57
I left the office at noon on Friday to begin preparing for Rosh Hashanah. I had never hosted the meal at my house before, but it was a low-stakes dinner with only my parents and children attending. It would be nothing like the formal dining of my childhood, with aunts and uncles, cousins, and occasionally politicians galore. At least not this year. Maybe next, I thought as I browned the brisket to prepare to cook it. My mother had taken Debbie with her to pick up Robbie from school, promising them ice cream to give me time to cook, and in the rare silence of the house, it was nice to fantasize about a future in which I would be hosting the way my mother always had.
In the daydream, Michael was there, though I didn’t assign him a role. I didn’t want to presume what would happen in five weeks’ time, win or lose. But it was my fantasy, and if I wanted him consulting my father about the slicing of the brisket, then that’s where he would be. He would look awfully cute in an apron.
Larry wasn’t allowed in.
Though, I realized as I flipped the meat in the pan, it would be nice to get to a place of civility with him for the sake of the children. Eventually. When the wounds were less fresh.
By the time the kids were back, I was ready to greet them with open arms. I led them to the living room and read to them, telling my mother to go relax. A child nestled on either side of me, I could turn off the election for now and just enjoy motherhood. As rewarding as my work on the campaign had been, this was the job I had chosen when I accepted Larry’s proposal. And Robbie and Debbie were still the most important and best part of my day.
On Saturday morning, I scrubbed the children until they practically glowed before putting them into their new holiday clothes, purchased a month earlier by my mother.
“I don’t yike dis dress,” Debbie said petulantly as I pulled a brush through her hair.
“Why not?”
“I told Gramma, I yike yellow !” She stomped her foot.
I had anticipated that when my mother brought the pink dress home and showed it off to me. “Oh dear,” I said gravely. “But if you wore yellow, you wouldn’t match this.” I reached under my bed and pulled out a bag.
“What is it?” Debbie asked, her voice full of distrust.
“Open it,” I said.
She did and squealed as she pulled out a new Barbie doll in a dress the same shade as her own. She hugged the doll to her chest, and I smiled down at her, hoping she would always be this happy.
Robbie complained about his tie but otherwise behaved. And my mother swept into the room eventually in a new suit as well.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” she asked me, as if I hadn’t just spent the last hour on the children while she completed her look.
It hadn’t occurred to me to get anything new. And people would most definitely look with Michael there. I was going to ask if I could borrow a dress of hers, but she left the room.
Sighing, I went to my closet to look through my options for something that wouldn’t be memorable as having been worn before, when I heard my mother walking back into the room. I poked my head out of the closet to find her holding a garment bag.
“What—?” She unzipped the bag and pulled out the most gorgeous turquoise dress, with a high neck, a belted bow waist, and slightly flared skirt. “Oh, Mama,” I exhaled.
She took it off the hanger and held it out to me. “I know you think I had it much easier when you were little—and maybe I did. But I also remember what it’s like to put yourself last and put everyone else first.”
I blinked rapidly to keep my eyes from filling. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It was like crying in that motel parking lot had flipped switches inside my tear ducts, and now I couldn’t shut them back off.
“Thank you,” I said thickly.
She held out a gloved hand to each child. “Come along, darlings. Let’s let Mama get dressed in peace for once.”
Dressed and made up, I looked in the full-length mirror. It took me a moment to recognize myself. This wasn’t Beverly, who ran a campaign, or Mrs. Diamond, the perfect wife. It was me. The woman in the mirror winked, and I smiled back at her.
“Let’s go, slowpokes,” I called down the hall.
“What do we say today?” my mother asked the children.
“L’shana tova,” they said in unison.
“Good,” she said, crouching down to straighten Robbie’s tie. “Now remember, best behavior.”
Debbie clutched her doll tightly. “Barbie behaves too.”
It wasn’t until we were in the car that I realized how much additional stress Larry had created around the holidays. We had never made it to shul without a tantrum on someone’s part before. And as I glanced over at my mother, I took a hand off the steering wheel and placed it on top of hers. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”
She smiled at me. “What are mothers for?”