My shoulders slumped as I started to second guess myself for the hundredth time since I agreed to move back to Southport to help Mom out. The idea of going back felt like squeezing back into a pair of skintight jeans that I had long since outgrown. It felt wrong on so many levels.
Southport, Pennsylvania, and I had outgrown each other. Neither one of us was going to be too keen to see each other again.
But Mom needed me. That’s what I had to keep in mind.
“I looked up this town of yours on the map. You know it took me ten minutes to even find it. It’s seriously out in the middle of nowhere. What do you even do for fun in a place like that? Tip cows or something?” Damien seemed genuinely perplexed by the idea of small-town living. Not that I blamed him. There was a small town.
Then there was small town.
Southport was definitely the latter. It gave new meaning to bum-fuck-Egypt.
“I’ll survive, Damien. Plus, I’m not there to have a rockin’ social life. I’m going to help Mom fix up the house and put it on the market. She can’t do it by herself, and she’s too damn proud to ask anyone but her kids for help. And even that was like pulling teeth.”
The truth was I had been worried about Mom since Dad died ten months ago. She put on a brave face, assured me she was fine, but I could see the heavyweight on her shoulders, the deep stress lines around her eyes. Dad’s life insurance hadn’t been much. It had barely covered his funeral expenses. And when Dr. Walton had unceremoniously cut Mom’s hours in half, she finally had to tell me how upside down she was. Her finances were stretched to the point that she had gone delinquent on her electric bill for the past three months. She couldn’t keep up with the taxes on the house. And even though the mortgage had been paid off for years, she was barely scraping by.
Whitney and I had spoken at length about what to do.
“She can’t stay there by herself,” Whitney had exclaimed. Getting hold of my older sister was difficult, given the six-hour time difference between us. When I was finally able to get her on the phone, she wasn’t very helpful.
“I get that, Whit, but she won’t move to New York. Lord knows I’ve begged her enough times.”
Mom’s reaction to my suggestion she moves into my dinky studio apartment in Queens was raucous laughter.
“Where am I going to sleep, Meghan? Under your bed?” she had asked humorously.
“I can get a bigger place,” I had argued, feeling defensive. Mom hadn’t meant to be demeaning about my apartment, and by extension, my life, but it felt that way. I spent a good portion of my life feeling like I could do so much more.
“Dearest, I appreciate your offer, but I can’t leave Southport. Your father and I fell in love here. This is where we raised you girls. This is where we were happy.” Her voice had broken, and I could hear her soft sobs on the other end. My mother’s grief ripped a hole through my chest. It magnified my own anguish until I was swallowed by it.
“Of course, she won’t move to New York. This is Mom we’re talking about,” Whitney had snapped impatiently. At some point during the last decade, my once bubbly, hopeful sister had become waspish and cold. I blamed the highly competitive nature of her work, but I always wondered if there was more to it than that.
As an in-demand makeup artist for the stars, she was always traveling, always on the go. As a result of her high-profile life, most other things had fallen by the wayside.
Including our once close relationship.
It was just one more thing I had lost over the years that I could never get back. I was becoming painfully accustomed to heartbreak.
“Well, what are we going to do?” I asked my sister, hoping she would solve the problem like she always used to.
But the days of Whitney holding my hand were long over. She had learned to survive by looking out for number one. Sure, she loved our parents and me, but she existed in a dog-eat-dog environment that left little room for things like feelings.
“I’m in Paris, Meg. I can’t get home for at least three months. This movie I’m working on should wrap up by the end of September, but I’m hoping to roll onto the next Scorsese that starts filming in Rome this fall.”
I tried not to get angry. “What about Mom, Whitney? She needs us. She needs you.” I hated that I had to remind her of something that would have been second nature to her once upon a time.
For the briefest of moments, I thought I had her. I could hear her soft exhale in my ear. “I know,” she said gently. Maybe, just maybe, this time, she’d do what’s right for her family. Not simply what was right for her. But that Whitney was buried deep. “I have a thriving career, Meg. What do you have?”