Chapter Thirty-seven
Abby
“Hold your horses!” I call as I jog to the door. This is the second time that Don has knocked. The first time I was just stepping out of the shower. I called for him to hold on a second, but now he’s knocking on the door like he’s the FBI or something.
I really need to get him his own key.
Whoa, that sounds crazy. A month ago, I would be described as nothing but a crazy cat lady who had nothing but her knitting and romance books. Now, I’m contemplating giving my boyfriend a key.
Weird.
Still wrapped in a towel, I swing open the door, saying, “Good grief, keep your pants on!”
But it’s not Don standing there.
It’s my mother.
What the hell?
Looking me up and down, she says, “Looks like you are the one who needs to keep your pants on.”
I can feel my face starting to redden—partly from embarrassment and partly from my already-rising blood pressure.
Her presence here can’t be good. Suddenly realizing what this may be about, I say, “Oh, God! Did something happen to Dad?”
“No, Abigail. Your father is fine.”
“Why are you here?”
“Why don’t you go put on some clothes, and then, we can talk.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word as I step aside to let her in.
I quickly hurry to the bedroom to throw on something. I opt for leggings and a decent shirt so that I don’t get any comments about my raggedy old sweatpants.
Calling out to her, I ask, “Do you want some coffee or something?”
She’s silent for a moment before answering, “Do you have wine?”
As I join her in the living room, I say, “I always have wine.”
While I open a new bottle, I watch her walk around and take in everything she sees. This is the first time that my mom has stepped foot in this place. After college, I moved into a pretty shady studio apartment that I wasn’t exactly proud of, so I never even gave her the address. When I sold my first software program, I managed to get this place. I gave her the address in case of emergencies, but she’s never just stopped by.
The look on her face gives nothing away. I can’t detect even a hint of what she’s thinking.
Does she like it?
Doubtful.
Does she hate it?
Probably.
After two glasses are poured, I walk over and hand her one.
“Should we sit?” I ask, trying to be polite but secretly hoping that this will be over soon.
We each take a seat at opposite ends of the couch.
“This is a nice place,” she says. “It seems like you’ve done well for yourself.”
“Not bad,” I reply.
“I like all your little figurines over there.” She points to the bookshelf.
I can’t take it anymore.
“Mom, what are you doing here? You’ve never been here before, and you say that nothing is wrong. But you have to want something. Let’s just cut the small talk. And for the record, I’m sure you hate those figurines.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be so blunt. I’m used to you being so mousy and quiet.”
“I still can be. But I can find my voice when I need to.”
“You were such a quiet kid,” she says in a voice so low that I wonder if she’s still actually talking to me or just thinking out loud.
“A lot of things have changed since I was a kid,” I reply with a sigh. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?”
“Your brothers are mad at me.”
I take a sip of my wine. “Okay? What does that have to do with me?”
“They are mad at me for how I acted toward you at Thanksgiving. They suggested maybe I come here and talk to you.” She looks away and adds, “They pretty much demanded that I come here and talk to you before they would talk to me.”
My patience grows thinner by the second. “Okay, so, let me get this straight. You are only here because your other two favorite children won’t talk to you unless you apologize?”
“Well—”
“Yeah, I think we are done.” I stand up off the couch.
“Abigail…”
“No, I don’t want to hear it. The only time you’ve ever even stepped foot into my apartment was when my brothers told you that you were being a monster at Thanksgiving…which you were.”
She stops me. “Abigail, I can admit that I haven’t been here, and maybe that’s on me, but you haven’t exactly invited me either.”
“What?”
She stands up to join me. “When you got out of college, you wouldn’t even give me your address. Then, you move here, and you make sure to tell me that you’re only giving me the address for emergencies. You didn’t make it seem like I was welcome.”
We both stand still for a moment, just staring at each other before I ask, “Can you blame me? I am clearly low man on the totem pole when it comes to the hierarchy of your children.”
“That’s not true. I don’t have favorites.”
That makes me let an obnoxiously loud cackle. “Ha! You have always been closer to Adam and Austin than me. Always. And you never even tried to hide it.”
She looks exasperated by everything I’m saying. “Can we please just sit down and talk?”
When I don’t move, she adds an insistent, “Please.”
“Fine. For a minute. But Don should be here soon, so let’s keep this quick.”
We sit back on the couch, and she takes another long sip before continuing. “You and I both know that we don’t have a ton in common. When I got a daughter, I thought she would be a little mini-me since your brothers are carbon copies of your dad. But I got a daughter who was quite literally the exact opposite of myself. Half the time, I didn’t know how to handle you. Quite frankly, your brothers were pieces of cake, and then you were so…different. I had no idea how to teach you—or interact with you for that matter. And you were so interested in things that I knew nothing about.”
I stop her. “Here’s the thing. You tried to mold me into who you wanted me to be with the frilly dresses and beauty pageants. You wanted me to make an effort to like what you liked. And I did. But when did you ever do the same for me? My interests were never good enough for you to even pretend to care about.”
She pauses for a moment. “You’re right.”
“Come again?” I ask, not prepared for her to agree with me on something.
“I should have done more to try to form some type of bond with you. Between being caught up in your brothers’ busy lives, and trying to navigate all your issues, I didn’t take the time to try to bond with you like I should have.”
Still flabbergasted, I don’t say a word.
She continues, “I know I give you shit, and I know I pick at your life. I’m sorry. I think it’s hard for me to grasp sometimes that you are so very different from us. You have always been individual and quirky. Your brothers were easy. They played sports and did all the typical high school things. You didn’t seem interested in any of it. To be honest, I just had no idea how to be your mom. And it always killed me because I didn’t have a good relationship with my mother. We were never close, and I told myself that it wouldn’t be like that when I had a daughter.”
I have no idea what to say. My mother has never opened up to me about anything. She’s always been stoic to a fault. I thought maybe it was just me, but maybe that’s just how she is.
She keeps talking. “I still don’t quite understand how that big brain of yours works, and I don’t know that I ever will. But I’d like to try.”
“So, where do we go from here?” I ask.
She gives a small laugh. “I have no idea. But I think we can figure it out. Maybe we can try to find something that we have in common.”
We both stay still for a moment, trying to think of what that something might be.
Finally, I say, “We don’t have to pick out something now.”
She lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.” She takes another sip of wine before asking, “So, Don is coming over?”
I nod. “Yeah, he’s taking me out. Says he has something to show me.”
“He seems great.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “The best. Sometimes, I think there’s no way he could be as wonderful as he is.”
She smiles. “Oh, yeah. I used to think that about your dad back in the day. He swept me off my feet, and I swear for the first year we were together, I just kept thinking how there was no possible way this man could be real. I’d only dated jerks, and I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Thankfully, for me, it never did. Well, I guess he does snore, but all things considered, I think I still came out with the better end of the deal.”
I smile, and it’s a real, genuine smile because my mother hardly ever shares anything personal with me. It’s nice, albeit a little odd.
She goes on. “Just try to go with it. Try to just enjoy it and be happy. There are good guys out there. Hopefully, Don is one of them.”
“I think he is,” I agree.
We talk a little more while we finish our wine, and much to my surprise, she doesn’t nitpick at me for anything. I’m shocked.
When our glasses are empty, she stands up. “Well, I should be going. I know you’re expecting company.”
“This was…nice,” I tell her.
“I think so, too.” She smiles. “Maybe next week sometime, we can get together for coffee or something.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in the Twilight Zone.
“I’d like that.”
She gives me a small hug, but there’s still a lot of awkwardness there, so it doesn’t quite feel right yet.
When she’s out the door, I take the glasses into the kitchen, putting hers in the sink and refilling mine. Don knocks about two minutes later.
I swing the door open and skip straight past the greeting.
“You will never believe what just happened.”