What a bullshit conversation! And suddenly, she remembers exactly who she sounds like.
“You talk to Lili recently?” she asks Victor.
“Yes. Just the other day.”
So he talks to L frequently. Does that mean their daughter is only avoiding her? She feels jealous. But more than that, she’s dying to know what’s going on with L. She wonders if there’s a way of getting him to tell her more, without admitting she feels slighted.
“I heard you offer to pay for the wedding. That’s nice of you!” Still fake.
“Of course I will. But first she has to decide on a date.”
So still no date. This at least is good news.
She takes another sip of her drink, trying to think of what else she can say that is safe, polite, and will get him to talk more about L.
“You still don’t approve, do you?” he asks.
“No,” she says. “You think it’s a good idea for her to marry that boy? She’s so young…”
She starts playing with the corner of her menu. She’s not sure she can conceal the gloomy feeling she experiences when she thinks of L’s engagement.
“You were younger, when we married.” Victor points out. She thinks there’s a hint of tenderness in his eyes, but she’s not sure.
“And look how great that turned out!” She immediately regrets saying it. It’s hard to bring herself to look at him, but when she does, she sees that he too has averted his eyes, that her comment upset him, or at least made him uncomfortable.
“She doesn’t love him,” she adds, hoping to create a distraction.
“You think she doesn’t?” He seems surprised. “Why would she marry him then?”
Maria shrugs.
“He’s nice, intelligent, relatively handsome. She likes his company. She’s flattered he asked. She’s excited about the wedding, the romance... But I don’t think she loves him.”
“But then…”
She has the feeling he’s going to say something important, that he’s finally going to agree with her, maybe offer to try talking to L.
But the waiter is back.
“Our specials tonight are grilled filet of grouper, with a cilantro lemon sauce, julienne plantains, and grilled tomatoes. We also have a pork chop cooked in a red wine reduction with…”
“I’ll have the grouper,” Maria interrupts. She doesn’t care about the food. She cares about L. And she wants to continue their conversation.
“I’ll have the grouper too,” Victor says, handing away his menu.
The waiter is still standing there.
“Excellent! Have you thought of a wine to go with your meal? I can recommend a white…”
“You want red, don’t you?” Victor asks, looking at Maria.
She smiles.
“Always red.”
Not what most people would drink with fish. But she loves red wine with everything. It’s nice of Victor to remember. It’s nice of him to compromise, and order a smooth Chilean Merlot, just because she likes it.
“So you think she doesn’t love him?” Victor asks, as soon as the waiter steps away. “Has she told you that?”
Maria shrugs.
“No, not really. But I can tell. She…”
Taking another sip of her Mojito, she can finally feel a buzz.
“L doesn’t really talk to me anymore, Victor. She’s avoiding me.”
It’s precisely what she meant to keep to herself, but it feels good getting it off her chest.
“My son hates me, and my daughter is avoiding me.” She sighs. Maybe she should slow down in drinking that Mojito. She’s saying way too much.
“Alex doesn’t hate you. He’s just immature.”
“Ok. My son is immature, and my very mature daughter got engaged to the wrong guy for the wrong reasons. Maybe this is how God is punishing me for being a bad mother.” She realizes it sounds a tad overdramatic, but it’s how she’s been feeling lately.
“Do you really believe that?” he asks.
“Which part?” She cannot help smiling. “That there is a God? That there is retributive justice? That I am a bad mother?”
“You are not a bad mother.”
The way he says it, as if it’s an undisputable fact, makes her eyes nearly tear up.
“I am a mother who left her children.”
She looks down. She should not have said that.
“Ah, that.”
He stares at the ice cubes in his glass. The silence between them is heavy. They never talked about this before. It was taboo, yet always there, between them.
When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, compassionate.
“So everything you’ve done, all the work you’ve put into raising our children, all your efforts for all these years, all this is erased by the fact that one day you took a ride on a stupid train?”
She still cannot look up.
“Besides, you came back before they even realized what was going on. From their perspective, it’s as if you didn’t leave.”
She forces herself to be a grownup and face him. It’s her past, her guilt. She has to own up to it. In a slow, deliberate voice she admits to the worst part of it all:
“But I did leave. And I did not mean to ever come back. I just… I was not able to manage on my own.”
He takes another sip of whiskey.
“You know, I’ve always wondered about that…” he says.
“Well, now you know, ” she snaps, then regrets being so curt.
“I would have felt guilty eventually, of course,” she adds in a softer voice. “I love my children, I always have. But I was young and selfish and I wanted to enjoy my life. I was so sick of having to sacrifice everything for them…”
Victor nods, as if he understands. How can he understand something that she herself cannot? She’s shocked to see the sadness in his eyes.
“It’s not selfish to want to live your life, Maria. It’s natural. A mother should not have to sacrifice her whole life for her children, the way you had to.” He pauses to take a sip of his drink. She can tell that it’s hard for him to talk about this. “For what it’s worth, I think you are a great mother. You did a wonderful job raising two kids, on your own, in a foreign country. You should give yourself more credit for that. You’re too harsh on yourself, for just the one stupid mistake. So you felt miserable, and you were resentful about having to give up your life. Wouldn’t most normal people feel this way?”
She cannot speak at first. Although she’s never been able to share the full story of her flight with anyone, she always hoped to hear something like this one day, to have somebody understand. Never in a million years did she think that person would be Victor.
“Wow,” she says. “Thank you.”
She allows herself a small bitter laugh.
“You know, all my life I’ve been hoping to hear something like that from another mother. But it turns out that, even if they feel this way, none of these bitches ever admit it.”
They laugh. The tension seems to have eased.
“Romanian women certainly wouldn’t,” Victor says. “Children are supposed to be the point of life.”
“No wonder I never fit in…”
For once, she’s happy that he’s chosen to be kind and generous. But there’s another issue, deeper, and more personal to Victor, which she doesn’t dare approach. She didn’t just abandon her children. She left him. This she can’t bring herself to mention. Instead, she tries to say something nice in her turn, something to show her appreciation.
“I did not raise our children alone, Victor. We raised them together, even after…” She doesn’t like alluding to asking him to leave. “…we separated. I know I always acted like I didn’t want your help, but I was just being proud and stupid. Our children needed you and…”
Before she can finish her thought, the waiter cuts in.
“So, are you guys having a good time?” he asks. To her, this is the stupidest question restaurant staff are trained t
o ask. “I’m sorry the grouper is taking a while. Our chef likes to let them marinate a little while longer.”
Maria sighs. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the fish, the marinating process, or the chef’s preferences, though normally such things would hold her interest. Tonight, all she cares about, is talking to Victor. There are meals that are about food, those that are about conversation, and those that are about both. She wishes they taught waiters to make those distinctions.
Finally, the marinated fish arrives. It’s really good, but she’s already drunk, and wishing she hadn’t dulled her senses with so much alcohol. Hopefully food will sober her up.
They eat in silence for a while. The alcohol made her hungry. She cleans everything on her plate. When she’s done wiping the last drop of sauce with a small piece of bread, and stuffing it into her mouth, she realizes Victor is watching her, amused. She knows he’s pleased that she enjoyed her meal. He’s kind and generous like that. He does have his flaws, but at his core, he’s a good man. She sighs.
“I never thanked you,” she says. “For not telling anyone I left.”
“I guess it will just have to stay our secret.”
“Well, actually…” She suddenly feels shy. She knows her idea is odd, but after trying to dismiss it many times, she’s now determined to go through with it. Under the influence of alcohol, she’s hoping Victor might understand.
“If you don’t mind, I’ve been thinking of telling L about it.”
“Really? You don’t have to do that, Maria.” He seems rather bewildered. He must think of it as her way of trying to alleviate her guilt. Her confession. But really, that’s only part of it.
“I want to.” She takes another sip of wine, bracing herself to explain. She cannot believe that she’s talking to him about this. “I just… I want her to know how hard it can be, marriage, having children, all that. I want her to know how things can go wrong, how horrible it can all turn out. Even when you love person you’re with.”
His eyes grow darker. She realizes she’s hurt him.
And before she can add anything to soften the blow, the waiter reappears.
“How was everything? May I take these out of your way? Would you care for any dessert tonight?”
She doesn’t want their meal to end. They’re not done talking. She didn’t mean to hurt him with what she said about marriage. She never realized that talking about the past would be so painful to Victor. And to think that for once she didn’t mean to hurt him. It’s ironic actually, that after years of trying deliberately to get under his skin, she managed to do so unintentionally, when she was trying to be nice for once.
“Two coffees. And that molten chocolate desert,” Victor tells the waiter. She smiles. Apparently he wants to prolong their dinner too.
“The chocolate Corazon,” the waiter says. “Excellent choice.”
The chocolate corazon turns out to be a gigantic chocolate soufflé, dark, delicious, molten inside, and perfect with the wine.
“So are you ever going to tell me where you went?” Victor’s voice sounds playful. Maybe the hurtful moment is gone, and she should just leave it at that. They are having a nice time after all.
Taking a break between two bites of chocolate, she says with a shrug and a smile:
“Scranton.”
They burst out laughing. It does seem funny, in hindsight. Of all the possible places, she ended up in Scranton, Pennsylvania.
When she regains her breath she adds:
“I stayed in a hotel close to the train station and had room service bring me toasted bagels.” It sounds absurd, and she’s relieved that they’re able to laugh about it together.
His hand moves towards her across the table. He places it on top of hers. She feels as if she’s been electrocuted, but she fights the impulse to withdraw. His eyes look sad.
She wonders if she should ask him now, if she should finally, after all these years say the unthinkable, apologize for leaving him, and ask the most dreaded question of all. Can he forgive her? She opens her lips, but feels short of courage. She hopes for a second that he might say it himself, that he might volunteer his forgiveness. Instead he apologizes.
“I’m sorry, Maria. I’m sorry I took you for granted. I’m sorry I was cold towards you. I’m sorry you were miserable being with me.”
She swallows hard, fighting back tears.
“It was my fault too, Victor. I wish I never…” She isn’t quite sure how to say it. His eyes look sadder still. It shocks her, his undisguised hurt. He, who so rarely lets his feelings show. She realizes he misunderstood what she was trying to say, that he took it to mean it was her own fault for marrying him, or for falling in love with him, or something to that extent. In spite of being drunk, she has to concentrate on explaining. She can’t mess up this time.
“What I mean, is…”
She takes another sip of wine, and realizes too late, that in moving her hand, she forced him to remove his.
“There are a lot of things I did wrong, and I’m sorry too, Victor. There are lot of things I feel sorry for,” she finally says. She’s angry with herself for only bringing herself to say something so vague, for not being able to specifically apologize for leaving him, among other things. “There are lots of things I regret. But I don’t regret loving you. What I regret is building my life around you, making you the center of my universe. And then later turning into a resentful bitch.”
Her cheeks burning, she looks down at the chocolate corazon. She’s not sure how well she expressed herself, but at least she said some of the things she needed to say. Her apology was not as complete or as deep as she longed for, but at least she tried.
She hopes he’ll say something, maybe reach for her hand again, that there will be some kind of affectionate moment, some kind of opportunity for closure.
Just then, the damn waiter reappears.
“Can I take this out of your way?” He gestures towards the half eaten chocolate corazon.
“No,” Maria snaps. “You can not. It is mine, and I will eat it. And you should learn not to bother people when they want talk to each other. Go away!”
Victor laughs.
“Well, I guess I really am bitch,” she says, taking another bite of chocolate.
“Or just assertive.” Victor suggests. “I like that.”
She smiles. She feels bad for snapping at their waiter, but she’s too drunk to contemplate her so far fruitless quest for finding a middle ground between being a raging bitch and a doormat.
“You have to leave the poor guy big tip,” she says, laughing. The elusive affectionate moment slipped away, but laughing together feels good. Maybe now that they are civilized to one another, they will have another opportunity for closure down the road.
Later, still giddy from the wine, she decides to show Victor her new apartment. It’s nearly midnight, but they are drunk and euphoric, and it seems like a good idea. Never in a million years would she have thought that he’d be her first visitor. As she turns the key in the door she feels like a young girl about to wear her favorite new dress for the very first time.
But as the door swings open, her enthusiasm falters. What if he doesn’t like it? After all, he’s an architect. He understands space and texture and light in ways that other people don’t. His preferences are refined in ways that others miss completely. He’ll notice every imperfection. And God knows, there are plenty! Just as there probably are fatal flaws in the structure of the place, which she herself has not been trained to see.
She feels foolish, but her heart beats faster as she watches him take it all in. He walks around the small room, looking at the walls, the ceiling, the light fixtures, the big window.
“Nice,” he says.
“You really mean it?”
“Yes. Absolutely. It’s beautiful.”
They end up sitting on the floor, taking about her new apartment. When she finally takes a cab to Queens, she feels that they have undergone a strange transition. Are
they actually friends now?
26
Packing Party
After her dinner with Victor, Maria spends most of Saturday in bed. She closes the drapes, and lies down between her clean white sheets. They’re not Egyptian cotton, but they feel fabulous. Daylight filters through the drapes painting the room violet, too soothe her hangover. There’s a vase of freesias on her nightstand. She bought them to celebrate the closing. Books pile up around her bed, her best friends, her loyal companions. But today she doesn’t feel like reading. Her bedroom looks beautiful in the violet light. Will she be sad to leave? Will she miss it?
She stretches, enjoying the familiar comfort of the pillow on her cheek. She smiles. He said she was a good mother. And he liked her new place, he really did. He offered her a moving van, a curtain, and a kitchen island, all for free. She would not have accepted his gifts before, but after last night she will. She closes her eyes and snuggles with her blanket. He said she was a good mother. She wants to remember just how he said it, the exact sound of his voice. She should have recorded it, should have recorded the whole dinner, the whole night, to watch today, over and over, on her beat up TV. If he ever invites her to dinner again, she’ll bring photographers, lighting experts, a whole camera crew.
At some point, she’s not sure when, she dozes off. By Sunday morning she’s feeling fully rested, with renewed courage. She knows just what she needs to do today. She takes her time getting ready, forces herself to spend an hour showering, dressing, and drinking her coffee. She needs to think about exactly how to do this. She feels brave enough today. Ready to do what she knows must be done.
At 10:30 am, she’s already ringing their doorbell. It’s Rachelle who answers. Maria feels a little inappropriate, coming by unexpected and disturbing her on a Sunday morning. But Rachelle looks like she’s been up for a while. It would have been awful if she were standing there is her jammies, with a long face, and eyes full of sleep. But no, she’s wide awake, and smiling. Her hair is stretched out on curlers, and she’s wearing a navy blue dress.
She motions for Maria to come in. Maria tries not to stare at the pink curlers. She’s never managed to penetrate the mysteries of Black hair.
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