Dogs With Bagels

by Maria Elena Sandovici

  I can’t help it, I feel tears coming to my eyes. Mami comes closer, sits down next to me on the floor. She prompts me to blow my nose into the red dress. That would be blasphemy! I use my sleeve instead.

  “I’ve made such a mess of everything else, Mami. This is the only good thing I’ve got going. I just fucked up. I know you’re proud of me, and I never wanted to tell you, but I… I can’t deal with things on my own. I’m a big failure.”

  Mami makes a hesitant gesture in my direction. For a second, I hope for a hug. But my mother is not the hugging kind. Instead she gets me a box of tissues. Şerveţele. When I have at least moderately composed myself, she grabs my shoulders and forces me to face her.

  “So, you fuck up,” she says. “How you fuck up? You pregnant? Answer me!”

  I shakes my head, sobbing.

  “No.”

  “You have HIV?”

  “No.”

  “Syphilis?”

  “No.”

  “Herpes, at least?”

  “No.”

  “You shoot cocaine?”

  “No.”

  “You shoot heroin? Or what you call it, acid?”

  “No.”

  “Crack?”

  “No.”

  “Other drug?”

  I wonder if the one time I tried pot counts.

  “No.”

  “You kill someone?”

  “No.”

  “You alcoholic?”

  “No.”

  “You shoplift?”

  “No. …But I buy things I cannot afford.”

  Mami shrugs.

  “So does everyone else this country, apparently. You think you fuck up! You twenty-three. You supposed to be running around town and getting in trouble, fucking up, like you say. You should fuck up in all sorts of ways before you figure things out. Just don’t fuck up in any big way.”

  I’m shocked she said the f word.

  “Now why you buy these things you can’t afford? What you need that you not have, my sweetie?”

  I shrug. How can I explain it?

  “Beauty, I guess?”

  It’s probably the lamest thing I’ve ever said, and if mascara wasn’t running down my cheeks, I’d bury my face in the red dress in embarrassment.

  Mami looks shocked.

  “But you’re so beautiful, my sweetie. Trust me, you are unbelievably beautiful.”

  I’ve my doubts. But it’s not what I meant, anyway.

  “No, Mami, I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about… Well, about life, you know. About everyday life, and making it a little nicer.”

  I’m not sure that makes any sense. But Mami nods as if she understands. And she laughs.

  “You buy things to make your life more beautiful? Oh, L, my sweetie…”

  “It’s stupid,” I say between tears. “I can’t even explain it. It sounds even more stupid when I talk about it. But I mean, what do you do on just a regular dull day, when you need a little something special in your life?”

  “You just create it, silly. You can learn to do that, L, in little ways, with time. It gets easier as you get older. You know yourself better, and you know tricks.”

  She shrugs.

  “You’ll see, my sweetie. You’ll learn. Is skill like any other. You just need to learn more about yourself and things you like, learn to appreciate the simple things, and to enjoy them. In the meantime, if you spend too much money, I guess is ok. Is your own money, and you just young, just learning things. Is like investment in learning about yourself. How much you owe, my sweetie?”

  I swallow hard. Of all people, I cannot tell this to Mami.

  “How much, L? I’m not offering to pay for you, you do yourself, and you feel better in the end. I just am curious. You tell me, and I tell you secret too.”

  “Three thousand dollars on my credit card?” It sounds so horrible. I cannot even bring myself to mention my debt to Gretchen.

  “Is not so bad, L. You pay off, you feel better. Is really no tragedy. Not worth crying, my sweetie.” She pushes the box of tissues towards me. I dutifully wipe my eyes. “There’s trouble, and then there’s trouble, L. And most trouble you get in is ok. Pay interest on credit card is stupid, but in the end, is not the biggest deal. But marrying this boy, that is serious trouble. That is really fucking up. And not the kind of fucking up that help you grow.”

  “But I have to marry him, Mami. I promised to marry him, and he’s the nicest person, and I just can’t stand to hurt him.”

  “You hurt him a lot more if you go through with it.”

  I try to compose myself, but my sobs seem to originate from somewhere deep inside, a place of fear and sorrow. A place I can’t control.

  “You don’t love him!” Mami screams.

  “Momo says that maybe that’s a good thing. That love just…ruins everything.”

  “Is this one of your friends? Momo?”

  It’s too late to correct my faux pas. By the way Mami’s frowning, she must know who I’m talking about.

  “Monica… Tati’s…”

  “Aha.” Mami waves her hand dismissively. “Well, your ‘Momo’ is a stupid cow!”

  I cannot recall the last time I felt this uncomfortable. I pretend to examine the dress on my lap. If only I knew how to switch topics… If only I could evaporate into thin air! (Come to think of it, I’ve wished for this so many times already, it would definitely be my superpower of choice).

  “I’m not saying that because she is sleeping with my husband, and because I resent that. And trust me, I do,” Mami says. I feel guilty. How could I be so shallow? How could I pretend that my friendship with Momo is not a betrayal? “In all kindness, and fairness…” Mami continues, “she may be nice person, whatever. She nice to you. I know. But she stupid, L. She really stupid. And I know. Because I talk to her.”

  I look up. Is she for real?

  “You talked to her?”

  “Yes.” Mami raises her eyebrows as if to show her superiority. “I talk to ‘Momo.’” She pronounces the other woman’s nickname as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. I blush, ashamed to have created such a silly pseudonym. “I had drink with her. And I talk enough to see, she not very bright. She sleeping with a married man, L. Bad choice. And she is stupid enough to fall in love with him. She is completely miserable. And for good reason. Forgive me, for talking bad about your friend, but only stupid woman can stay with man who treat her like that. So you be careful when she give you advice. Is like blind leading other blind.”

  We fall silent. Mami stands up and goes back to her packing. I keep sobbing.

  “Why don’t I love him, Mami? What is wrong with me? It would all be so perfect if only I loved him.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Mami gives me a sympathetic look. “You cannot tell your heart what to feel. It just is what it is.”

  “But can’t I learn to love him, Mami? If I try really hard, won’t I be able to love him eventually?”

  She shrugs.

  “There’s no saying, my sweetie… You may end up loving him or hating him. Is like Russian roulette. Who can tell? You don’t feel what you want to feel. You feel what you feel.”

  I look at the dress on my lap, smooth out its folds as if caressing a loved being. What was my mother feeling when she wore this dress? Was she in love back then, or was she falling out of it?

  “Mami, when you stopped loving Tati, did you feel sad? Did you wish you still loved him?”

  Silence. Mami is cutting up a roll of bubble wrap. She seems engrossed in this task, as if it’s so consuming that it requires her full and undivided attention.

  “This is the way I look at it, L. Is very simple. Even if you love him, is a mistake to marry him. You are too young, too unprepared. You be making the same mistake I made. And that, my sweetie, was one hell of mistake. But you don’t even love him. And chance is you never will. So you are making even bigger mistake. Because I don’t think you can make yourself love him. But is just wha
t I think. Maybe you know better. I cannot think for you. I just know, me, myself, I can never make myself love someone if I don’t.”

  I’m still wondering if she was sad when she stopped loving Tati. If she wished she could love him still. I remember her crying at night, quietly, in bed, next to me. Was she crying because she still loved him? Or was she crying because she couldn’t love him anymore? I can’t ask that.

  I wonder if it’d be rude to go try on the red dress.

  Mami’s voice startles me:

  “How is the sex?”

  I didn’t expect that. We don’t talk about sex.

  “I assuming you are not virgin, L. I actually really hope you are not.”

  I feel my cheeks burning up.

  Mami is bubble wrapping a crystal candlestick. The question hangs in the air, demanding to be answered.

  “It… it is nice…” I say, blushing up to my earlobes.

  “Nice?” Mami pronounces the word with contempt, like it’s the most ridiculous thing she has ever uttered, more ridiculous even, than calling someone ‘Momo.’ “The sex is ‘nice?’ L, honey, I would not in a million years settle for ‘nice.’”

  I look away. Who is this woman exactly?

  “I do hope he not the only one you been with,” she says.

  I shake my head.

  “Well, good. You know, L, I never been with anyone but your daddy.”

  She says this softly, with a sort of tenderness and a hint of nostalgia that are touching.

  “But at least it was hell of a lot better than ‘nice.’ You ever have better than just ‘nice,’ L?”

  I’m uncomfortable with the topic, but I cannot help giggling and nodding.

  “Well, good, then,” Mami says, laughing herself. “With other man, I assume?”

  I nod before I can help myself. Then I see the look of victory on Mami’s face. Her raised eyebrows say she’s already made her point.

  “Of course, sex is not most important thing, and not enough for good relationship. But if even that is not there…” She sighs. She works quietly for a while, bubble-wrapping a vase.

  “Ok, my sweetie,” she says, taping the box shut, and marking it clearly ‘Me’. “Why you not go try on red dress, and show me what it look like on you? Then I make you tea, and I tell you a story.”

  27

  Running Away from Home

  In spite of the shoulder pads, the dress looks good. I love the way the silk caresses my skin. It’s a dress meant to make a woman feel sexy. Unless, of course, her face is swollen from crying, her nose looks like a red bell pepper, her mother just scolded her, and she’s about to marry someone because she doesn’t know how to say no.

  When I come out of the bedroom, Mami smiles, asks me to turn around, and helps adjust the zipper. Her fingertips, resting briefly on my back are soft and warm, her touch pleasant, but brief.

  “If you want dress, I can take out shoulder pad for you,” she offers, grabbing at the offending objects. She frowns, but she seems quite taken with me in the dress, in spite of the bell pepper nose and the swollen face, in spite even of the misguided engagement. It dawns on me, surprisingly but clear as day, that my mother will love me no matter what, that she’ll stand by me no matter how disastrous my mistakes. Wrong men, wrong jobs, wrong friends, and toxic debt. Mami will zip up my dresses and tell me to straighten my back. She’ll shrug my troubles away and make me feel lovely despite it all.

  As promised, Mami makes tea. Chamomile, from loose flowers. Muşeţel. It’s the same tea she brewed when Alex and I were sick, the same she’d offer when I was upset about some teenage drama, or when I was nervous about an exam.

  Curled up on Mami’s couch, which will be going to the women’s shelter, I wait for my tea to cool down. My face still feels puffy, and my bell pepper nose is sore, but a comfortable warmth is spreading through my chest. It’s the same blissful feeling as when, on nights when I cry myself to sleep (which has been often lately), I finally start sinking into oblivion. Mami sits at the other end of the couch, her body pulling away, as if wishing to retreat into an imaginary shell. Still, she reaches over and takes my hand in hers.

  She’s quiet for a long time. She sips her wine, and sighs.

  “I… need to talk to you, L. And, is complicated.” Mami’s voice trembles. “You… you think you can listen to long story if I tell in Romanian?”

  She seems shy about this request. We don’t speak Romanian in the house. Even in the days when Mami barely spoke English, she chose to communicate sparingly using the few words she knew.

  “I know you understand a lot, L. But this really important. Is important for me that you understand. But is also important for me that I explain well, in detail. Is important for me to be, you know… articulate. Not sounding like uneducated person.”

  “I understand everything people say, Mami.”

  “Good. You so smart, my sweetie. You have such talent for language! So if you don’t understand, you interrupt, ok?”

  I nod, but Mami still seems hesitant.

  “I can do French if is easier for you…”

  “No, Mami. Romanian is fine. I do understand everything. I promise.”

  Still, she doesn’t start for a long time. And when she finally does, her voice sounds far removed. She seems uncomfortable, as if telling me a story in Romanian is a strange and dangerous experiment. Or maybe it is simply telling a story about herself in the first place, that she’s uncomfortable with.

  “Trebuie sa iti spun o poveste despre mine, Liliana. I need to tell you a story about myself. It is something you’ve never known, and will definitely not like, but I promised myself that I would tell you. It’s something difficult for me to talk about, because it’s something really bad I did. And when you think about this later, and even when you listen to me… Well, I want you to understand that I myself know just how bad it is. You can judge me, but I want you to never forget that this is something I regretted for the rest of my life.”

  Mami pauses, takes another sip of her wine, and gives out a long sigh. If I wasn’t dying to know, I’d tell her it’s ok, that we don’t really need to talk about this.

  “So do you understand the language, L? Do you think you can follow me if I speak Romanian?”

  “Da, Mami. Inteleg. Inteleg tot.” Yes, Mami. I understand. I understand everything.

  I cringe at my pronunciation.

  Mami sighs and closes her beautiful eyes. Her long lashes tremble. Then she looks down, at her own hands, the long thin fingers, the blue veins protruding from her olive skin, and gives another sigh.

  “It is a story about being married young. Or maybe it is just a story about marriage. And it is about being a mother, or maybe just about me as a mother. Maybe I was just unfit, but…”

  I open my mouth to contradict her, but Mami motions for me to be quiet.

  “I know, I know, you’ll say I was a good mother and all that, and I know I was in some ways. But I will tell it to you like it is, sweetie, being married and having kids, especially, is not what it’s cracked up to be. Even if you marry for love, like I did. Even if you love a good, strong man, like your father. And your father is a good man. Even if he loves you back. Even if you have the most lovely children, and even if you love your children very much.

  Life still throws you down, and you might still fuck up. I mean in major ways, in ways that you will regret for the rest of your life, and will never be able to fix. Especially if you are young. Especially if you are ill equipped to handle what may come your way. If you don’t take care of yourself, and if you don’t know how to, well, then you’ll really be screwed when you try to take care of others…”

  Her eyes stare into space. She sighs again. Whatever it is, it must be difficult to talk about. Did she have an affair? But no, it can’t be that! It’s something to do with her children. What on earth can it be?

  “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just rambling, and I have not even started to tell you my story. Are you sure you understand
the language, L?”

  “Da, mami. Înţeleg.” Yes, Mami, I understand. My accent is so heavy, that I’m afraid she won’t believe me. But Mami smiles.

  “Bine.” Good. Finally, she starts talking.

  “Do you remember, L, when you were a child, and we were all still in Romania, do you remember your daddy and me actually being happy?”

  I nod. In my memories, they were. But then again, I always wonder if that was deceiving.

  “Were you, really?”

  “Yes. We were happy. Incredibly happy, in fact.” She sighs. “I always wondered if you and Alex realized we were not always like this, fighting, and being hateful to each other. Of course, Alex was too little, maybe, but you were older. We have not always been like this, L. Your daddy and I used to love each other, and we were happy together. But I was young and stupid and I loved your daddy too much. I loved him so much I forgot about myself. What I wanted, what I needed, who I was. I put him first, and his wishes. And then we ended up coming here, and I was miserable. But by then it was already too late. And when I finally started saying what I wanted, what I needed, well, as I said, it was too late.”

  I wonder where she’s going with this. It’s what I always assumed, that Mami gave up on a lot for Tati, and that he took her for granted. But why discuss it now? What has it got to do with me? After all, I’m in no danger of loving Greg enough to lose myself.

  “I was miserable when we came here,” Mami says. “I was homesick. I missed my friends. I missed my mother, my grandmother. You missed your grandma too, remember? Remember we used to cry together and I’d ask you not to tell Tati? I missed my job, at the library. I missed that beautiful house we used to live in. Do you remember that, L? I hated this horrible apartment, but we just couldn’t afford any better. I missed having a housekeeper. I missed having everything provided for me, and not having to worry about anything.”

  “I was like a princess in our old house. Remember Mrs. Grosu who came and cleaned and ironed, and sometimes cooked for us? I used to not even have to do anything to take care of you and your brother. I’d play with you. I’d do the fun stuff. But it was your nanny, Miss Ani, remember her, who really took care of you. You know I never even changed a diaper until I started watching Josephine’s children? Here I was, thirty years old, with two kids of my own, and having never changed a diaper. I couldn’t bring myself to even tell her. I just figured it out by myself.”