Izzie’s book club is really more like a happy hour club. Several girls in her English lit class last year proposed meeting at a local restaurant to talk about what they’ve been reading instead of doing it at their houses. But they spend the majority of the time getting drunk instead of talking about the book. Which Izzie has pointed out explains why their book club has been going strong for the past year instead of fizzling out like the other ones she’s belonged to over the years.
“No, don’t do that. Plus, I’m supposed to go see my mom this afternoon anyway. I’ve been putting it off for the past few days and you know how she gets when she decides I’m ignoring her.”
Izzie rests her head on top of mine. “I know. Well, it could be worse. She could decide to drop by here. Remember when you first moved in?”
“Don’t speak of it. I swear if you say her name three times she might appear.”
We laugh together and Izzie starts talking about the guys she got cards from earlier. Normally Izzie takes hours getting ready to go out but I can tell she’s hanging around so I don’t have to be alone. It makes me feel better having her there and her warm presence helps plug a few of the gaping holes in my heart.
†
When I pull up in my parents’ driveway a few hours later, I silently count to ten before I get out of the car. I give myself a mental pep talk as I walk up the carefully edged walkway and then open the door with my key. Visiting my mother is like taking off a bandage.
It’s going to hurt either way so it’s best done without lingering too long beforehand.
She’s in the parlor having tea just like every other day at four o’clock. Growing up, this was my favorite room in the house. I used to call it the “blue room”. The delicate Queen Anne style chairs seemed like they were fit for a princess and I always felt special when I was allowed to sit with mother while she had tea. Sometimes if she was distracted, she’d forget I was here and I would watch her write letters at the Chippendale desk in the corner. My mother has never been a particularly demonstrative woman and spending that time with her made me feel close to her.
As I got older tea time lost it’s magic as it became just another opportunity for my mother to list all the ways I’ve disappointed her over the years but I still love this room. It’s one of the only things that makes these weekly visits tolerable.
“Hello mother. You’re looking well.”
She tilts her head slightly so I can kiss her cheek. Her dark hair is twisted up into an elegant chignon and the dark green sheath dress she’s wearing complements her favorite pearls perfectly. I don’t recognize it so it must be new. I take my seat and watch while she pours the tea. I haven’t even added sugar before she starts.
“You’re late, Josephine.” Her lips form a slight moue of distress. She must really be upset today. Usually she doesn’t like to make facial expressions anymore. It might cost her another unit of Botox.
I instantly feel guilty for the uncharitable thought. I know better than anyone what it’s like to live amongst people who value women only for what they look like instead of what they think or feel or do. My mother has been a product of that environment a lot longer than I have. I’m sure it’s difficult to live that way.
“Sorry. I’ve been busy lately.”
“What’s so important that you can’t visit your mother?”
I sigh. Here we go. “You know that Gabe hasn’t been well. I’ve been spending time at his house, helping out wherever I can.”
“Oh, well. That’s understandable. The two of you have always made a striking couple. Taking care of him when he needs you will hopefully make him see what’s right in front of his face. Especially since you blew things with Perry.”
“I didn’t blow things with Perry. I broke up with him. I didn’t love him. And Gabe and I are just friends.” I don’t bother telling her again that we’ve never been anything more than that. I’ve been saying it for years and I think she’s determined to ignore anything that doesn’t fit the vision in her head.
“So? You have shared history. That’s an advantage. You need to get him off the market and fast. He's wealthy and handsome. His family is a concern of course but I suppose you can’t have everything.”
I ignore the subtle dig because I’ve promised myself that I won’t let her get to me. But hearing anyone put down Paula and Debbie makes me so angry. They’ve been like my fairy godmothers in so many ways, a fact that annoys my mother greatly.
“He has a girlfriend.”
“When has that ever stopped anyone? Things are cutthroat these days and you need to find someone who won't mind your eccentricities.”
“You mean my art?”
“Don't start Josephine. You know how we feel about you taking those pornographic pictures!”
“Mom! You promised.”
Her hand flutters to her throat. “I know and I’m trying to be supportive but darling, really? Cass Michaelson was at that exhibit and I had to listen to her snide comments at garden club for three weeks straight. She kept talking about how she used to model and asking if you do portraits on commission. As if you’d want to take her picture anyway.”
“What’s wrong with that? Maybe she was trying to be nice.”
“Hah! She used to model for one of those filthy skin mags. What if people think that’s what you do?”
It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. “I doubt anyone else cares, Mom.”