Chapter 81
“Not too big and poofy, I don’t wanna look like I crawled outta the seventies,” Mom says, half laughing. “But also not too limp. Just a nice, easy beach wave.”
“Got it,” I say, wrapping her hair around the iron.
Mom asked me to do her hair for a coffee meetup with her sponsor. Said she can’t reach the back pieces herself and that I’m probably better with an iron anyway.
“From all those videos you watch on TikTok,” she said.
“I’m not on TikTok,” I said.
“Well still, it’s in your blood. You’re of the age.”
“Are you excited to see Margie?” I ask.
“Geesh, good memory. Yeah, yeah. She’s a hoot.
Should be fun. Well, honestly fun isn’t the right word for it.
Kinda the exact opposite word for it actually.
It’s hard work. Hard fucking work. She started havin’ me do all this diggin’ into my childhood.
We’ve been talking about how I had no discipline as a kid.
My dad was on the bottle and runnin’ around on my ma, my ma was on pills and runnin’ around on my dad.
Neither of ’em had any time for me, so I was raised on sugary cereals and bad sitcoms and boys I shouldn’t have been with.
And it wasn’t my parents’ fault. I mean it was and it wasn’t.
Or, it was then but it’s not now. It’s not their fault anymore.
I’m an adult now, yet here I am still living in these patterns that were set in place by them when I was five.
Margie says it’s time to reset these patterns.
Establish new ones. Really focus on rebuilding my life.
Finding myself instead of avoiding myself with men.
She says the best way to do that is through no contact. ”
“What’s ‘no contact’?”
“Basically it’s sixty days where I can’t speak to, text, meet up with, sleep with, or engage in any way with any man I’ve been sexually or romantically involved with in the past. Even if nothing’s ever happened with a guy and I just feel like something could, I can’t interact with him either. Nothin’. No contact.”
Mom’s hair sizzles from the iron. I let the lock fall and start wrapping the next one.
“And you’re gonna do it?”
“Already started! The whole idea is that it’s supposed to help me observe my instincts and urges and all my emotions underneath those urges so that I can replace all my unhelpful behaviors with better ones.
Like, instead of texting a man, make a cup of tea or whatever.
I mean, if you ask me, there’s no chamomile that can replace a good dick but gotta start somewhere I guess. Sorry. Just speaking the truth.”
Mom picks a piece of lint off her shirt and flicks it.
“How far in are you?” I ask.
“Ten days. And a half. First few days were the hardest. I was havin’ withdrawals.
Gasping for air kinda thing. Borderline panic attacks.
But it’s gettin’ easier. Day by day. And I know it’s gonna be worth it.
Gonna be great for my future. Our future.
You know what Margie said is gonna happen once I start takin’ better care of myself? ”
“What?”
“She said it’ll lead to me takin’ better care of you. That’s why I couldn’t all these years. Cuz how was I supposed to know how to treat my daughter well if I’m treatin’ myself like shit, right?”
“Right…”
“And I’m not asking for forgiveness, doll.
I don’t deserve that. I just want to apologize and to let you know that I’m gonna try my damndest to earn your trust. I’m gonna be a better mother to you, sweetheart.
You deserve that. You always have. I’m gonna be there for you in a way I’ve never been before.
Okay? Because I love you. You’re the best thing in my life. ”
“Thanks. That’s really nice. But I get it. I know things were hard for you. You were younger than I am now when you had me…”
“Don’t go remindin’ me. That’s spooky, you’re a baby.”
“Exactly, you were too,” I shrug. “With nobody there to support you. You had a tough go.”
“Well sure, but havin’ a tough go doesn’t mean you gotta make somebody else’s life tough, too. I’m sick of my own bullshit,” she says as she looks out the window with longing, twenty years of regret crystallizing in this one moment. It’s a strange thing, seeing your mother grow up.
“You know what we oughta do? Let’s take that trip out to Seward soon,” she says, same as she always does, but there’s something in her tone that sounds different. Grounded. Clear. As if she knows it’s not a new idea, but an old one, one she finally wants to make good on.
“Let’s really do it this time,” she says. “This time I mean it.”