Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Anna
“My name is Tilly if you need anything else while you wait, hon,” the sweet, sixty-something server at Frank’s Diner said as she delivered my caffeine Saturday morning.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling.
As many times as I’d been on Hale Street to visit Hayden Henry’s home decor shop and Walk On By Boots, I’d never made it into Frank’s to eat before.
Today, I’d stopped across the street at Bliss to pick up a gift certificate for my mom’s birthday.
The spa offered massages, facials, and yoga.
Just walking inside the building, with its soothing scent and peaceful music, had lowered my stress level.
Maybe someday I’d splurge for my own massage.
Now it was five after eleven, and there was no sign of my mother. Standard Tammy, late for a lunch date with her daughter.
I took a deep breath, trying to return to the feeling I’d had when I entered the spa. I’d need every bit of calm when my mother finally deigned to show up. I was determined to get through to her today. If I couldn’t, as I’d told Ryder, I’d have to go the tough-love route.
In the meantime, I took in the cute diner with its red upholstered stools and booths and every table filled for Saturday lunch.
Tilly bustled around, one of three servers.
An older, gruff-looking man peeked out from the kitchen pass-through window every so often, as if surveying his kingdom, making me suspect he was Frank himself.
A few minutes later, my mom entered and scanned the crowd. I waved until she spotted me in the far corner by the window. She made her way over, sliding multiple shopping bags with a That Girl logo on them into the booth ahead of her.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, forcing a smile even though I was annoyed she was late because of a shopping spree. “Looks like you splurged.”
“I got the cutest outfit from across the street,” she said before she was even settled in the booth. She launched into a description of all her purchases without so much as a hello or How are you doing?
“Sounds cute,” I said when she paused to breathe.
“It’s my birthday present to myself.”
“Yeah, happy birthday.” Her gift was in my bag. I’d wait until after we ate to give it to her.
“Last one in my fifties,” she said, frowning. “Maybe next year, I’ll really treat myself.”
I eyed all the bags and wondered what really treating herself would entail, but I didn’t ask. My goal was to keep it to noninflammatory subjects for as long as possible. This was the way to manage Tammy Delfico. God knows I’d had years of experience.
“So what’s new?” I asked her after we ordered, blueberry pancakes for her and a turkey club for me.
She launched into a TMI diatribe about a doctor’s appointment last week regarding a spot on her hand, which, if I was interpreting her ramble right, turned out to be an age spot.
She tended toward the hypochondriac side and went to her doctor more often than most of us hit the grocery store.
She’d go in when anything more than a hangnail was wrong with her body, but she wouldn’t touch her mental health with a ten-foot pole.
“Here we go, ladies.” Tilly set our lunches in front of us as the guy in the kitchen bellowed. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s a drama king.”
We laughed. “Is that Frank?” I asked.
“Yes, and he thinks because his name is on the sign he can boss me around. I just let him go on thinking that and do what really needs to be done out here.”
“These look delicious,” my mom said of her stack of pancakes.
“We’re known for those,” Tilly said. “Frank might be a bellowing old goat, but he’s got a way with blueberries. Does ’em right in pancakes and ice cream both. You ladies let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks, Tilly,” I said, thinking I needed to come back here soon just for the entertaining dynamics between those two.
We dug into our food, and my determination to return only increased. “This might be the best turkey club I’ve ever had,” I said after two bites.
“That lady wasn’t kidding about the pancakes either,” my mom said.
“So I have some news,” I told her. “Kemp and I are together.”
She looked up at me sharply. “You mean sleeping together?”
My brows shot up my forehead. “Together together. Like involved. In love,” I said, my chest going warm and liquid at the knowledge that Kemp loved me, in spite of my mom’s awkward comment.
Instead of smiling, she donned a puzzled expression. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I’d just stuck a bite in my mouth, and I sat there chewing, staring at her, wondering if I’d ever in this lifetime understand her.
Literally everyone else swore Kemp and me getting together was not only a good idea but a long overdue one.
Not that anyone else’s opinions mattered, hers included, but what the hell?
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I asked.
She cut another bite of pancake and shrugged. “There’s a lot of years of friendship at risk there.”
“That just makes it stronger,” I said. That was so obvious now that the risk that one of us wouldn’t feel the same was mitigated.
“If things go south, you’ll lose one of your best friends.”
I stuffed another bite in my mouth, giving myself time to weigh out my response instead of snapping at her.
“We’re aware of the risk, Mom. I thought maybe you’d be happy for us.”
“Of course, honey. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
That was false. Nothing could make my mom happy. As if to verify that, her smile was phony. Then it dropped.
“It’s just that you stand to lose so very much if it doesn’t work out,” she continued.
“I’m choosing to believe it’s going to work out,” I said, working hard to keep my tone even and conversational.
“I hope you’re right. He’s a good-looking boy.”
While she did not lie about that, the comment rubbed me wrong. Kemp was irresistibly gorgeous, but that was only about a tenth of why I loved him. He was funny, kind, a wonderful father, strong both physically and mentally, unselfish, and talented. Everyone loved him.
There was no point in setting my mom straight though. I sometimes wondered whether she really wanted me to be happy. I had my doubts.
“He and I have a strong foundation and a lot of history. He helped me get through Cassie’s accident,” I reminded her, going where I hadn’t dared to go for some time. “Him and counseling. I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without both.”
My mother’s expression shuttered before my very eyes. “I need a refill on my tea.”
Her glass was still one-third full, but the irony of her seeing it as nearly empty didn’t escape me. Nor did the dodge.
“I’m sure Tilly will be by soon,” I reassured her.
We ate in silence for two or three minutes as I considered my approach.
It’d been a long time since I’d tried to get her to find a therapist, mostly because it usually became contentious fast—or she’d change the subject like she just had.
I needed to be direct. Hopefully the public location would prevent her from making a scene.
“You know, Mom, what happened to our family was terrible. The kind of major life tragedy that none of us can weather alone.”
“Why would you bring it up on my birthday then?” she said tensely as she continued to eat her pancakes.
“Because it’s important. Because I love you, and you need help.” My appetite was diminishing, but I pulled the bacon off the last part of my sandwich and took a bite. After swallowing I said, “Ryder, Dad, and I all got counseling. It helped all of us. Even Ryder.”
She scowled. “If it helped him so much, why is he still so mean to me?”
And here we went. “This isn’t about Ryder; it’s about you, Mom. He got help. Now you need to. You’re not happy—”
“Of course I’m not happy when you insist on bringing up this horrible topic on my birthday.”
Maybe I should’ve chosen a different day, but the truth was that I didn’t enjoy spending time with her and had no desire to set up a separate get-together just to spare her feelings on her birthday.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing help to process an extremely traumatic event.”
“Processing, as you call it, won’t do a darn bit of good, Anna. It won’t bring my Cassie back.”
“Of course not, but it could help you find some peace.”
She set her fork down hard and leaned forward. “You think I can find peace and just move on when my daughter is dead?” She kept her voice low but intense.
I refused to back down even as my fear grew that she would escalate and make a scene.
“Honestly? I do,” I said with conviction.
“We can’t replace her. We can’t bring her back.
But we can grieve her in a healthy way and figure out how to go forward, never, ever forgetting her but not allowing the tragedy to control our lives. ”
“You have no idea what it’s like to lose a child.” Her eyes teared up as she jabbed another bite of pancakes, as if it could save her from this discussion.
“You’re right. I don’t. But I do know what it’s like to lose a little sister. It’s unthinkable and horrible and leaves a hole in your heart that’ll never be filled.”
“So what? You think I should go talk to a professional”—she said the word like it was the dirtiest, most offensive word in the world—“and rehash the hardest thing in my life, and everything will suddenly turn to sunshine and kittens?”
“Of course not.” I kept my tone even, low, aware that a couple of heads had turned our way. “But there are treatments for getting through trauma, Mom. Thousands of people have had awful things to work through. They don’t just go away on their own no matter how long you give them.”
“How in the world would sitting there telling someone what happened make me feel any better? I know what happened. I lived through it. I don’t need to talk through anything.”
I took a drink and set my glass down calmly, working hard to not let my frustration take hold.
“Maybe talking can present a different approach. But there are lots of therapy types besides straight talk therapy. I can’t begin to say which would work for you, but a professional could.
” I mimicked her emphasis on the word. “They’re professionals for a reason.
They have a tool kit of different ways to help different people.
They’ve studied how to help people navigate the very worst events. ”
“I’m not interested,” she said succinctly.
My eyes widened as I studied her. She sat up straighter and stared right back, as if to challenge me. I hadn’t expected her to jump up and make an appointment today, but I could admit I’d held out hope she’d at least start considering it.
I hate to see you giving her so much of your energy.
All she does is take.
Ryder’s words from the other night were spot on. I was drained just sitting here trying to rationalize with a woman who was so hardheaded she couldn’t see what was in her best interests.
“Well,” I said, wadding up my napkin and tossing it on my plate, “then I think we’re done here.
You’re miserable, and you make everyone around you miserable.
I’ve taken it for years, but I need to protect my own mental health now.
No more beating my head against a wall. So unless you get professional help, don’t call me, don’t text me, and don’t visit me. ”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum?” Her shock was obvious. “Just like that?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Just like that? Mom, it’s been more than twenty years.
I’ve been patient. I’ve been sympathetic and empathetic, even as I worked on my own healing.
I’ve tried to negotiate peace between you and Ryder hundreds of times.
I can’t keep doing it. Don’t contact me unless you decide to get professional help. ”
I grabbed my bag and slid out, aware that more than a couple of heads had turned our way, but I didn’t care. I didn’t know these people.
As for the bill? Tammy Delfico could take care of it for once.
With my focus on the door, I walked out of there as quickly as I could. On the sidewalk, I turned right and stormed toward my car parked in front of the flower shop. At the driver’s door, I paused with my hand on the handle, turned, and eyed the spa.
With zero intention of giving the gift card to my mom now, I suddenly had a free spa service just waiting to be used. What were the chances they could fit me in? They were likely booked up today, but I could make an appointment for later.
As much effort as I’d thrown my mother’s way, it was time for me to take a little something for myself. I freaking deserved it.