It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her. It has to be. But she cannot stop crying, cannot stop feeling guilty.
“But I did not stand by you. I left you.”
“You have to forgive yourself for that.”
“Can you forgive me?” It’s the question she wanted to ask him years ago, the words she could never bring herself to say. After her return, she’d lie in bed beside him, thinking of whether he’d ever forgive her, whether his quiet anger would ever go away. They rarely made love in those days, but each time they did, each time there was at least a fleeting moment of tenderness, she wondered if she should ask, if she should take advantage of the glimmer of closeness, and ask for his forgiveness. She never dared, and the moment was lost. The more time went by, the more horrible and unmentionable her deed seemed to her, the more afraid she was to bring it up, and still, the more she yearned for his forgiveness. The pain of lying there, next to him, thinking that he could never ever forgive, that she could never ever ask, was so strong it was almost palpable. It kept her awake at night, tossing and turning, wallowing in her guilt. She grew resentful. She never woke up determined to be nicer, or sweeter to him. She woke up feeling mean and spiteful. As if she had already asked and he had already denied her.
Now, after all these years, the words are out. He’s heard them. She cannot take them back. All she can do is hold her breath, and wait for his answer. She feels his hand, still holding hers, and she grows hopeful.
“Can you forgive me?” He asks.
“Yes,” she says. “But I need you to answer me, Victor. I need to hear you say you forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you, honey.”
“You mean that? You’re not saying it just to be kind? You’re not saying it just so I stop crying?”
“No, honey. I really mean it.” His hand squeezes hers, and she gives him a light squeeze back. But she keeps sobbing.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t stop crying.” She tries taking a few deep breaths, and wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I just got my period today. I get so emotional the first day. And I’m in horrible pain. And I feel weak and dizzy, and then I drank that wine.”
She blushes. She was taught by her mother not to discuss ‘female issues’ with her husband, and she abided by that through most of her marriage.
“I guess this is too much information,” she says.
Victor laughs.
“Absolutely not. You’ve come a long way, you know? Remember when you were too shy to talk to me about birth control?”
“Yes, and then I got pregnant like an idiot.”
“And I sent you to have an abortion, like an asshole.”
They are quiet again. They’ve reached another sore spot. But she doesn’t feel anger, looking back. She thinks of how he must have felt, how hard it must have been for him to not be able to support his family, to have to ask his wife to go have an abortion, because there was no way they could feed another baby.
She squeezes his hand.
“I didn’t want that baby, Victor. I’m glad I didn’t have it.”
They sit quietly for a while, still holding hands.
“I had this weird dream, just before Christmas,” he says. “I dreamt that you were pregnant.”
“You mean, you had a nightmare. Knock on wood.” She laughs, and reaches over to knock on the TV stand.
“No, I know it’s strange, but it wasn’t a bad dream. You were pregnant and we were walking down Fifth Avenue together, shopping for a plastic giraffe for the baby.”
She laughs.
“Well, if there was a giraffe, then it must have been a great dream! Giraffes have good symbolism. I don’t remember exactly what they stand for, but they’re the animals with the biggest hearts… The funny thing is, I did think I was pregnant, after… you know, Thanksgiving. I was in a doctor’s office, and they told me I was not pregnant, and…”
“You went to see a doctor? You should have called me!” He seems horrified by the prospect of her going to the doctor, alone. She remembers feeling utterly deserted, thinking he didn’t care. It feels good to know she was wrong.
She shakes her head, recalling her near certainty that she was pregnant.
“I’m never having unprotected sex again! I really hope our children don’t do that!”
They look at each other and laugh.
“I hope our children are smarter than their parents.” Victor says. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m really fucking sorry I acted like such an asshole. I should have called you after that night. I should have driven out to fucking Queens when you didn’t pick up your phone. I just… I was angry you left.”
So he did call. She had unplugged her phone. But he did call.
“I’m sorry I left. I was afraid you wouldn’t want me here in the morning.”
“I did. I really wanted you here.”
They are silent again.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she tells him. “But when the doctor told me I wasn’t pregnant, I… I was so disappointed. How stupid is that? I really don’t want to be pregnant, I really don’t want another child! But I just thought of all those things, you know, like in your dream, shopping for a plastic giraffe together, things like that. I kept imagining we’d go for the ultrasound, and it’d be cute.”
He smiles and nods, caressing her hand.
“That would be pretty cute… It is odd,” he says. “But maybe it’s because now our children are grown…”
“I know. And they are what kept us connected to each other. When you asked me for lunch, last summer, I thought you wanted to ask for a divorce.”
He shakes his head.
“Maybe the pregnancy thing is just a metaphor for us both still wanting something holding us together.”
She smiles. But then she wrinkles her nose. “But not another fucking baby! And not some stupid piece of paper. You know, I don’t even believe in marriage anymore. It’s all nonsense. I like the idea of nothing really binding us together. Just being together because we want to. Nothing more. Except…”
She looks at him and smiles.
“What? You eyes just lit up. What do you want, aside from that ridiculous party?”
She laughs.
“A dog! Victor, we should get a dog!”
He shakes his head, laughing.
“No way.”
They’re still holding hands as they walk out of the bedroom.
Their kids already have their coats on.
“I guess we’re late for church,” Victor says. “But your mother is coming with us.”
“Am I?”
“You are.”
She opens her mouth to protest.
“And your father is getting a dog,” she announces, laughing.
“We can discuss this, as a family, after church,” Victor says.
“Really?” for the first time this evening, L looks hopeful. “Like from the pound?”
“Maybe,” Victor says. “But probably not. Come on, we’ve never been this late for church.”
Alex helps her into her coat.
“Don’t worry, mom. We won’t let anybody mess with you.”
It must look obvious that she’s been crying. She should have washed her face. But in the end, she doesn’t really care. Her children have seen tears before, and she couldn’t give a rat’s ass about those idiots at church.
They barely make the end of mass. They arrive just in time for Maria’s favorite part, the lighting of the candles, but being late, they don’t have any candles to light. They hover at the outskirts of the crowd. She searches for familiar faces. She leans against Victor. He puts his arm around her.
At the end of mass, people rush and scramble, pushing in front of each other, the way Romanians do. They all want Easter bread, dipped in holy wine. Victor volunteers to fight his way through the crowd to get their share. Maria stays behind with the children. It’s chilly out. She and Lili hug each other, trying to keep each other warm.
<
br /> Then she sees her. A tall brunette, a lonesome figure next to an older couple. Maybe her parents? It’s unmistakably Monica, Victor’s former lover, clutching her candle, shielding the flame from the wind with her cupped palm. Her gaze is not following Victor into the crowd. At first, Maria thinks the woman is looking at her, then she realizes who she’s really staring at. And it kind of makes sense.
She nudges her daughter gently.
“That lady over there. She looking at you. You go say hello.”
L seems reluctant.
“Mom!” Alex says. “You don’t know who that is! Stay here, L!”
She’s touched. She realizes that, in his own way, her son does feel loyal towards her. But she still knows the right thing to do.
“Oh, I know exactly who that is, Alex! Is a lady who, over the years, has been very kind to your sister. L, sweetie, if you want to go, go. Is ok. Is not nice to turn your back on your friends.”
L goes along. Maria pulls Alex close. He tries to shake her off. “Aw, mom!” But then he lets himself be hugged, and puts his arm around her, replacing his sister as a source of warmth.
They watch people scramble for the holy bread, talking, joking, and arguing. They watch L and Monica laugh together, like old friends. The other woman looks towards Maria and gives her an appreciative bow of the head.
“That was big of you, mom.” Alex says. “I thought you would ask me to kick her ass for you.”
She laughs.
“I generally prefer you not kick ass. But I appreciate you would do that for me.”
She rocks Alex in her arms, and he grumbles, pretending once more to hate being hugged.
“And if she gets anywhere near my husband I will kick her ass myself, I promise.”
“So what is going on, with you and your husband?” Alex asks, not missing a beat.
She chuckles. He’s not stupid, her son.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on mom, it was obvious all night! Are you guys hooking up or something?”
Maria laughs.
“Hooking up? No, that’s what you kids do. We not hooking up. And that is not how young men should talk to their mothers!”
Alex rolls his eyes.
“Give me a break, mom!”
“Well, if you are really interested, your father and I are working through our differences.”
It sounds very formal, but at least she said it correctly.
Alex laughs and raises his hand in the air. It takes her a few seconds for her to realize he wants to give her a high five.
Their hands touch in the air. A suspended handshake. A truce, maybe?
She pulls him close and squeezes him tight, ignoring his obvious protest. She’s his mother, and she’s not going to settle for a fucking peace treaty, suspended air-borne American handshake notwithstanding.
31
Not a Wedding Party
Alex can’t believe his parents are actually having a party to celebrate L’s broken engagement. But then again, there are worse reasons for a party, and this one is destined to be a small affair. L’s guest list is short, and who on earth could his parents invite? Mom only has one friend, and happens to hate most of Dad’s acquaintances. He himself is doing his share by bringing a date.
The party is held at his father’s furniture store. Here they are, a bunch of people thrown together haphazardly. There’s his sister, of course, wearing her new Manolos. There’s a pretty girl he’s never seen before, whom L introduced as her new friend from work, just before she announced that she changed jobs and is now working for a non-profit, teaching English to immigrants. There’s L’s roommate, who brought her kid. Then there’s Tanti Madalina, Mom’s friend who disapproves of him, with her boyfriend. His father invited two couples, an elderly Romanian couple who’ve always been fond of L, and his old buddy Amir, with his wife. They’re friends from way back when Dad still drove a cab, and Amir is still is a taxi driver to this day. He’s always been nice to Alex and L, and Alex is quite happy to see him tonight. And then, last but not least, as if dogs were the most common occurrence at parties, there’s his father’s newly acquired pet, Shirley, a shy dog with a long muzzle and the sad eyes. Alex takes to her immediately, and decides to feed her small pieces of smoked salmon each time his date goes to the restroom to reapply her makeup, which is so often, that he seriously fears for Shirley’s waistline.
He notices his mother, who looks stunning and glamorous in a red dress, making a conscious effort to stay away from the elderly Romanian couple, yet trying to be polite when she speaks to them, alternating each fake smile with a sip of champagne. She looks so phony trying to be friendly to those people. But then again, these days he’s trying not to judge her. He notices his father stepping towards her, saying something to break up the conversation, steering her away, his arm around her waist. Dad whispers something into Mom’s ear, and she laughs while bringing the champagne flute to her red lips. She looks amazing. Happiness becomes her. As his father goes in search of the bottle to refill her glass, Alex is left wondering how these two managed to find a way back to each other. He wonders if eventually he’ll be comfortable enough with Mom to ask. She seems prone to confessions these days.
He slips one more piece of salmon to Shirley, then goes looking for his sister.
“Congratulations on not getting married, sis!”
She raises her champagne flute, laughing.
“Interesting non-engagement party. Remember to invite me each time you choose not to get married.”
“Don’t be fooled,” she says. “This is just an early birthday party.”
Her birthday is indeed coming up. She’ll be twenty-four. That’s freakin’ ancient, but L looks like she’s aging well.
“I don’t know, sis’. I think Mom has found a way to persuade Dad to give you a non-wedding party. She seems to have him eating out of the palm of her hand these days.”
His sister looks around as if to make sure nobody is watching them. Then she leans in and whispers:
“Alex, Mami and Tati are… back together, sort of.”
Alex laughs.
“So you finally got the memo?”
“You mean you knew?”
“Well, sort of.”
L straightens her back and assumes an air of importance.
“Well I know for sure.” She leans in closer and continues whispering. “I went shoe shopping with Mami last week, and she just wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s like, they both realized that they made mistakes, and they both really love each other, and they’ve forgiven each other for lots of really horrible things they’ve done in the past, which apparently is extremely liberating, and she’s just so happy, she’s practically floating on air! She didn’t even buy herself shoes because she said she doesn’t need anything these days, she’s happy just the way she is.”
She pauses for emphasis, but Alex is unimpressed. He’s heard a similar discourse from Mom.
L seems miffed by his blasé attitude.
“But they are not living together,” she points out.
“I was wondering about that.” Alex is staying with his father. And other than Shirley, which Dad told him, was Mom’s idea, he could detect no signs of his mother’s presence in the apartment. He talks to her on the phone quite frequently these days, and she did tell him they are back together and that she’s happy, but he cannot bring himself to ask if they moved in together yet. Mom never volunteered the information.
“Well, apparently they have no intention of moving in together either!” L says. “She told me so. Apparently she loves living by herself in her apartment, and just ‘dating’ Tati.”
Alex looks at his parents. Mom and Dad are talking to Amir and his wife. He notices his father introducing them, and realizes that these are friends dating back from a time when his parents were still living together, but had no social life in common. It’s strange and sad to think that Mom has never before met Amir and his wife, two of Tati’s closest f
riends.
Next to him, L is rolling up a slice of prosciutto, and feeding it to Shirley. She looks happy, and he’s glad. It’s her non-wedding party after all. She should be enjoying it.
“You look good, sis. I guess breaking up with that guy was good for you.”
L blushes. Alex wonders if she still feels bad about it. It was, after all, shitty, what she did, and poor Greg didn’t seem to deserve it. But leaving him after marriage would have probably been worse.
“I’m sure that must have been hard,” Alex says. “Break-ups are tough, and getting over them takes time.”
She nods, but she looks close to tears. He puts his arm around her. She’s so skinny, her bones almost hurt him. Why on earth do all girls starve themselves to death?
“You’ll be ok, sis. You’re curiously strong for a skinny girl, remember?” L laughs at this allusion to their childhood fights, which were often quite violent.
“I am actually pretty happy these days,” she says. “I think I’m more relaxed about stuff now, you know? I used to worry all the time. I used to feel like I was going nowhere, like my life had no purpose and I had to find one. It was scary. I always imagined I’ll not be able to support myself, that I’ll become a bag lady someday. And I think now I’ve stopped.”
“What changed?”
“Nothing. I just started thinking about things differently. I just take it day by day and think that a good day is a day when nothing bad happens, no drama, no crisis, and I eat all my vegetables.”
She laughs and looks at him, as if to tell if he’s listening.
“Oddly, now that I’ve stopped worrying about my future, I’ve kind of started coming up with a plan for not becoming a bag lady after all. I… I think I’m gonna go to grad school after all, the way Tati wants me to. Not because it’s what he wants, though. I mean, I want to. I think I’ll get a Ph.D. in foreign languages and then maybe I’ll teach.”
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