Back in the Burbs by Tracy Wolff
Chapter Thirty-Six
“So, Mom,” I say as I roll her suitcase inside. “Any particular reason you brought a suitcase with you?”
Please let it be because she wants to lay claim to something of Aunt Maggie’s. I don’t care what it is—cooking magazines, hair clips, her entire sex-toy collection. She can have anything she wants, just please, please, please let it be that my mother needed a convenient way to pack something up. Not because—
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mallory,” she says as she stands in the middle of the front room and looks around disapprovingly. “Obviously I’m moving in.”
And the hits just keep on coming.
Of course she’s moving in. I mean, why wouldn’t she be? After spending the last however many weeks haranguing me about the sanctity of marriage and how important it is for me to go back to my husband, she’s left hers.
The irony of the situation is almost more than I can stand…especially since it seems to be completely lost on her.
For a second, I think about hitting my head against the nearest wall until I knock myself out, but that’ll just lead to a lecture on my very non-ladylike behavior, which must be the reason I can’t keep a man. And while such lectures are always a barrel of laughs, the truth is I’m just not up for it today—or ever again.
“Is there any particular reason you’ve decided to move in here?” I ask.
Mom surveys the room, which I admit is still a work in progress. “I haven’t suddenly gone senile, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t treat me as though I have.”
Her gaze lands on Sarah as she walks down the stairs with Nick, and Mom’s mouth puckers up like she’s just sucked a five-pound bag of lemons. “You must be the mistake.”
“Mom!” I am so mortified that the volume it comes out at is close to a yell. But I’m also astonished, because how did she even know Sarah was staying with me? “Don’t talk to her like that!”
I turn to apologize to Sarah, but she’s already fleeing to the kitchen. I start to go after her, but Nick puts a hand on my elbow.
“I’ll make coffee,” is all he says, but his expression shows that he’ll take care of her.
That leaves me out here with my mother—exactly where I don’t want to be.
“I have to say, I don’t really like what you’ve done with the place.” She looks around. “I know you’ve never been a fastidious housekeeper, but really, this is pretty bad even for you.”
“Yes, well, maybe if I’d known you were coming, I could have made more of an effort,” I answer, tongue totally in cheek. Because, seriously, what else have I been doing for the last week and a half but busting my ass on this damn house?
“A lady’s house should always be prepared for company.” She wipes a finger over a window ledge, then wrinkles her nose at the dust on it.
“Yeah, and a lady’s husband probably shouldn’t father offspring with another woman, but we’re pretty much oh and two for that, aren’t we?” The words pop out before I knew I was going to say them, but as my mother’s spine stiffens and her eyes widen, I can’t say I’m sorry.
I’ve spent my entire life tiptoeing around her feelings while she shredded mine, which—now that I think about it—is exactly what I did with Karl as well. It felt good standing up to him the other night, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel some satisfaction at standing up to my mother as well. I’m sick to death of always worrying about everyone else’s feelings when they never worry about mine.
“I don’t know why you insist on being so crude,” Mom snaps at me right before she marches into the kitchen with her nose in the air.
Part of me is tempted to just let her stew for a few minutes, but Sarah and Nick are in the kitchen and neither of them is prepared for prolonged exposure to Elizabeth Martin when she is in a snit. And while I’m annoyed as fuck at my mother right now, it isn’t fair to leave them alone with her.
By the time I make it to the kitchen, Mom is sitting at the table while Nick makes coffee. Sarah is leaning against the counter on her phone—as far from my mom as she can get and be in the same room. Not that I blame her. That’s pretty much how I’ve spent my entire adult life.
But since that’s not an option now, I sit down next to my mom. Nick plops cups of coffee in front of both of us and I’m impressed he’s remembered that I like mine with cream. Then I take a sip and nearly choke on the burn making its way down my esophagus. Nick must have figured out where Aunt Maggie kept her alcohol because there is a whole lot of whiskey in this coffee. I turn toward him, gasping for breath.
He just shrugs. “It seemed like coffee by itself wasn’t going to cut it for the two of you right now.”
Truer words have probably never been spoken. I swear, if my mother weren’t here, I would kiss him for that alone.
Then again, if my mother weren’t here, I wouldn’t need to be drinking whiskey anyway…
Speaking of, my mother is drinking her spiked coffee with nary a peep, but that just might be because she’s too busy staring at my sister to notice. Sarah, on the other hand, is doing her best to pretend my mother doesn’t exist.
And she almost pulls it off. But she makes a rookie mistake when dealing with Mom—she looks up from her phone and makes eye contact.
Which is pretty much a declaration of war in my mom’s book—and always has been.
“So you’re staying here now?” my mother asks in the snootiest tone I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth—which is saying a lot.
I drain my coffee and hand the mug back to Nick with a low, “Can I have another, please? Hold the coffee this time.”
Sarah must be getting sick of Mom’s rudeness, though, because she stands up straight and gives Mom a very impressive fuck-you glare. “Yeah, I am. What of it?”
And just like that, my strong, indomitable, never-show-weakness mother crumbles. She drops her head on the kitchen table and starts to cry as if her heart is breaking wide open.
“One more coffee, please.” I shove her mug at Nick, too.
He responds by plunking the whiskey bottle down in the middle of the table along with three glasses. Then he settles into the chair on the other side of my mom and gives her a hug. And he never even winces when she lets loose with a tortured wail and buries her face in his shoulder and cries and cries and cries.
I grab the whiskey bottle and pour us all a stiff drink. We’re going to need it before this day is over, of that I’m sure.