every night, only to do it all over again the next day. She’d become a hard, hollow shell, smiling on cue when the girls jumped into the car after school, when their teacher asked if she was okay, when she and Grant showed up to parent-teacher conferences separately then shoved themselves into the child-sized chairs, something they used to laugh about. Jessie had tried to make a joke the first time, but Grant had remained stoic, refusing to acknowledge their shared history.