Love, Life and Linguine

by Melissa Jacobs

  Christopher sits on my desk. “Made you do…what?”

  “What matters is that I didn’t have sex with Joe or Aaron. And I’m not going to. I want to wait.”

  “Wait for what?” Christopher asks.

  “For my brain to be sure of what my body should do. My last relationship started with sex. And ended with sex. Him having sex with someone else. And you know what? I was on a date with another man when I met Nick. A perfectly nice man. I can’t remember his name, but he could have been the love of my life. Did I give him a chance? No, I did not. I got thrusty with Nick.”

  Christopher tsks. “It happens, patty pan. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “What I’m saying is that I want this time to be different. I spent my twenties dating and having casual sex and where did it get me?”

  “It got you to orgasm, I hope.”

  “Yeah, but then what? I went from boyfriend to boyfriend, bed to bed. Somewhere along the line, the sex became meaningless. Now that I haven’t had sex for a few months, it means something again. I like that. Sex should mean something, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” Christopher raises an eyebrow. “What should it mean?”

  “I think it should be…” I think for a few moments, then say, “I think it should be a gift. That I give someone. Someone I care about a lot. Until then, I’ll wait. For actual intercourse, I mean. Fooling around is still fun. But waiting to do the deed makes me feel good. Empowered.”

  Christopher smiles. “Abstinence becomes you.”

  “I almost lost it a few times. It’s not easy to stop traffic on the diva highway, you know what I mean?”

  “No,” Christopher says.

  “But Joe and Aaron are definitely in my hookup hall of fame. All that sexual tension building? That’s the best part. I love it.”

  Christopher laughs. “Ain’t lust grand?”

  “Mom? I’m home. Mom? Mom!” The sound of The Sound of Music soundtrack leads me to the kitchen. No wonder Mom can’t hear me. Whatever. Must pee.

  As I tinkle, I hum along with the music to “Sixteen Going on Seventeen.” I never cared for Rolf. What kind of name is Rolf?

  “Mom?” Walking past the stereo en route to the kitchen, I turn down the volume. “Mom, you shouldn’t listen to music so loudly that you can’t hear anything else. Someone could break in and you’d be none the wiser.” I walk into the kitchen.

  My mother is sprawled on the kitchen floor. Her eyes are closed.

  Bobbi Louis, Part Two

  First, I do nothing. Mom lies on the floor and I stare at her. She’s wearing a housedress. An old one. The dress is bunched around her thighs. A cleaning rag lies near her head. Fumes, I think. She passed out from the Pledge. No. That doesn’t happen.

  Then I do something ridiculous. I try to make a deal with whatever higher power may be listening.

  Don’t let her be dead, I think. I’ll do anything.

  No one answers me.

  For no good reason, I get on my knees and crawl to my mother. I’m afraid to touch her. I don’t want her body to be cold. “Mom?” I say quietly. I look at her chest. It’s moving up and down. She’s breathing.

  I take Mom’s hand and pat it. What am I doing? Do I think this will revive her? Telephone, I think. I have to call 911. Then, Mom’s eyes flutter open. “Oh,” she says. Mom turns her face to me.

  “Mom? What happened?”

  “Oh,” she says again. She plants her free hand on the floor and tries to sit up.

  “Don’t move,” I say. “You may have a neck injury.”

  “What?” Mom says.

  “That’s what they say on TV. I’m calling 911. Don’t move.”

  “Mimi, I’m fine. Really. I got dizzy and, I don’t know. I guess I fell. I’m fine.”

  But I’m already dialing the phone. My emergency, I tell the dispatcher, is that I found my mother unconscious on the floor. Yes, she’s breathing. Yes, she’s awake now. Yes, I absolutely want an ambulance to come.

  “Ambulance?” Mom says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “They’ll be here in three minutes,” I tell her, hanging up the phone.

  “Good God, Mimi. My doctor switched my blood pressure medication. I’m sure that’s the cause of this. I’m fine.” Indeed, she sits up, but she winces.

  “I told you not to move,” I say, crouching down to her.

  “I bruised something. Call them back and tell them not to come.”

  “They’re coming,” I say.

  “Well, then, get me some underwear.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not wearing any underwear. Get a pair from my dresser, will you?”

  Without asking why my mother was cleaning the house sans underwear, I go quickly to her room and grab a pair of panties. “Not those,” she says when I return to the kitchen. “Get a pair of nice ones.”

  I stare at Mom.

  She says, “I can’t go to the hospital wearing bad underwear.”

  For lack of a coherent statement, I say, “Okay.”

  When I return to the kitchen, Mom is lying on the floor, awaiting her panties. She shimmies them up her legs, lifts her tush, and puts on her panties. “Do I have time to put on my makeup?” she asks.

  I stare at her, speechless.

  “At least get me some lipstick,” she says.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mom is en route to the hospital. Without her lipstick. I follow in my car. The EMT guys said that Mom’s vitals are fine, but nonetheless strapped her into a gurney. “This is so embarrassing,” Mom said as they carried her out of the house.

  I call my brother’s house. Jeremy answers. And for some reason, I ask to speak to Allison. I tell her exactly what happened. “We’ll meet you at the hospital,” she says succinctly, and hangs up the phone.

  Twenty minutes later, Mom is in a curtained area in the ER of South Jersey Hospital. She has several doohickeys attached to her chest and arms. Monitoring her heart rate, the doctor told me. Blood has been taken. Tests are being run. And my mother keeps complaining about her lipstick. “I look like a mess,” Mom says. “Give me some of your lipstick. It’s not the right color for me but it’s better than nothing.”

  “I don’t have my purse,” I tell her.

  “Why did you leave the house without your purse?” Mom asks.

  “Because, Mom, you were passed out on the freaking floor.”

  Just then, the curtain draws back and I see Allison, with Jeremy standing behind her.

  “Mom,” Allison says, and comes forward to take Mom’s hand. Jeremy, however, stands still and stares at Mom.

  “Jeremy, I’m fine,” Mom says.

  But Jeremy’s eyes well with tears.

  “Jeremy,” Mom says loudly. “I’m okay, honey.”

  Tears run out of Jeremy’s eyes, and the sight of my brother crying makes my own eyes wet. I know what he sees. Not our mother, but our father.

  “Mrs. Louis,” says the doctor as he appears at the foot of her bed.

  Mom and Allison say, “Yes?”

  “Sorry,” the doctor says. He points at Mom. “That Mrs. Louis.”

  “These are my children,” Mom says. Infused with unnecessary formality, Mom introduces each of us. Jeremy wipes his eyes and shakes the doctor’s hand.

  “Okay,” the doctor says. “Your tests are fine, Mrs. Louis. I spoke to your doctor. She agrees that your fainting was due to the switch in your high blood pressure mediation.”

  Jeremy frowns. “Why didn’t you tell us that the doctor switched your medication?”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Mom says.

  “I want to know everything,” Jeremy says.

  “Do you want to hear about my Pap smear?” Mom says.

  Jeremy winces.

  “The high blood pressure medication caused abnormal excitation of your vagus nerve and slowed the rate of your heartbeat,” the doctor says. “The medical term is vasovagal syncope. Or, fainting.”

  “How Scarlett of y
ou,” I say to Mom.

  Jeremy says, “You think this is funny, Mimi?”

  “No,” I say and look at my shoes.

  “Doctor,” Mom says. “Could you prescribe some sedatives for my children?”

  The doctor says, “I consulted with your doctor and we’re going to switch medications. You should take it easy for the next few days to make sure there are no other side effects. Luckily, you didn’t break or sprain anything. But you have a large contusion on your right buttock.”

  “I have a bruised butt?” Mom says.

  The doctor smiles. “You’ll feel some soreness in your lower back. Ibuprofen will help with that. If you can manage it, staying off your feet for a few days is a good idea. You don’t want to further strain your back.”

  “She’ll stay with us,” Allison says.

  “I’ll be fine,” Mom says.

  “She will absolutely stay with us,” Jeremy tells the doctor.

  “I can take care of myself,” Mom says.

  “No,” Jeremy and Allison say in unison.

  “Hello? I live with her,” I say. “I can take care of her.”

  “Excuse me,” Mom says. “I want to go home.”

  Home

  “Leave me alone,” Mom says.

  Jeremy, Allison, and I stand around Mom’s bed. We have been arguing about how best to care for Mom, when the truth is that there is nothing to do. She is fine, for the most part. “I’d like to take a nap,” Mom says, “if that’s okay with all of you.”

  “Mom,” I say. “Do you want me to call Sid?”

  “No.”

  Why not? Because she doesn’t want to worry him? Because she doesn’t want Sid to see her like this? Because she turned down his marriage proposal? Now is not the time to ask these questions. Or any of the others that lurk in the back of my brain.

  Jeremy stands in Mom’s kitchen with his hands on his hips. “When Mom wakes up, we’ll pack her a bag and move her to our house.”

  “She wants to stay here,” I say.

  “I don’t care what she wants,” Jeremy says. “Do you know what could have happened to her?”

  “I’ll be here,” I say.

  “Where were you when she fell? Why didn’t you know that her blood pressure medication had changed? Why didn’t you go to the doctor with her last week? Because you had to work at the restaurant, right? You know what, Mimi? Your priorities are really screwed up.”

  “Hey,” Allison says. She puts her hand on Jeremy’s arm.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “He’s not completely wrong.”

  “I know he’s not wrong,” Allison says. “I think he’s right. But you should go outside so you don’t disturb you mother.”

  Into Mom’s garden we go. Jeremy folds his arms over his chest. “You’ve spent the whole summer putting that restaurant before your family,” Jeremy says. “You’re just like Dad.”

  “I am not like Dad.”

  Jeremy squints at me. “You’ve always been like Dad. Loving the restaurant business. I’ve always been like Mom. Taking care of my family. And if something happens to Mom…”

  Jeremy gets tears in his eyes. He blinks furiously.

  “…then I don’t know what I would do. I mean, I think about it a lot. Mom’s in good shape, but eventually her health is going to deteriorate. You know how many other people her age are already dealing with serious illnesses?”

  Grammy Jeff. Mrs. Hunter. “Yes.”

  Jeremy keeps going. “You want to start your own family? Try taking care of the family you have. This is what it means to be an adult and have adult responsibilities.”

  “Listen, Jeremy, I realize you’re freaked out by this, but you can stop yelling at me. I have responsibilities. Not as many as you, but I have them. Now that I know what the situation is with Mom, I will be more attentive to her. Okay?”

  My brother swallows. He starts to blink furiously. Is he crying?

  “I’m sorry to yell at you. It’s just…We’ve already lost one parent, Mimi. And today, in the hospital? I looked at Mom in that hospital bed and I thought…” Jeremy puts his hands over his eyes.

  Allison, who must have been watching from the kitchen window, comes rushing into the garden. She wraps her arms around Jeremy’s waist. Jeremy bends over Allison, resting his head on hers. “I’m here,” she says. Jeremy lets loose a sob.

  For a moment, I stand and watch my brother cry on his wife. Then I turn and leave them alone. I go to my room and sit on my bed.

  If something happened to Mom…

  She’s the parent I have left and she’s a super fantastic woman. For so many years, I have been daddy’s little girl. Now?

  I want my mommy.

  Mothers, Part Two

  Jeremy finally agrees to “let” Mom stay in her own home. Before he and Allison leave to rescue their kids from Phoebe, Jeremy spends twenty minutes with Mom in her room. With the door shut.

  Mom sleeps straight through the night. So do I. The next morning, I call the restaurant and tell Grammy Jeff that I won’t be at work for a few days. I don’t tell Grammy about Mom’s fainting drama because I don’t want her to worry.

  “We’ll take care of the restaurant,” Grammy says. “You take a few days to relax.”

  Right.

  “My butt hurts,” Mom says when I bring her breakfast in bed. It’s only scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit, but Mom acts as if I’ve created a masterpiece. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. And you don’t have to babysit me all day. You have things to do.”

  “Consider today a belated Mother’s Day,” I say.

  Mom and I spend the morning icing her butt, watching talk shows, and flipping through fashion magazines.

  “You haven’t asked me about Sid,” Mom says as she eats the grilled cheese sandwich I made for lunch.

  “I thought you’d tell me when you were ready,” I say.

  “I’m not going to marry Sid,” Mom says.

  “May I ask why not?”

  “I enjoy my life the way it is,” Mom says. “I like my freedom.”

  “You can’t be free with Sid? Were you free with Dad?”

  Mom thinks for a few moments. “Your father was always so busy with the restaurant. And that was okay with me.”

  “It was?” I say.

  “Oh, yes. Don’t get me wrong. I loved your father. I just didn’t want him around the house all the time.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I got to spend more time with you and Jeremy and not worry about making the dinner my husband wanted and having it on the table at a certain time. Remember our Sunday dinners? That was the only day of the week we all sat down together at the table. And that was fine with me.”

  “We would spend Sundays together,” I say, remembering.

  “Your father and I would spend Mondays together,” Mom says. “While you and Jeremy were at school.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. All day.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

  “Enough,” I say. “Yuck.”

  But if Dad was having sexcapades with Mom, maybe he didn’t need to look for outside entertainment. Maybe she is the B on the postcard.

  “The issue with Sid is that he is retired and he hasn’t found ways to occupy his time,” Mom says. “He’s been very dependent on me. I already have my own things that I love to do. So I told Sid all of this. Every last bit of it. And he agreed that he needs to fill his life with things other than me. He needs to be more independent. So, we’ll keep dating and see what happens.”

  “And the ring?” I say.

  “Sid said I could keep the ring.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Let freedom ring.”

  What rings is the doorbell. “That’s Maddie,” I tell Mom. “I told her about yesterday’s drama and she insisted on coming over when she was finished with work.”

  Wearing a black tank top and baggy white pants, Madeline says, “How is she?” when I open the door.

  “She’s fine.” I
reach for the pink Tiers box Madeline holds.

  “No.” Madeline swats at my hands. “This is for Bobbi.”

  “It’s a cheesecake,” Madeline tells Mom as she hands over the Tiers box. “I don’t know how to make chicken soup. I thought this would be the next best thing.”

  “That’s very sweet,” Mom says. “Thank you.”

  I take the cake box to the kitchen and cut three slices. Plates in hand, I return to Mom’s room. Madeline has wrapped her arms around my mother. Mom rubs Madeline’s back. I stand in the doorway and watch, not wanting to interrupt. After a few moments, Madeline separates herself from Mom.

  “Thanks,” Madeline says. “I needed that.”

  Jobs

  Christopher von Hecht calls my cell. “Listen, boss girl. I know you are on holiday, but I have to tell you something serious.”

  “What?”

  “I found a new job, so I’m officially giving you two weeks’ notice.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Don’t be mad, okay? Business has been so slow. I hope you understand.”

  I do understand. It’s pretty simple. He needs to make money. “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Habanero Grill,” Christopher sighs.

  “A chain?” I say. “Chrissie, I can get you a better job than that.”

  “You can?” he says.

  “Listen, Brussels sprout. I opened five restaurants in Philadelphia last year. I’m sure one of them is looking to hire an experienced waiter. Give me a few hours.”

  Why should I call five different restaurants when I can go straight to Dine International? I call the office and the new receptionist tells me that Claire McKenzie is on vacation. Not wanting to keep Christopher von Hecht in limbo, I ask to speak with Peter Exter.

  “Hello, stranger,” my former boss greets me.

  I tell him the purpose for my call, and Peter tells me that Dine International is opening a new American restaurant in Philadelphia. If Christopher Von Hecht is as good as I say he is, Peter will hire him right now. “Consider it done,” Peter says. “I don’t suppose you want to come back to work for me.”