A Woman Ignored (A Woman Lost Book 2)

by T. B. Markinson

  For some reason, the image of Casey in her princess outfit popped into my mind. Who did she say she was? Ariel.

  I googled Ariel.

  Being a nerd, I read some articles on The Little Mermaid. Turned out Ariel was one of Disney’s most iconic characters, based on a Hans Christian Andersen fairytale, and I didn’t have a fucking clue. How could I consider becoming a parent if I didn’t know Ariel? Shouldn’t I know that? God, I was going to be the worst parent ever.

  At least I’d recognized Spiderman, although I still couldn’t believe the way that little boy had thrown himself into the wall. How did he think that’d turn out? Could the child be so clueless that he actually thought he could scale a wall like Spiderman? Were boys really that stupid?

  Hank jumped into my lap and swatted at Ariel on my laptop screen. Purring, he started to rub up against her. Shit! Even my cat knew more about Disney princesses than I did.

  “That’s it, Hank, we’re going to watch The Little Mermaid.” I streamed the movie from Netflix. If everyone else on the planet knew about this chick, so would I.

  I paused the movie during the opening credits. If I was going to watch one of the most iconic Disney characters of all time, I wanted to be in the right mood. I zapped some popcorn in the microwave, grabbed a bag of M&Ms from the pantry, and settled down in front of our new sixty-inch HD TV, which Sarah had insisted we buy last week. Sixty inches! If you’d asked me before last week whether we needed such a large TV, I would have laughed in your face. But after one day, I was hooked. Usually, I read at night while Sarah watched TV or graded papers. But this week we had settled down on the couch to watch movie after movie. And Netflix—what a brilliant idea. Thank God I didn’t have this TV and Netflix when I was in grad school, or I wouldn’t have finished my program.

  A thought struck me. Did Sarah think I’d have the time or inclination to take care of the baby while she was working? My heart started to flutter. I felt all the blood drain out of my face.

  Get a hold of yourself!

  Closing my eyes, I counted to ten like my therapist had taught me. I calmed myself down.

  Then I hit play and lost myself in the movie.

  “Are you watching The Little Mermaid?”

  “Shit!” Sarah’s voice scared the bejesus out of me. I placed a hand on my heart. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She laughed over my antics, as though I was being playful. I wasn’t. If I had heard her coming in, I’d have turned the damn movie off. Now I’d never hear the end of it.

  “Jeez, you could have knocked or something.”

  She shook her head disapprovingly. “Why would I knock to enter my own home?”

  “To give me some warning.”

  “Why, do you plan on having an affair?”

  The word “affair” hung in the air. Neither one of us knew how to handle the situation.

  Finally, I joked, “No, but when I’m watching crap TV I would like some notice so I can shut it off before you arrive.”

  “The Little Mermaid is not crap!” Sarah crossed her arms, ready for battle.

  “Well, it’s not good for kids. Do you know the chef dude says merde? That’s shit in French. How can parents let their kids watch this trash?” I felt silly saying it. Of course Sarah knew; she was fluent in French, after all. She was constantly dragging me to Denver, to her favorite theater, to see foreign films. The theater was fancy, serving cocktails and scrumptious desserts, so I didn’t complain too much.

  I refused to admit that I actually thought The Little Mermaid was pretty darn cute for a cartoon, let alone that I was on my second viewing. Next time I saw Casey, I planned to give her a run for her money. I’d show her who was an expert on The Little Mermaid.

  Sarah motioned for me to raise my legs so she could sit down on the couch. “Lizzie, has anyone ever told you to lighten up.”

  “Not in the past five minutes.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t love this movie. I remember seeing it when I was a kid.”

  “Have you seen it since then? I bet you don’t like it now.”

  Okay, how shameless was I? I didn’t want to admit I had wanted to watch it again, so I concocted this plan. Pitiful!

  “I bet I do!” She tapped my legs playfully.

  “Bet you don’t.” Was I pushing too hard?

  “Well then, go make more popcorn so I can prove you wrong.”

  As soon as I stepped out of view, I gave myself a high five. Instead of making popcorn, I decided to put out some cheese, chorizo, and crackers on a plate, and then I uncorked a bottle of wine. I hummed as I prepared the food, which wasn’t like me one bit. I wasn’t sure where the inspiration came from.

  “Liar!”

  I looked up to find Sarah propped against the kitchen doorframe. “What? I’m sorry. I thought this would be better than just popcorn.”

  “Not that.” She sauntered over to the platter I had prepared and snagged a piece of chorizo. After popping it into her mouth and chewing, she said, “This looks good.”

  “Then why did you shout liar?”

  “You were humming the song, ‘Under the Sea.’”

  “I was not,” I lied with as much conviction as I could muster.

  “Yes. You. Were.” The look of satisfaction on her face annoyed the hell of out me.

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” I whisked past her with the snacks and wine. Glancing back over my shoulder, I asked, “Can you bring the wineglasses, please?”

  Sarah strode into the room after me, carrying the new wineglasses she and her mom had picked out at Pier One. “You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Can we watch this lame movie yet, or do you want to continue your jibber-jabber?”

  There was no way I was going to confess that I liked the movie. No way in hell.

  Chapter Four

  Wednesday morning arrived much faster than I expected. I hopped out of bed at five, anxious to get going so I wouldn’t be late to pick Mom up for her appointment.

  I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom when Sarah slipped her arms around my waist. “You going to be okay today?”

  I shrugged.

  She rose on her tippy toes and kissed the back of my head. Then she turned and stepped into the shower.

  Mom had told me to be at her house by eight, but I was in her neighborhood by seven. Not wanting to disturb her, I stopped at Starbucks to kill time. I fidgeted at a table, one hand nursing a chai latte and the other shakily holding open a book—an account of a young Englishwoman living under Nazi tyranny. My eyes kept darting back to paragraphs before, my brain unable to wrap itself around the words. Every few seconds, I peeked at my watch. I wanted to ensure I wasn’t late, but I also secretly kept hoping time had magically stopped.

  Chemo.

  I pondered over the word. Just the thought of it made me shit my pants. I couldn’t imagine what my mother was going through.

  At 7:55 a.m., I rang the doorbell. As I waited, I straightened my shirt and swore at myself for being stupid enough to wear jeans. I could just hear my mother: Jeans, Elizabeth? I’m dying and you wear jeans.

  The door swung open, and my neck cracked a little as I did a double take. My father held the door open for me. Since when did he go to work this late?

  “Morning,” he huffed, motioning me inside.

  “Good morning,” I mumbled, as he shut the door behind me.

  The mood in the house was chilling. Maybe if we had been a closer family, it wouldn’t be so tense, but I doubted it. Nothing in life prepared anyone for this.

  My mother was perched on the leather sofa. One of her navy blue skirts had been paired with a starched white blouse and matching navy blazer. Her purse sat on her lap.

  “Lizzie’s here,” my father announced—needlessly, as I was standing in plain view.

  My
mother opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, resembling one of those turtles you see on a nature documentary, with her wrinkled neck, thin lips, and beady eyes always on the lookout for prey.

  “How you feeling?” I asked. She looked as scared as I felt. The last time I asked her that question, Mom had nearly bitten my head off, yet I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Fine.”

  I lifted the bag of books. “I got you some books.”

  “Good. Set them by my chair,” she commanded. She didn’t bother saying thanks, but this time I didn’t really care.

  “You ready to go?” she asked.

  I wanted to ask her the same thing—not in the same way, though. I meant mentally.

  “Call me when you’re done,” my father instructed, directing his statement to me, not her. “The nurse will be here when you get back.”

  I nodded. He studied Mom for a split second before retreating to the safety of his chauffeured car, his mountain of work. I wanted to shout at him. Coward!

  When we arrived for the appointment I braced myself for the sterile environment beyond the door. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but I didn’t think the entrance would scream welcome, yet it did. A floral arrangement was the first thing that caught my eye. Colorful prints adorning the walls gave the impression this would be a cool place to have a cup of joe and catch up with friends. I hated the place immediately. The attempt to be overly cheerful was an insult to reality. People didn’t come here to have coffee. They came in hope of cheating death.

  My mother strode to the front desk like a cavalry officer riding into battle: full of confidence and bravado. I admired the front she was putting on.

  The nurse handed her some paperwork to complete; Mom handed it straight to me. We took a seat opposite an older woman wearing a headscarf.

  Jesus! I don’t need to see that!

  Mom’s expression suggested she felt the same. She nodded at the woman, but didn’t speak.

  “Your first time?” the woman asked her.

  “What?”

  “Is this your first appointment? I can tell. I’ve been around for a while.” The woman smiled, her expression supportive under drawn-on eyebrows. How she managed that was beyond me.

  “Yes.” My mother’s tone was cool. She was never one for chitchat.

  The woman eyed me. “It’s wonderful that you’re here for her.”

  I nodded, not knowing what to say. It was obvious she didn’t have anyone, or maybe the person tired of the appointments. How long does it take, I wondered, until a patient’s hair falls out?

  “I need your insurance card,” I told Mom, motioning toward the intake form.

  When she pulled out the card, I saw that her hand was shaking, her eyes averted. I didn’t say or do anything to reassure her. Knowing Mom, that wasn’t what she wanted anyway. Being human wasn’t her thing.

  Several minutes later, I returned the forms to the woman at the front desk. A nurse appeared in the waiting room, glancing at her clipboard and calling my mother’s name. Both of us sat there, frozen. Finally, I stood and put out my hand to Mom. I half expected her to swat it away; she didn’t.

  It was icicle cold.

  “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  She acknowledged me with a slight tilt of her head and then strode off briskly, once again a cavalry officer.

  I pulled out my book. Words blurred the page. That was when I noticed that my eyes were filled with tears. I dabbed at them casually and wiped my cheek on my shoulder. I needed to hold it together. My mom needed me to be strong.

  A table offering tea and coffee sat to one side of the room. I poured myself a tea and wandered back to my chair, opening my book, pretending to read for I don’t know how long until the door that led to the back opened and the nurse ushered Mom out.

  “Here she is,” the nurse announced, as if my mother was a child who’d just had her teeth cleaned for the first time.

  “Is there anything I need to do?” Mom asked her, in a not-so-confident tone.

  “Nope. You’re all set. We’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  We drove home in silence.

  “I’ll see you in two days,” she informed me when I pulled into her driveway. Without another word, she stepped out of the car. Her nurse opened the front door of the house.

  Just like that, I was dismissed. Dad’s assistant took my message to let him know that Mom was back home and that everything went well. Actually, I wasn’t sure what had happened, let alone whether it went according to plan. Mom left me in the dark.

  I arrived back in Fort Collins before noon, feeling like I just biked one hundred miles. I sat in my SUV, unable to open the door, let alone move my arms or legs. I put the car in park. I left the seatbelt on. I stared at my driveway. I felt numb. Numb.

  * * *

  By the time Sarah walked in the front door, I was in much better shape, even if I’m pretty sure my splotchy cheeks and puffy eyes screamed, “I’ve been crying!”

  My conflicting emotions confused and baffled me. Why was I was feeling overwhelmed, confused, sad, angry, and alone when Mom and I were never even close. Peter was much closer to her, even if not involved in actually taking care of her. My brother never could face reality. He was always too busy putting on a show, one that assured everyone how successful he was. I doubted it had ever occurred to him that no one cared. People care about actions, Peter, not impressions.

  Ironically, my mother, if she didn’t have cancer, would have been one of the few people impressed by the way Peter was handling things.

  “How’d it go?” Sarah set her bag down. Papers brimmed out of the top, and I knew she had a full night of grading to do.

  “Um, it was‌…‌surreal. I don’t really know how to describe it,” I said in barely more than a whisper.

  “Did she get sick?” Sarah sat down next to me on the couch and rubbed my back.

  I shrugged. “Not sure. She only let me take her to the appointment. When we got back to the house, she didn’t even let me get out of the car to help her up the stairs. It was like I’m only good enough to take her to the hospital, or she wanted the staff members to know her daughter cared enough to take her, which implies she was a good mother. Why couldn’t she just pay someone to act like her daughter and leave me out of it?”

  Sarah sighed. She had never let on to me, but deep down I think she was worried about this turn of events, worried I would let Mom take advantage of me in the hope of finally earning maternal love. I knew I was worried about that as well. Why, at the age of thirty, was I still desperate for acceptance? Given that I had let my childhood memories interfere with my relationship with Sarah in the past, I admired her ability to support me silently, without giving voice to her concerns. Perhaps she sensed I had enough on my plate.

  “If she’s anything like you, she didn’t want to show you that she’s vulnerable. Give her time, Lizzie.”

  It made sense. I wouldn’t want people watching me puke my guts up either.

  “I will,” I said, finally. “I’m taking her to her next appointment. Actually, I think I’m on the hook for all of them. I know Peter won’t think to offer.” I paused. “My father was home when I got to the house. I can’t remember a time he was home after 7:00 a.m.”

  “Maybe this will bring them closer. Your mom is a tough bird. She’ll survive this.”

  “That would be just like her. Goodness knows she’s not done torturing me yet.” I let out a relieved snort.

  “Now, I want you to take me to dinner. Maddie texted. She wants to join.”

  I gestured to her bag. “Don’t you have to get caught up on grading?”

  Sarah waved the idea away. “Nah. Half of my students don’t turn their stuff in on time, so why should I?”

  I reached for her hand, where it rested on my shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  She leaned in and hugged me, saying nothing. What was t
here to say: Sorry that your Mom, who has always been a bitch, is dying and you don’t know how to process your feelings?

  “Where are we meeting Maddie?”

  “A new Mexican joint. And I probably should warn you to be on your best behavior.”

  “Why? You afraid I’ll break down and cry or something?”

  She swatted my shoulder, as if appalled that I thought so lowly of her. “Not that. She’s bringing a date. Do you remember the last guy you met?”

  I did. He was a complete and total asshole who didn’t respect women and wasn’t smart enough to pretend that he did, not even while having dinner with three women. I had given him a piece of my mind—and then some. “I didn’t say anything that you didn’t want to say,” I pouted.

  “You didn’t have to tell him he was an asshole to his face.”

  “Hey now, Maddie burst into laughter when I did. He asked us how lesbians had sex, for Christ’s sake, and if we shaved our pubic hair off to avoid getting hair in our teeth while eating each other out. He’s allowed to do that, but I can’t say, ‘You’re an asshole.’”

  “You do shave, by the way.”

  “Because I’m a neat freak, not because I’m worried about you getting hair in your teeth. It’s more hygienic!”

  “So it’s not for my benefit at all?”

  I groaned. “Good twist on that. Nicely played.”

  She smiled, and then started into me again. “And then you proceeded to tell Maddie’s date that if he didn’t understand lesbian sex, he’d never satisfy a woman.”

  “Well, he won’t!” I stood firm on this point.

  Sarah smiled. I’m sure she was relieved to see my spark back. “Just go easy on this one, okay. Maddie really likes him.”

  “What does he do?”

  Please say teacher or something along those lines. A profession I can respect. Even a mechanic.

  I admired a person who could take an engine out and put it all back together; plus, it would be nice to have one I could call.

  “He’s a weather forecaster on a local news channel.” Sarah turned her back. Was she deliberately avoiding my glare?