Chapter 16
Alexia
The phone vibrates against my hip as I drift into that sweet space between sleep and consciousness, my head nestled on Selene's chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. The soft cotton of her t-shirt carries her scent — a mix of vanilla and something uniquely her. For a moment, I consider ignoring it, but something pulls at me, and when I see the name on the screen, my heart nearly stops.
“Shit,” I mutter through clenched teeth as I read the message.
“Your mother's in Manhattan?” Selene's eyes widen in surprise when I tell her what it's about.
“Apparently so,” I admit with a huff that betrays my frustration. “She says she's 'in the area,'” I make air quotes around the phrase. “In mom-speak, that means 'I have something important to tell you, and I've come all the way to Manhattan, so drop whatever you're doing and contact me right now.'”
“Well, invite her over.”
“I don't think that's a good idea,” I protest.
“Come on, she's your mother.”
“Things don't usually end well when we see each other,” I argue.
“Don't be stupid,” she insists. “If she's in Manhattan, she won't leave easily. Besides, I'm great with mothers, you'll see.”
“Yeah, not this mother,” I murmur.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Last Christmas. She told me I needed to hurry up because my 'biological clock was ticking.' Right in front of the whole family,” I explain, the memory still stinging.
“Jesus.”
“That's what I said. Then she added that with my temper, no wonder I was single.”
“Well, you're not single now. Plus, you just made the news for saving a kid's life. You're happy now,” she pauses. “You are happy, right?”
“Of course I am, silly. That's exactly why I don't want to see my mother. No matter what I achieve in life, it's never enough for her. It's awful,” I complain, burying my face dramatically in her neck, breathing in her comforting scent.
“Come on, tell her to come over. Show her who you really are, not who she always wanted you to be,” she suggests, picking up my phone from the couch. “I'll be your backup.”
“You'll stay?”
“Wouldn't leave you alone for anything. From what you're telling me, facing your mother alone is more dangerous than flying blind in a snowstorm,” she jokes, leaning in to kiss my forehead.
“She'll probably hate you, just warning you.”
“Most likely, but if I survived two tours in Afghanistan, I should survive your mother. Call her — the sooner you get this over with, the better,” she insists, nodding toward my phone.
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I hit the call button, and her shrill voice cuts through the line.
“Alexia, about time. I was beginning to think you were in emergency surgery on New Year's Day. Isn't that your thing, volunteering for all the shifts nobody wants?”
I shake my head slowly while Selene tries to suppress her laughter. I've put the phone on speaker so she can see I'm not exaggerating about my mother. Then she wonders why I don't call more often. No 'hello,' no 'how are you.' Straight to criticism.
“Hi, Mom. Selene and I would love for you to come over for coffee this afternoon if you're not too busy. Since you're in the area…”
I know perfectly well she's not busy, and she's in the area precisely because she wants to talk to me in person. Still, for some unknown reason, since I was a child, communications in the Winters family have always involved dancing around the point.
“Who's Selene?” she asks in an odd tone.
“She's my girlfriend, Mom.”
“And you hadn't told me? What's her specialty? Surgery too?”
“She's not a doctor. She's a helicopter pilot,” I explain.
A pause.
Long.
Too long.
And Selene's efforts to contain her laughter are starting to fail; she has to bury her face in a cushion to muffle the sound.
“Helicopter pilot,” she sighs.
It's not a question, not even a statement. It's her way of belittling people. She has that ability, just by changing her intonation. She and her friends.
“I see…” she murmurs. “Would twenty minutes work for you? Should I bring anything? The last time I was at that apartment, you served truly horrible coffee. You're still in that tiny little apartment, aren't you?”
She doesn't even let me answer. The questions come rapid-fire without a single pause, as if she doesn't need to breathe.
“I'll be there in twenty minutes,” she announces before hanging up without waiting for confirmation.
“Damn, your mother is quite the character,” Selene says, amused.
“What have I done?”
“Should I wear what I wore to dinner last night?”
“The Christmas elf costume?”
“No, the formal clothes I changed into later.”
“Don't go overboard, but let's find you something. She'd have a heart attack if she saw you in that tank top without a bra.”
“A while ago you were saying how good I looked in it,” she teases, checking herself out in the mirror.
The knock on the door comes at exactly three o'clock. My mother has never been late for anything in her life. Never early either. She prides herself on arriving at precisely the right moment.
“You look perfect, relax. You've got this, it's just a visit from your mother,” Selene whispers, watching me smooth down my blouse with my palms while checking in the mirror that my ponytail is properly secured.
When I open the door, my mother sweeps in like a winter wind. Her Carolina Herrera coat is immaculate despite the falling snow, telling me she was either very close by or took a taxi right to the door. She surveys my apartment before saying hello, likely cataloging every flaw and misplaced item in her mind.
“Darling.” Mom leans in for her signature air-kiss, never quite making contact — one of her many peculiarities. The scent of her Chanel perfume fills my nostrils, bringing back memories of countless society events and disapproving looks. “I see you're still living in this… charming little place. Doesn't that hospital pay you enough? You could move to Connecticut, work under me. You'd earn more, save money. New York is so expensive.”
“We've been through this before, Mom. At your hospital, I wouldn't be able to perform cardiac surgeries and-”
“But you'd make an excellent general surgeon,” she cuts me off, fixing her gaze on Selene while raising her perfectly groomed eyebrows with millimeter precision.
“Mom, this is Selene,” I say.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Winters,” Selene extends her hand, but Mom's handshake is so brief it borders on dismissive. At least she spared Selene the air-kiss treatment.
“My daughter tells me you're a helicopter pilot? How adventurous!”
“That's right.”
“So you ferry executives around? When we spent summers at our Martha's Vineyard beach house, we used one of those helicopters. Took us straight from Connecticut, helped us avoid traffic. Now Alexia never wants to go and-”
“I transport organs for transplants, not executives,” Selene interjects politely. “I fly hospital to hospital, not to Martha's Vineyard, Nantucket, the Hamptons, or any of those places.”
“I see. Wouldn't you make more money doing something else?”
“Probably, but I guarantee you that carrying organs that will save lives is far more rewarding. Would you like some coffee?”
Traitor.
Mom makes a noncommittal gesture, which Selene takes as her cue to escape to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the crosshairs.
“Do you remember James Rochester, Caroline's son? He just made partner at his father's law firm. I always thought you two would end up together.”
I just smile and shrug. James is a good friend, though the reason we spent so much time together as teenagers was to keep our parents off our backs. I wonder if Mom knows he's gay yet. Based on her comment, I'm guessing not.
“You have horrible dark circles under your eyes, by the way. You should try this cream I've been recommended-”
“Alexia was on call at the hospital all night,” Selene interrupts, setting down the coffee cups.
“Oh, I see. I'll send you the name of the cream anyway,” Mom insists, examining her coffee as if Selene might have poisoned it or spit in it. Arya probably would have, but not Selene.
We sit in silence for a long while, but knowing my mother, this can't be good.
“All these night shifts… You should think about settling down, you're not an intern anymore. And this tiny apartment… You know we could help you buy something more suitable, maybe facing Central Park.”
“This place is more than adequate, Mom, and it's close to the hospital. From Central Park, it would take forever to get there. It's not about money.”
“I'm just worried about you, darling,” she cuts me off. “I mean, this tiny place… What would your father say?”
“I honestly wouldn't know,” the words escape before I can stop them. “Neither of you has ever approved of almost anything I do. Nothing's ever good enough.”
Mom stares at me with an expression I can't decipher. I'm not sure if she's angry at my comment, or if she's giving me that look she used to give me as a child when she thought I was being stupid.
“I see you're still as dramatic as ever,” she sighs with a dismissive gesture, probably practiced in front of a mirror until it looked elegant. “I suppose I should be grateful you at least studied medicine instead of…” she glances at Selene, and for a moment, I fear the worst.
“Alexia is one of the country's top cardiothoracic surgeons,” Selene says beside me, maintaining her composure. “She's a leading authority in open-heart surgery on pediatric patients.”
Of course, Mom knows this, or should know it, being a doctor herself, but for some reason I've never understood, she always chooses to ignore it.
“And I suppose you help her get those organs with your little helicopter? How convenient…” Again, she raises an eyebrow with millimeter precision.
“Mom, please, let's drop this conversation, I don't want to-”
I pause. Too long because suddenly, I can't find the words when I notice she's not wearing the diamond ring Dad gave her when they got married.
“Why didn't Dad come?” I ask fearfully, and her perfect facade cracks.
“Your father… is taking time with his new legal assistant. She's twenty-seven,” she adds with contempt.
“Jesus, Mom,” I sigh.
The silence that follows is deafening. Mom maintains her composure, stoic, but I think if it weren't for Selene's hand squeezing mine, I'd be having a nervous breakdown.
“So that's why you came…”
“He told me I was cold, can you believe it?” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly. “That this girl makes him feel alive. After all the sacrifices I made for this family, he runs off with a girl even younger than you. Do you think I'm cold? Tell me at least that I was a good mother.”
Selene squeezes my hand again, as if reminding me to be careful with what I'm about to say.
“Mom, I'm sure you did the best you could,” I mutter. “At least, you thought it was for my own good. Being a good mother or not, it depends, it's too subjective a concept. You turned my best friend's funeral, when I was only twelve, into a lecture about maintaining emotional distance in medicine. I still have nightmares about that. You made me feel horrible every time my grades weren't perfect enough. I…”
“You said it yourself. I only wanted what was best for you,” she interrupts, tensing up.
“I don't know, Mom. I guess so. Or what was best for your image. The perfect daughter to match the perfect life. But I'm not, Mom. I'm far from perfect. I'm a surgeon who tries to be better every day. Since I was twelve, I've been emotionally dependent on a lucky pen Laura gave me before she died. And now I'm dating a helicopter pilot who dresses up as a Christmas elf to make sick kids laugh. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying to be happy.”
“Alexia, don't think I'm not proud of you. You're the fourth generation of doctors in the family and-”
“I didn't study medicine for you, Mom,” I huff. “Not for any family tradition, either. I did it for Laura, because I promised her before she died that I'd become the kind of doctor who could have saved her. But you didn't know that, did you? Because you never asked if I liked medicine. I do, I love surgery, but you never asked. You took it for granted.”
“I never meant to-”
“You ask if you're cold? Yes, you are, Mom. You're the type of mother who makes her daughter feel like she's never good enough, who makes her daughter fight against ridiculous insecurities every day. Maybe you couldn't help it, I'm not going to judge you at this point in my life.”
“I'm running late. It's been a pleasure,” she snaps, checking her gold Rolex and standing up as if she hadn't heard a single word I said.
“You're running late?” I repeat, confused.
“I don't know how to be any other way.”
“Then learn, Mom. I'm not that little girl anymore who'd do anything for your approval. I don't need it anymore. I'm your daughter, but I'm not your reflection. What I need now is a mother I can talk to, a mother who values me. Please accept who I am. We still have time.”
She stops just before reaching the door, her hand already on the knob.
“I saw you in the news. That little girl, did she survive?”
“Yes, she survived. Her name is Holly, and she wants to be a helicopter pilot.”
“Like your Selene.”
“Yes, she was the one who flew through the snowstorm when no one else dared.”
“I see,” is all I hear before she closes the door and vanishes, leaving only a lingering scent of Chanel in the air.
“Wow, your mom is intense,” Selene whispers in my ear, hugging me from behind.
“She is,” I acknowledge. “I've never dared to say these things to her before.”
“But you did. I think in the long run it'll be really good for your relationship. She'll start seeing you as an adult woman and not still as a child who needs to be watched so she doesn't make mistakes.”
“I hope so. I really hope she understands,” I confess, turning to kiss her lips.