by Ruby Lang
“I am trying, but you are stopping me. I am here asking you to let me help you. But you don’t trust me to stick around to help you.”
She said nothing.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t trust me to help you.”
“You just got out of a marriage.”
“That is unfair and not the reason—”
“No. No, you know a lot of things about me. You know some things I don’t know. But I don’t want to upset the balance that I have with my parents. The relationship I have with them was hard won.”
“What relationship? What balance? The one where you are basically polite acquaintances?”
She grimaced. “I wouldn’t say that we’re polite.”
“No, Sarah. Listen to yourself. This isn’t about them. Even now you’re deflecting. You keep making it about them, and that’s what’s going wrong. It’s about you and me. I can live like this for a while. But at some point, I am going to need more from you, too.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t make more demands on me.”
“I have to say it. If I don’t, you’ll never know how much I care.” He pulled her to him and gave her a hard kiss. “Your choice,” he said.
And he forced himself to walk away.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah tossed and turned on the creaky mattress in her guest room, went to work, and came back to find that her parents had stopped their cleaning and her tiles had been re-grouted. They ate silently and glumly at the kitchen table, and after doing the dishes, Sarah went and hid in her room.
It was like being a teenager again. Except with better Wi-Fi.
She resolutely did not call Jake. She put him firmly out of her mind with the help of the Twilight movies and Words with Friends. One part of her thought that if she were on call, she could be at the hospital delivering babies. Was she ready? Maybe she missed it. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was getting much sleep nowadays.
Yet she wanted her return to be flawless. She couldn’t accept any help. She couldn’t make any mistakes. And until she was perfect, she wouldn’t be going back.
But of course, she wasn’t honed and ready. Her fight with Jake had proven that. He had asked her to trust him, and her response had been to withdraw. But he was frightening. Jake, who just by existing and being with her brought too many parts of herself together—too many eras—and who made her realize that the walls she used to keep everything apart were thin. What would she do without them?
But what would she do without him? There was no doubt that her mother had been—well, gentler was not the word. But she had seemed more subdued and maybe thoughtful ever since her conversation with Jake. And Sarah was so grateful about this, so eased by it that it scared her even more that she could depend on him.
She wanted to call him. But she didn’t.
By 5:00 a.m. she was up and making coffee. Her father padded in in his slippers and sat down. She silently poured him a cup and pushed the stevia syrup at him.
He shook his head. “Gave that up. Too highly refined, too many additives. You aren’t up on the research?”
She wanted to bristle, but the best she could manage without caffeine was a wince. “I bought it for you when I heard you were coming.”
“Oh, well . . . ” He contemplated the bottle. “Don’t want to waste it.”
He stirred a judicious amount in and capped it.
Sarah snorted. Don’t want to waste it was her father’s excuse for eating, well, anything. She suddenly missed him, even though he was right there, grimacing at the taste of his first sip.
She sat down and stared at her mug while her father puttered around and made toast. Neither of her parents were able to stay still for long. She hadn’t been able to stay still for long, but she’d tried to learn it recently.
Item #4: Stay still.
“Jake wasn’t around yesterday.”
Ugh. First they wanted Jake gone; now they wanted him clinging to her like a baby monkey. Her dad handed her a slice of wheat toast with some kind of sprouted sunflower spread he’d concocted.
“I told him we needed a little break.”
“Winston will want to see him.”
“Oh great. Winston’s coming? When were you going to let me know about that?”
“I asked him for next week. He’ll be at”—he wrinkled his nose—“a hotel.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t have time for another guest. I have my best friend’s wedding. And I have to attend the pre-wedding activities.”
“So Winston can entertain us while you and Jake are watching your friend get married.”
“Winston’s not a dog. He can’t do tricks—not any good ones, at least. And he’s never been to Portland. How would he entertain you?”
“We can take care of Jake’s puppy while you two are busy with wedding activities. And we can use a guide book.”
Sarah stayed quiet. She didn’t know if Jake was coming with her to the wedding, and she was going to have to find out soon.
She was distracted again by her father’s next words, though. “Jake was right—about some things he said to your mother. We should all talk as a family.”
Jake again.
She swallowed. “You want to talk? I can’t think of anything I want less.”
“Me neither,” he said glumly. He took a big slug of coffee. “But your mother wants it to happen. I think she was hoping that it would come about”—he paused to try out the word—“organically.”
Sarah almost snorted her coffee.
Her dad good-naturedly thwacked her on the back.
After she stopped coughing, she waved her hand. “Right. Well, I guess if it doesn’t work, then Mrs. Fai Soon will bludgeon it into happening.”
Her father laughed and rinsed his dishes. “I’m going to make a porch swing and put it up,” he said casually.
And he ambled out of the house.
• • •
It wasn’t until her mother showed up downstairs when Helen arrived with Petra that Sarah realized another secret horror.
“Going to yoga! On a weekday? Can you afford to take this time off?”
“It’s just one day.”
“You already don’t work that much.”
“I work all the time.”
“I haven’t seen you do one thing.”
Helen was chortling quietly.
But Fai Soon had already leaped to another topic. “May I come with you to this yoga class?”
“No! Mom! It’s a celebration for my friend. It’s not an open class.” Sarah turned to Petra. “I’m sorry.”
“I am not a pet,” her mother said. “You do not have to apologize for the messes I make.”
“It would be fine to have another person,” Helen interjected cheerfully.
“But it’s the bachelorette party and-or wedding shower.”
They really needed to settle on a name for this thing.
“You said Pete’s mom is going,” Fai said.
“Her name is Petra—”
“You call her Pete.”
“And Petra’s mom is going because Petra’s mom is the goddamn mother of the bride.”
“Don’t swear, San-san. I am very good at yoga. And I can pay my share.”
“Where? How? How are you good at yoga?”
“A young woman opened a studio in town a few years ago. I invited you to come that one time you came to visit. There is yoga and Pilates and weight training. I like it. I talked to the lady about getting a teacher’s certification. If her business keeps getting better, she said she would think about it. Your dad prefers Pilates,” she added. “Your father has champagne taste.”
“I actually think it would be fun to have your mom along,” Petra said.
“I’m not riding with her,” Sarah snapped.
“Do you insist on using the GPS?” Helen asked Fai.
Sarah’s mom wrinkled her nose.
“Great!” Helen said, linking arms with Fai. “We ca
n take two cars. Sarah, you drive Pete. I’ll go ahead with your mom and get things organized. Mrs. Song, you can give me all the dirt on what Sarah was like as a kid.”
Sarah’s mom practically skipped upstairs to get her gear, and Helen wisely took herself to her car.
“I’m being a brat,” Sarah said.
“You’ve never cared about it before,” Petra said. “Besides, having acted like a brat as an adult with my own difficult mom, I can sympathize. C’mon, this is going to be fun.”
It was fun for Petra—she was the bride-to-be after all. It was not quite so for Sarah.
Sarah’s mother had not been lying. While the rest of them grunted and groaned through a one-hour session, Mrs. Song was serene and impressively limber. She slid into a shoulder-pressing pose, and Sarah went cross-eyed to keep herself from swearing.
Helen nudged Sarah. “How ’bout them flexy genes?”
“Her being able tuck herself into a tiny crab cake is not genetic, you idiot. It’s daily practice. It’s work.”
“Some component is definitely genetic. I’m bendy, but I’m not shaped like a person who could ever be a crab cake. I do better as a crane or something long and graceful.”
“Shut up, Helen.”
“I’ve never seen you sweat this much.”
“This is why I avoid doing yoga with you. You’re a former ballet dancer and you’re chatty. Basically, you’re every normal yoga practitioner’s worst nightmare.”
A pause and they dropped into another pose.
“You’re not normal, and why would you want to be? Seriously, your mom is inspiring me. How old is she? Sixty-five?”
“Sixty-four. Ugh. I never thought flexible would be a word I could apply to my mother in any way, shape, or form.”
“Like you said, it’s work.”
The teacher finally shushed them.
People could work and change, Sarah thought as they stood around drinking cucumber and coconut coolers. Petra’s mother, Lisa, and Sarah’s mom were having an animated conversation that dissolved into a few giggles and involved the sloshing of some of the liquid in the glasses. They were even leaning on each other. And Sarah’s mom looked a little red—
Belatedly—and maybe a little dizzily—Sarah realized that there was quite a bit of alcohol in the drinks.
She turned to Helen—too quickly. “Oh my god, did you spike these?”
Petra sidled up, bright-eyed. “I did!”
She held up a flask.
“Jesus Christ, Petra. What were you thinking? My mom is drinking them. We don’t metabolize alcohol well. You know that.”
“I thought they would taste good. There’s hardly any. Besides, you’ll have time to sleep it off during massages.”
“Hardly any is a lot for me. And her. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen my mom drink. I have to go save her.”
She lurched toward the mothers, with Petra and Helen following.
Lisa Lale was asking Fai about growing goji plants. Of course. Lisa said, “My new boyfriend is an oncologist, and he says that goji berries and black sesame seeds are worth adding to your diet. Of course, they’re both things that get stuck in your teeth, but luckily I started carrying around these little floss picks.”
Petra’s mom looked like she was ready to whip out her personal dental hygiene equipment, when Petra interrupted her. “Wait, Mom, what is this about a new boyfriend?”
Lisa was suddenly quiet.
“You broke up with Jim Morrison?”
“Your boyfriend is named Jim Morrison?” Fai asked.
Petra’s mom flushed. “Old boyfriend. Former boyfriend.”
“When did this happen? You said you were bringing Jim. I have escort cards printed up with his name on them,” Petra said.
Her face was now as flushed as Sarah’s.
“I said I was bringing James,” Lisa said.
Fai said, “You broke up with a Jim and you’re dating a James?”
Lisa nodded.
“What’s his last name?”
There was a pause.
“It’s, uh, Taylor.”
There was another silence.
Petra said, at last, “Okay, I am aware that I’m repeating myself—”
“It’s been a whirlwind,” Lisa said.
“You broke up with Jim Morrison.”
“Yes.”
“And your current boyfriend is named—”
“Yes.”
Petra whipped out her phone. From another corner of the room, Ellie, Petra’s sister chortled, “I guess you could say Mom’s going for the whole Jimmy buffet.”
Beside her, Sarah felt Helen shaking with suppressed laughter as Ellie exclaimed, “What? You think I’m going to pass up the opportunity to make that joke?”
“You’ve already made it three times,” Lisa snapped.
“We’re going to have to change the place cards, too,” Petra said into the phone. More loudly, “Mom, why didn’t you say anything? Did you think I wasn’t going to notice you traded one Jim for another? Did you think he wasn’t going to notice?”
“You should respect your mother,” Fai said sharply, looking at both of Lisa’s daughters.
Instantly, they all quieted and stood up a little straighter. Sarah found herself almost envying Fai Soon’s ability to shape up a room full of tipsy women. Well, almost everyone. Helen was still on the verge of bursting into giggles.
Meanwhile, Fai had glided to the middle of the floor, glowing softly and redly under the gorgeous natural light of the yoga center’s solarium. Sarah could almost admire her mother but—
“I’d like to make a speech,” Fai said.
Correction, she admired her mother except when her mother was an embarrassing jerk. But Petra, Helen, Lisa, and Petra’s sister and sister-in-law stamped and whistled—probably in relief—and effectively drowned out Sarah’s loud protests.
“Thank you so much for having me here today,” Fai said, with great dignity. “And especially for welcoming a stranger to your party just because of the strength of your friendship with my daughter.
“Petra. You are a small intelligent woman who is also very beautiful, and your Ian is a very lucky man. I hope he never imitates you using a high-pitched silly voice, and if he does, I hope you nip that disrespect in the bud. This I have found, is the foundation of a good marriage.”
“Mom.”
“Shush, Sarah, this is important stuff. You would do well to listen. I have been attending Toastmasters to improve my oratory skills, and you are being rude. Where was I? Of course, the other thing I am thinking of today is mothers and daughters. Because I am here with my own daughter. Who is not married—but who perhaps will be someday, if she is lucky.”
Well, at least the bride-to-be appeared to be enjoying herself again.
That was the nice thing about Jake, Sarah thought, suddenly feeling petulant. He knew that whole history and he was angry on her behalf. Her friends believed her that her mother hadn’t always been ideal. But they didn’t know it, they didn’t feel it, the way Jake did. And it felt so, so comforting to have someone on her side, even when she wasn’t sure if she should be on the side she was on. She had a past with Jake—and that was actually very good in some ways.
“Sarah is stubborn,” her mother was saying. “I see so much of her in me. And that is why I push her, because it is sometimes like pushing against myself. But even when mothers see clearly about their daughters, it is sometimes hard to just let go. Because that love and fear fight each other even when it seems like they’re on the same side.
“Petra is getting married, and in marriage, we parents sometimes think of it as letting go. Even if our children stopped being children long ago. Even if we stopped being proper parents. They don’t think they’re being let go of.”
She looked at Lisa, Petra’s mother, directly. Poor Lisa who was maybe a little tipsy herself had started crying.
But Fai looked serene. “What needs release are those visions and thoughts of y
ourself. I want to think I have worked hard over the years to change myself. I’ve gone to yoga and taken up parasailing—”
What the—?
“And even joined the town’s Toastmasters, although it means listening to other people’s speeches. And I was on a trivia team. But sometimes when I see myself—when I see how others see me—I understand it’s not quite enough. That all the lessons and getting up early and trying to learn new things don’t mean much.”
She rubbed her face, and for the first time in a long time, Sarah noticed that her mother seemed tired.
“Another thing about weddings is that sometimes they make you feel old. And after you get as old as me—”
“You’re a flexible fox, Mrs. S!” Helen yelled.
Great. Helen was definitely drunk, too.
“Sometimes when you get a little older, you start to have regrets. And that is when you really have to start paying attention, not to the shouldn’t haves, but to the person you have become and maybe why it has happened. And maybe it is time to forgive yourself and other people. It’s a time to learn to at least get along so that you won’t have more regrets. So. Letting go doesn’t mean abandoning your daughter or your mother, or your sister, or whatever. It means setting aside that anger and sadness and hurt. Sometimes it means letting go of the past.”
She raised her glass, and everyone put theirs up.
“To the future,” she said.
“To the future,” everyone echoed.
Then Fai thumped her glass down and excused herself to the bathroom. Sarah followed a few minutes later and even managed to cluck sympathetically as the sounds of her mother vomiting drifted through the thick, plank door.
Chapter Eighteen
Ilse was waiting for Jake when he got back from a run with Mulder.
At first, he thought—hoped—it was Sarah. She had texted him earlier. Mixing mom with friends, it said. Still think this is a good idea? Attached was a picture of Mrs. Soon in shockingly bright yoga clothing.
Judging by the challenging tone in her text, maybe their dispute wasn’t quite over. Then again, arguments were Sarah’s version of flirting.