by Jessica Park
“Mom, you don’t have to—”
“Yes,” she says forcefully. “Yes, I do. I need to explain some of what I’ve figured out about myself. The day you left LA was the wake-up call that I needed. One that I didn’t want, but one I had to face. I’ve spent every day since thinking about you, worrying about you, and then finally taking a look at myself and how many mistakes I’ve made.”
“We all make mistakes. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay, Callie. Not when it affects my children.
“Listen, I was so lost for years when I was growing up. I hated myself. I had miserable grades, was totally socially awkward. God, I can still see the gym teacher’s expression when I was called up to bat for baseball. Or when my music teacher winced when she walked by me as I was forced to sing in our chorus. I barely had friends, and the ones I did have? Well, we were never really close.”
I nod because I can relate to these things all too much. My life in California felt like one disaster after another with not a moment to build any kind of self-esteem or confidence.
“I’m an awkward person; I just am,” she admits. “It wasn’t until I met your father that I felt whole because he celebrated me for the person I was. He didn’t try to change me.”
The tears that fall are painful to watch. It’s hard to picture my mother as anything but the self-assured, high-powered woman that I’ve come to know her as, and this vulnerable side of her—one that she’s been sharing from the moment she got here—is totally foreign. Yet I’m now starting to remember the mom she used to be to me.
“To this day, my heart is obliterated again and again every morning when I have to start my day without Mike, and that’s why I couldn’t stay here in this beautiful house and in this beautiful town after he died. To be in a place that would only shine a light on his absence? It was unimaginable. So, without thinking anything through, I took you and Erica, and I abandoned my life so that I could pretend that my heart wasn’t utterly destroyed. But my irreparable mistake was not understanding that leaving was the worst damn thing I could have done because I shunned every support system I had. I failed all of us.”
“Mom …” It’s impossible to know what to say to her. “You didn’t fail us. It was a horrible situation. You just did what you could at the time.”
“Mike would have been so disappointed in me. He’d have hated who I’ve become. I hate who I’ve become. How I’ve blocked out my past, how I’ve raised our girls.”
“But we’re okay.”
“You’re okay despite me, and you’re okay because of what your father gave you and because you dug yourself out of a hole that I’d helped dig. That’s the truth.
“After we lost him and I was on my own, watching you struggle in LA in the same ways that I’d struggled? Seeing you feeling badly about yourself, having a tough time in school, holding down a job? It reminded me too much of myself. I hadn’t known how to help myself as a kid or as an adult, so I didn’t know how to help you. Not one person had said the right thing to me when I was a lost teenager, and therefore, I didn’t know what to say to you. So, selfishly, I distanced myself from that. From you. I didn’t know how to help you, and I should have figured it out. That was my job as a mother.” My mom looks so broken and lost and sad when she takes my hand. “But I have never been disappointed in you. Not for a minute. I’ve just been disappointed in myself.”
There’s way too much to unpack with all that she’s dropped on me, but I am clear on a few truths. “I don’t want you to feel guilty or ashamed or anything like that. We all tried our best, and all of us fucked up in one way or another, okay?”
“Mostly me.”
“Hey, I got tossed out of the mall for swearing about a letter key on my laptop. No one’s perfect. We all make choices. Not all of them positive.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Her laugh is genuine and filled with relief. “For me, grief has been like an iceberg that takes time to melt. It takes years. Coming back home is the blast of heat that I needed.”
When I pull her in for a hug, she reciprocates too tightly, and it’s still the best feeling we’ve shared together in as long as I can remember.
“Any chance you can pull out one of those breakfasts you’ve been serving?” she asks with a sniff. “I’m starving.”
“A step ahead of you. I prepped last night.”
She raves over my custard-soaked French toast that I topped with the macerated strawberries, and she even asks for a second serving.
After she’s inhaled her food and complimented me repeatedly, she asks, “So, would it be okay if we took Mary Ann up on her invitation to visit the farm? I haven’t been there in years, and it’d be fun to go back.”
“Totally.”
Later, Mom wanders the fields, petting the animals and enthusiastically picking produce. Her elation when she emerges with a basket full of fruits and veggies is so similar to what I experienced when I first walked through this sublime farm. Seeing her joy? It’s like watching trauma come undone and subsequent healing finding its way, all in real time.
While I drive us home and while I’m still reeling from the past twenty-four hours, I manage to remember that I had a whole brunch planned to welcome her that I need to get started on.
“I have to do some baking when we get back. I hope that’s okay. It’s not a big deal, but—”
My mom cuts me off, “It is a big deal. I get it. Mike’s mother used to host these kinds of things. Carrying on traditions is wonderful.”
I navigate the Pathfinder over the bumpy roads, and I notice my mother grinning. “What is it?”
“This car. Your dad was obsessed with this car.” She glances down. “Holy shit. All of his ’80s mixed CDs are still here?”
I laugh. “Oh, yeah. Danny and I love them!”
She shuffles through a few and pops one in. “I think this calls for some of The Cure.” Moments later, “Why Can’t I Be You?” and then “Just Like Heaven” blasts through the speakers, and I laugh again when she turns up the volume.
“Danny did this?” she yells and waves around. “Got this up and running after all these years?”
I nod and call back, “He did.”
“Mike was going to teach him to drive.”
“I know.”
She lets the wind blow back her hair for a moment before she turns to me. “Your father would have loved that you’re driving his car and also that Danny made that happen.”
Damn, she looks happy.
“Why didn’t you sell this after we left?”
It’s a long pause before she answers. “Same reason I didn’t sell the house, I guess. Too attached. Probably hoping for a reason or excuse not to sell either. And I’m glad they’re both still here.” She pats my arm. “I love that this Pathfinder is still so alive and fun.”
We pull in front of the house, and the music cuts out.
“Sounds to me as though this boy has cared about you for a long, long time,” she says.
I correct her, “He’s cared about our family for a long, long time.”
“Yes, maybe. But he cares about you in particular now, right?”
It’s scary to admit it, but I do. “He does, yeah.”
“And you feel the same way—I can tell. I think that’s great.”
“He’s not the reason I am staying here though,” I say adamantly. “You need to know that. This shit I’m doing is not about a crush.”
“I know.” She gets out and shuts the door. “Both of you have been through a lot, and I’m happy that you found each other.”
Alex soars by us on his bike and parks by the front door. Shit. I forgot to give him a head’s up.
“Oh, I forgot. My friend is here to help with baking. It’s sort of become our Saturday ritual. Hope that’s okay?”
“Of course.”
“He…likes a routine. I didn’t tell him that you’d be here, so he might be a bit nervous. Or agitated. Or something.”
She doesn’t b
alk when he immediately asks for a pair of wool socks and returns a bag of flour I gave him days ago, which is now, of course, vacuum-sealed. And in fact, she smiles and welcomes him warmly. “I’m Callie’s mom, Cindy.”
He glances off to the side. “I did not know you would be here.” Alex looks agitated. “No one told me.”
I step forward. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t know she’d be here this afternoon.” I tell him. “She’s back for a few days. Is it all right if she helps us cook? If it’s not, she can wait outside.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “I can go and read on the deck.”
“No. It’s fine.” He marches into the kitchen and stops abruptly as he is faced with a foreign kitchen. “Everything is new. Nothing is the same. Nothing is the same!” Before he escalates, I see him take some deep breaths and calm himself. “But you prepared me for this. I am ready. It will be okay. What are we cooking?”
I rush to his side and pull up a recipe on my iPad. “We’re making a cocoa banana bread with banana slices on top.”
“Okay, I like that a lot.” He is still agitated but trying to settle himself. “I like that a lot.”
“Me too.”
As we cook, he relaxes, and so do I. When the banana bread is out of the oven and cooling, I decide to use the baby eggplant that my mom picked today for dinner and make the three of us pan-fried eggplant with a simple tomato dipping sauce. Until a few weeks ago, I thought I hated eggplant. Mushy eggplant Parm is one of the grossest things ever, and that’s how I’ve always known it. However, when you peel eggplant, slice it into half-inch rounds, then salt those, and let them sit between paper towels for twenty minutes before you fry ’em up in a basic batter? Prepared properly, eggplant is creamy and delectable, and my mom and Alex love it.
“So, tomorrow, who’s going to be here?” Mom asks as she literally licks her fingertips.
I list off the usual crew.
“So, Paul, yes? It’ll be nice to see him.”
But I catch her eye. Yes, it will be nice for her to see him, but it will also be difficult. She’s bracing for that.
“And Danny, you said?”
“Of course.”
Alex bristles. “Don’t ask him about condoms. There has been too much talk about condoms, and I don’t like it.”
“Alex!” I must be ten shades of red. “We don’t say things like that!”
“Yes, I agree, but you and Mary Ann did say things about condoms and Danny, and lots of other people in town said things about you and Danny and condoms, and I just think your mother should be careful when she asks him questions.” He takes his plate to the sink and rinses it off before placing it in the dishwasher.
My mother raises her wineglass for a refill and is visibly controlling her laughter. “So, you and Danny are doing quite well, I gather?”
There’s no way to hide either my snarl or my glow. “I hate both of you right now. But, yes, we are doing well.”
thirty-six
The hours before a brunch are pretty intense, but even during my hurried preparations, I catch sight of Paul when he arrives. My mom has been not so subtly pacing outside, waiting for him, and it’s hard not to spy on them as they walk the dock and settle in for a talk. Not that I expect a fight or anything, but I’m hoping that her reconnecting with Paul isn’t going to be too emotional for her. The last peek I take is while he is hugging her closely, and my anxiety eases.
Being in Wake, embracing her life from when she was with my dad? I knew it would help. I just had to go first.
Now, I can focus. Alex and I have become a well-oiled machine, and we pump out a sumptuous mushroom and Brie strata, the green eggs and ham—which turn out even more fabulously than I hoped—and pitchers of cantaloupe smoothies.
It makes me a little nervous to see my mom and Danny engaged in a long conversation, and I just hope she’s not grilling him too much. But my mother is the first to shout out praise from her seat and gets the group clapping and cheering. It’s embarrassing and touching but also uncomfortable, so I brush them all off and rush to the kitchen.
Danny follows me. “She loves you so much. Just go with it.” He snuggles my back against his chest.
Both of us take a minute to just breathe.
Danny tightens his hold. “Can I stay over tonight, or will that be weird? I know it’s only been a day, but I miss you.”
“Alex started a weird condom conversation in front of my mother that didn’t seem to weird her out, so you can definitely stay over.”
“That sounds incredibly peculiar, so I’m lost and also on board. Especially because I don’t think I can stay away any longer.”
Brunch is going really well with the strata, green eggs and ham, and the cantaloupe smoothies winning everyone over. But when I bring out the cocoa-banana bread loaves, there’s collective silence.
“Those are … lovely.” Nicole tries hard to sound positive.
“Yes,” Jackson agrees. “Very fancy.”
Ray adjusts his shirt. “Sexy indeed!”
Sexy? I scan the table, and everyone is holding something back.
“Okay, what the hell is going on? Why are you guys all acting weird?”
Finally, Mary Ann stands. “Honey, I’m sure it tastes great, but maybe look at it for a second? Eagle-eye view.”
It only takes a few seconds for me to stand over my bread before I want to do a face-plant. “No, no. NO! I did what the recipe said! The picture on the site didn’t look like this!”
“It’s not your fault. You cut the bananas in half lengthwise, put them on top of the loaf, just as instructed.” My friend does her best to defend me and my gross error while also trying not to devolve into giggles. “So what if they look like baked curved penises? It’s fine.”
Fuck. She’s totally right.
It’s all I can do not to stomp my feet and hide.
I made banana penis bread.
“Eh, who cares?” Paul unceremoniously slices into one of the loaves, and the guys all cringe.
Nonetheless, everyone raves about it after Alex serves this inadvertently too-sexy course while I cover my eyes and vacillate between laughing and crying.
My mom is digging into her slice. “While its initial presentation might have been unusual, what matters is that it’s delicious.”
“I’ll cover the top with simple round banana slices next time, okay?” I yell out.
After I walk around the table and deliver apologies that everyone dismisses, I drop myself in Danny’s lap, still full of embarrassment. His inability to talk because he’s stuffed his mouth full makes me relax.
Suddenly, my mom taps a knife against her glass to grab everyone’s attention. “Should we all meet up tonight at the bar?”
Matteo stands up. “Cheers to that!”
Everyone else follows suit and stands. So, I guess we’re hitting up Michelle’s tonight.
At first, I’m not sure what’s come over my mother, but I answer my own question. These fabulous people have pulled her back in.
She ambles her way to me and Danny. “And I’m taking you two out to Nicole’s crêperie for dinner. Her menu sounds enticing, but also, Callie? You need a break. Is there ever a time when you’re not cooking for everyone?”
Before I can answer, Danny does. “No, there really isn’t. She’s unstoppable when we try to go out or order in food. So, she does need a break. We’re in.”
“Then, it’s settled.”
Later that night, after I’m dressed and ready to go out and my mom is still in my old bedroom, primping and checking herself out in the mirror, I hear her phone ring. As usual, she’s lost track of it, so I rush downstairs.
Erica is calling her, and impulsively, I answer. “Hey, Erica. It’s me.”
“Oh. Callie. Hi.”
“Mom is still getting ready to go out. Thought I’d pick up. To say hello.”
“Okay. Hello.”
This is super weird and awkward.
“Did you get the pictures I sen
t? Of the renovations?” Obviously, she did. No one doesn’t get texts these days.
“Yeah. Thank you for those.” After what feels like a million years, she says, “It was really nice to see the old house. As it was and how it looks now. You did a great job.”
And then I wait for what feels like another million years to say, “No problem. And your post the other day? Where you weren’t wearing any makeup? You’re really beautiful, just as you are. All stripped down and stuff.”
Suddenly, our mom yells out in a panic, “Do I look okay? It’s the first time I’ve worn jeans in so long. And I brought a pair of flat shoes, thank God. I know I’ve looked like an asshole here.”
Erica laughs. “I definitely have to see a picture of this shit. Send me one right now! And, Callie? Thanks. That was awesome of you.”
We hang up and I drop the phone to my side and admire my mother. “You look great. And Erica wants a picture, so pose!” I laugh as my mom strikes more than one silly stance and a few normal ones. After I’ve sent my sister a few, I stand in the doorway for a bit and take my time before I ask what I have to. “Mom? You must blame me.”
Her reflection catches mine. “What do you mean? Blame you for what?”
“I’m the reason Dad was out that night. I made him take me to a stupid movie. If he’d been home, he’d be alive.”
She whips around. “No. Callie, no. His death could never be on you.” She steps toward me. “Sweetheart, he wanted to be out with you that night. To take you to see that movie. Being your father and doing stuff like that? It brought him joy.”
“Okay,” I say weakly.
“You hold zero blame in your father’s death. Got it? Zero.” My mom puts her hands on my shoulders and literally shakes me. “Don’t you dare. I didn’t know you’d been carrying this kind of weight, but I’m telling you to let it go as of now. Got it?”
“Sure.”
Now, she cops a smile and wriggles her arms about until I smile too. “Got it?”