More than the Sum

by Riedemann, Fran

  Brittany shuffled into her kitchen through the side door, enjoying watching her mother’s inability to contain an expression of disgust at Brittany’s appearance. For a fleeting moment, Brittany toyed with telling her that she had cut her hair off in a rage; instead, without comment, she tossed the plastic bag containing her hair on the counter.

  Without making any effort to offer any consolation, Alma jumped right in, asking her, “Might I ask when were you going to answer my phone calls and tell me Craig left you?” She spoke in a clipped voice, waving the letter in the air while she talked. “You were well aware that I had a bad feeling about you both on Christmas. Your brother and I were about to send the police over to check on you.”

  That’s just great! Brittany thought. Now her brother was being consulted to weigh in on how to handle her. She toyed with a few expletives before her brain checked in, warning her to keep her mouth shut. Okay! Zip your lip, Brittany, she thought, feeling defensive. This time mother can wonder what I’m thinking.

  “I appreciate your concern, Mother, but I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet. That’s all—surely you get that. Obviously you’ve read his letter, so enough said...” She turned away from her mother to brew some tea for herself, and give herself a minute to cool down. “As you have already seen, Craig is being more than fair.” She waited for a response, got none, and so went on, “I signed the paperwork this morning.” She waited, but still no response, and took that as a cue to retrieve the letter, grabbing it from her mother’s fingers, tearing off a corner in the process.

  Alma chose not to play the game, so she pushed her chair away from the counter and stood to her feet. While she was pulling on her coat, she gave Brittany one last, very deliberate, once-over. “Brittany, I am very hurt by this, but I am going to give you some grace because I can see that you are clearly not lucid.” She paused for emphasis. “Since you have made it abundantly clear you don’t want my advice, I won’t offer any.” Then she shook her head in the same way she had done when Brittany was little, having been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar, and offered her a last bit of unsolicited advice, “But, please girl”, she told her, “for the sake of all of us, do pull yourself together!”

  With that, she turned and let herself out the front door, letting it slam behind her, having effectively turned Brittany’s loss into being about her. Once she was gone, Brittany began to tremble, glad she was alone. She knew ignoring her mother’s calls was a calculated risk. That, along with giving in to her own defensive reactions that morning, would very likely result in her being shunned by Alma, and she knew she would have to do some very significant groveling to find herself in Alma’s good graces again.

  No, she could live with being shunned—at least for now. No one was going to mess with her newly transformed head for a while.

  The now scum coated cups of cocoa, and the plate of fudge and cookies, sat untouched on the coffee table in the living room. Brittany cleaned them away, nibbling on a cookie while consuming a container of past the expiration date peach yogurt. That much sugar would no doubt only add to her jitters, so she decided she should go to the store before her shaking became chronic.

  After changing into a pair of jeans and sweat shirt, she drove to a market a few blocks away. While pushing her cart around the maze of aisles toward the produce section, she tried to ignore the creepy feeling one gets when they believe someone is stalking them, only this time it was not her imagination. Without any makeup, and with most of her hair cut off, she looked drastically different than normal. The stalker, it turned out, was her neighbor, Jeanne Stone, who was following her,trying to get a good look at who the Brittany look- alike was.

  After getting her attention, Jeanne pulled her cart alongside Brittany’s, staring hard at her. Brittany had to laugh when it dawned on her that she must look like her own lost twin. Jeanne spoke first, “Okay, I give up. Who are you, really? I have a neighbor who looks like you, but I have never seen her step outside without looking like she was going to a photo shoot,” When Brittany didn’t answer, she asked, “What’s up? You okay?”

  Brittany felt hot tears forming behind her eyelids, and before she could stop herself, blurted out the cold, hard truth, “Jeanne, Craig left me for somebody else!” Quickly recovering her composure, she looked around to see who else might have been in earshot, thankfully, no one was.

  The shock registered on her friend’s face. “He who? Craig? What? No! You’ve got to be kidding me.No, you aren’t—I know you too well.” Jeanne was stammering, trying to think of what to say. “Randy and I have been wondering where you were. We thought maybe you had decided to go away for a few days.” She paused, to look at her friend. “I think I’m going to be sick.” It was Jeanne’s turn to tear up.

  Brittany nodded. “Jeanne, it’s all so humiliating..” The tears spilled over. Jeanne had no adequate response; she was still trying to process the startling information because it made no sense.

  Brittany started moving away, explaining, “I need to get moving. I have nothing in the house to eat and I’m starving, so that must mean I want to live.” She smiled wanly. “I’m still in shock, but I’m okay.”

  Jeanne nodded. “Brittany, I’m making potato soup for dinner tonight; and the cheese scones you love, so don’t even think about what to fix for dinner. Let me take care of your dinners for a while.” She added, “And don’t forget, Randy will do anything for you. He loves you like family—we both do. All you have to do is ask us…” She trailed off, having run out of things to say.

  Brittany gave her a hug, “I know that, and it’s a comfort for me to have you nearby. Craig mentioned my selling the house, but I don’t want to move, so I’m going to need Randy’s help to help me figure out how what I need to do to stay in it.” Brittany could tolerate the inevitable memories that came with staying in the house as long as she had them next door. They were the best neighbors anyone could have.

  “Well, Randy and I will certainly help you. We don’t want to lose you! I collect 'Do Not Disturb' signs from the hotels we stay in when we travel. I’ll give you one so you can hang it on the door if you don’t want to see me.” That made Brittany laugh and she added, “Well, I think I’ll make another sign that says, ‘Disturb Me’ so you can tell when I need you.” Jeanne gave her friend’s hand a squeeze to assure her she and Randy would be there for her.

  “I’m ready to establish what my new normal will be.” Brittany offered, forcing a smile. “While it is awful, he is being generous with the financial end of things; reading between the lines of what little he told me, I think he might be marrying into some money. For me, the good part is that I don’t have to make any life-changing decisions for a while. Thank God for that.”

  Jeanne and Randy were strong in their faith. She wished she had some faith of her own to fall back on.

  “I’ll fill you in on the rest tomorrow. And, I appreciate the soup.”

  Chapter Four

  The house was unbelievably quiet. Exercising her newly found individuality she decided to go to the animal shelter and adopt a kitten. Craig was allergic to cats so that had not been an option up until now.

  The idea of adopting a pet was, in theory, far easier than actually procuring it was, requiring as much paper work as her divorce had. But, despite a strong dose of agitation at the inefficiencies of the poorly managed shelter, Brittany was ecstatic when she later walked to her car with a steel gray kitten that she had been assured was a Russian Blue. His only marking was a white diamond on his chest, and his eyes were an exquisite turquoise blue. “I am calling you Shadow”; she said, the moment she saw him. So, after another run through the grocery store for cat food and kitty litter, she could finally go home.

  When she drove up, Randy was on his way over with her dinner. Brittany had believed he and Craig were friends; she knew he would take it personally that Craig walked away without a backward glance, Randy was a good man. Brittany wished Craig might have confided some of his marital un
rest to Randy, wondering if Craig would make any gesture toward Randy and Jeanne in the months ahead. But in truth, she already knew the answer to her question, but she still wanted to know how someone she thought she knew so well, could walk away and not look back. Realistically, it was becoming apparent he had been working on his exit strategy for the better part of the year. It was evident his life had already moved on well before Christmas.

  One of Randy Stone’s more endearing traits, one that he was mercilessly kidded about it, was how he was very in touch with the female side of his brain, and oddly, he seemed to be very comfortable with it. He took the ribbing in stride and he had no problem admitting he enjoyed chick flicks, had felt betrayed when Oprah left ABC, and cried at most news stories that included either animals or children. So, when she opened the back door to find him holding out the soup and scones, he did not disappoint. He started wiping his eyes the moment he saw her.

  He declined coming in, but not before promising how he and Jeanne would be looking after her. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” Randy told her as he was leaving, calling over his shoulder, “I think I like your hair!”

  The gesture of food, along with the remonstrance’s of help and compassion were what Brittany needed that evening, particularly since she was still stinging from the cold exchange with her mother earlier. Too late, she wished she had been less reactive, knowing there would be a price to pay. It had been a long day.

  She no longer blamed Alma for what lacked in their relationship, although at one time she blamed her for all of it. Over time, and with the help of some costly therapy, she accepted that her mother was who she was, just the sum of what life dealt her, and in turn, Alma chose to act out because of it. Without her father around to act as the family ambassador in helping keep peace between them, Brittany was pretty sure there would inevitably come a time when peace might not be negotiated.

  With Ted’s passing, Craig willingly served as a buffer between Brittany and her mother, with full knowledge that whatever he did had the potential to backfire. Going forward, if Brittany’s fall from grace truly removed her from the picture, she was sure her brother would lose no time moving into the vacuum her absence created, and she meant that literally; there would be no one left to hold either of them accountable.

  Oh, how she wished she knew Sarah well enough to call her to warn her about what she was getting into. But, after this morning, Sarah would very likely have been coerced into believing it was Brittany who was losing it, and she couldn’t blame her for it, given her appearance and how she reacted to her mother. Her mother’s description of her, without any added embellishment, would make her sound certifiable.

  Alma might be capable of sympathy on some level, but Brittany believed she had neither the capacity, nor resources, for empathy. She tried, but it was a futile exercise to try to understand why her mother seemingly never bonded with her. During her preadolescent years she almost convinced herself she could have been adopted. What spoiled that fantasy was that her adopted friends all had wonderful relationships with their parents. So, reluctantly, she carried forward the Foster DNA.

  It was after she became convinced her mother was trying to ruin things for her and Craig she sought professional counseling. Wisely, her counselor suggested one solution might be to step back, distancing from the conflict rather than trying to persuade her mother. She warned Brittany, how by overreacting, by pushing him on her mother might result in Craig’s choosing to remove himself from an unpleasant dynamic. She called it a deliberate type of distancing—“Going up into the balcony”—the ‘balcony’ serving as both a mental place of separation and a vantage point to recalculate, while still maintaining the ability to reconnect, rather than crossing a bridge and burning it behind her.

  What Brittany took away from those sessions was how her mother had, in part, established her dominance over her because Brittany perpetually remained on the defensive, requiring no effort on her mother’s part to keep her there. Her counselor further suggested she observe and journal her own behavior to help her better understand how it played into her mother’s ability to manipulate her guilt. Once Brittany could see the ground she had given her mother, with so little effort on her mother’s part, she realized how, in almost any scenario, defensiveness did not lend itself to a particularly flattering picture of human behavior, vowing she would correct how she postured herself when confronted.

  Craig proved equally weak with issues of conflict, only his tactic was to avoid them altogether. After they were married Brittany was very proud of the fact that she and Craig never fought, bragging about it often to friends. While she prided herself in their conflict-free marriage, she now wondered if some unpredictability in either of their behavior might have added a vitality that would have kept him from wandering to find it elsewhere.

  With her thought life on overdrive, she turned her attention toward scrutinizing the house, for the first time realizing how it represented compromise to a fault. When they first bought it, it was agreed they would blend their tastes, rather than having either of their preferences dominate. In keeping with their insistence on a conflict-free life, and looking around now, she could see how their approach to decorating had resulted in one very boring sense of style. Their walls, furniture, and even their accessories—nearly everything was neutral. Even my cat matches, she thought ruefully, looking around her. If she was going to stay in the house she was determined to make it hers.

  After finishing her soup and every last crumb of the scones she picked up the mewing kitten from of the floor, walking with him from room to room, and turning on all of the lights. For the first time the realization hit her how she and Craig had painted the entire house degrees of the same color, taupe. “How come I never noticed this before?” She asked Shadow, noting for the first time that taupe might resemble the residue left in a glass jar after an artist had cleaned brushes in it all day.

  What came to mind was a question she had read in an article she recently edited. ”What defines you?” Rarely did what she was editing sink in, but that phrase struck a nerve. Perhaps because she was struggling to answer that very question for herself—and that was before Craig left. As she walked through the house she knew with certainty she did not want to be defined by taupe! Her house needed editing.

  ***

  Brittany brought in the New Year zealously peeling long strips of blue painter’s tape off the walls of her kitchen, balling them up, and tossing them to the floor below. She concluded that rather than overwhelming herself with a huge project by starting over, she would retain the taupe tone that was already on the walls, use it as the undercoat, and tape off broad stripes around the room, painting every other stripe black. In theory it seemed easier than it was, but by the time she figured it out she had too much time invested to back out.

  Out of the corner of one eye she watched the Waterford Ball drop in Times Square, while tugging at the last few rows of tape. At the stroke of midnight her transformation of the kitchen was complete, and she was thrilled with what she’d done.

  When she and Craig bought the house, the first thing they did was update the kitchen. With the help of the Home Depot coordinator acting as arbitrator between them, they ended up with white cabinets, quartz counters in a dark grey/black, and for the back-splash chose small glass tiles in a mixture of taupe tones, with a random touch of black; the original wood floors were stripped and stained a dark mahogany. The taupe had been a very safe, howbeit boring, color choice. At the time, she hadn’t cared other than she did not want the small space to seem smaller by dark cabinets, and the taupe was a good contrast with the white. It was the one room in the house that had personality. Even her mother had been complimentary of it.

  She backed up, surveying what she had done, pleased to see how the black striping made sense of what was already there, adding depth and drama to the relatively small kitchen; and it added height. Best of all, she had done it by herself. Perhaps, she had a bit of her mother’s flair, aft
er all.

  Earlier that afternoon she purchased a demi-bottle of Champagne, feeling it was important to acknowledge her passage into this new season in some celebratory way, even if she was alone. With a ‘pop’ the cork gave way, and she poured its contents into a juice glass, not wanting to use the flutes they habitually used from their wedding. She had the fleeting thought of using one and smashing it in the fireplace, but concluded it would be too messy and might injure the kitten. The gesture, she knew, would be more destructive to her than to the crystal.

  She bent over to scoop up Shadow, interrupting his furious batting around of a ball of wadded-up blue tape. Bringing him to her eye-level, she kissed his wet nose, singing out loud, “May auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind” thinking, I actually think I know what that means now! But his eyes remained fixated on the tape-ball on the floor. “Okay, little kitten, I’m not taking this personally,” she told him, setting him back down, watching with amusement while he declared war on another blue invader.

  Next she would run a hot bath and take a soak in the Jacuzzi, alone with her thoughts—she had a new year to plan.

  Chapter Six

  Happy with the results of her newly striped kitchen Brittany decided to move forward with some other simple, and cosmetic, changes to the house. One Saturday evening, late in January, she lay sprawled across the bed in the master bedroom. The bed was strewn with paint chips and color charts she had been collecting from various outlets for the proposed facelift to the room. One by one she held them up to the light, wishing she could ask her mother for some help. If Alma was good at anything, she was good with color, and in spite of her rigidity in personality, her decorating style was eclectic and colorful, made more interesting because of the many art pieces and artifacts she and Ted had collected on their travels.