Chapter 2 - Erin
Erin
Distance makes the heart grow fonder because it gives you just enough space to forget all the crap.
Put another way, it isn’t yearning that keeps love alive; it’s bare-faced denial.
I ponder that as I embark on day thirty of living under my mother’s roof again for the first time since I was twenty-two, with a pending divorce, no money to my name, and a teenage daughter who isn’t speaking to me a whole lot.
My fingers shake lightly as Mom bustles back and forth, tidying up the invisible mess I know better than to leave around the house.
The sight of her in the reflection of the mirror makes it hard to apply makeup without impaling my eyeball with a stick of kohl.
She looks older than I remember. Frailer, with lower energy and a similarly low level of tolerance for humanity. I suppose her distaste for my situation and her inability to hide it makes me feel a little less guilty for imposing on her quiet, stress-free life.
But, regardless of how uncomfortable it is—for me, anyway. Mom dotes on Paige like she’s the daughter she never had—I literally have nowhere else to go. I need to work, I need to attend lawyer meetings, and I need free childcare.
Mom has spent the last fourteen years making me feel terrible about how I’d chosen to raise my daughter on the opposite side of the country—even though she fully supported my husband’s dream of moving to California, and failed to visit us even once—so I figure this is her chance to make up for lost time.
And I will grit my teeth and take whatever barbed comments she throws at me until I can earn enough to afford a place for Paige and me.
When she plumps up a cushion I’d sat against last night and lets out an agitated huff, I get the hint and give up on the makeup. It’s time to grovel.
“Are you sure this is okay, Mom? Looking after Paige while I go to the mediation?”
She turns to me with a resigned look on her face. It makes me feel like I’ve wronged her personally, historically, and on a spiritual level.
“I said, it’s fine.”
Her fake smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but if I question it, I’ll open a whole can of worms I don’t have time for right now.
I mentally shrug. “Okay, well, I’ve told Paige to complete the school forms. She doesn’t want to, but I have to mail them tomorrow. If you could remind her, that’d be great.”
I grab my jacket from a chair and pull it on, noticing a toothpaste mark on the collar. Fuck. I wore this to a job interview yesterday—has this mark been there the whole time?
“Also, I checked this morning and she’s still a vegan, so I’ll pick up a few things from the store on my way home.”
I bend my neck and lick the mark before rubbing it away with my thumb.
“I can make something vegan for her,” Mom huffs.
Taking a deep breath, I shoot her a guarded smile. “Okay, but remember, grilled cheese is not vegan.”
Mom looks deeply offended. “It’s not meat.”
“It came from an animal, Mom. She won’t eat it. I’ll buy some vegan cheese.”
I gulp at the thought. Vegan cheese only costs about five times more than normal cheese. Why did my daughter make such an expensive lifestyle choice the second I barely have an income?
“Do you think she’ll emerge from her room any time soon?”
I grab my bag from a hook by the door, feeling the heat of my mother’s judgement following closely behind. I roll my lips together and turn to face her.
“She’s usually up and about by eleven when she’s not at school.”
Mom’s brows hike in that lovely way that doesn’t at all reek of disappointment.
“Eleven?”
“She’s fourteen, Mom,” I say, tightly. “She’ll grow out of it soon enough.” Maybe by the time she’s twenty.
“Is that really a good outfit for meeting a lawyer?”
I look down at my skirt and blouse. “What? Is something wrong with it?”
“Well, I mean, the skirt is a little short. You don’t want to be giving him the idea you’re loose.”
I stop my eyes from rolling.
“And, you, know, I might have a smarter blouse—”
“This blouse is fine,” I say, careful to keep the snap out of my tone because, between the stress of seeing my husband again and leaving my angry daughter in the precarious hands of my mother, I’m not in the mood for an argument.
I’m already feeling like a fish out of water, exchanging my California leggings and tees for ill-fitting pencil skirts and thrifted blouses.
I don’t care to dwell any further on the fact I’m in my mid-forties and wearing second-hand Target to enter a gig economy that didn’t exist the last time I took a job.
I unlock the door and pull it toward me.
“Say hello to Gerard for me, won’t you?”
My fingers tighten around the door handle.
“We’re going through mediation today, Mom. I don’t know if it’s the right time or place to be passing along pleasantries.”
“Oh nonsense,” she beams. “There’s never a bad time to ask after my son-in-law. And we always did have a special bond, Gerard and I.”
She smiles wistfully, while I feel my jaw lock into its usual, well-practiced position.
Mom always loved Gerard. Sometimes it felt like she loved him more than me. His ability to charm the socks off her was the only reason I was able to move across the States. She encouraged me to go, in fact. Anything to keep him happy.
“He’s doing just fine, mother,” I say through nearly gritted teeth.
I wonder if she’s going to wish me luck for the mediation. Or if she’s going to ask me how I’m feeling about it. But there’s no point in giving it the brain space. I’ve known my mother all forty-four of my years and she’s never been able to think much beyond her own needs, really.
How I feel is of little consequence to her. In fact, the worse I feel, the better. It means she can swoop in and correct all the things I did ‘wrong,’ un-fuck all the things I fucked up. It means I’m still helpless without her.
And, though I don’t always feel it, I’m not helpless.
I’m a grown woman with a nearly grown daughter who, though she hates me right now, is well-rounded, well-educated and emotionally intact. It’s a daily battle to maintain all of those things, but I’m doing it.
And I’m only half drowning, for the record.
“I’ll be back by six,” I say, stepping through the door.
“Have you gotten in touch with Mallorie yet?”
Mom’s raised brow is waiting on the ‘no’ so she can let rip about how I’ll die of loneliness if I don’t get out and meet people.
“I dropped her a text,” I reply. “She’s pretty busy but I’m sure we’ll meet up soon.”
“At least she’ll be pleased to hear you’re back. You used to be so close, even when you lived in California.”
“We still are. It’s just… everything happened so quickly and I haven’t had a chance to talk much about it with her. There’s a lot I need to get my head around.”
Mom shakes her head. “I do hope you haven’t made a big mistake, Erin. I’m not sure Gerard could forgive you if you changed your mind, and you know, men like their women young these days. There aren’t too many fish in that sea once you reach a certain age.”
I take a sobering breath. “I haven’t made a mistake, Mom, but thanks for your concern. Now, you’re sure this is okay?”
“Of course it is. I’m delighted to finally be spending time with my only grandchild.”
She gives me a sugary smile—another dig at the fact I haven’t been back to New York very often since Paige was born.
“Thanks,” I say, in a tight voice. “I really appreciate it.”
My nerves are already in tatters as I cross the street. I have just enough time to grab a coffee before I’m expected at my lawyer’s office.
My stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults—and not in a good way.
I haven’t seen Gerard since I told him Paige and I were leaving and he left the house without a word.
Not even a goodbye for his daughter. It later turned out he thought I was joking—that I didn’t have the nerve to leave.
I would say the joke was on him but now I’m the one living with my mother and having to buy clothes from Goodwill.
I notice a coffee shop just a few yards up on the right. It looks cozy enough to offer a few moments of respite until I have to face my soon-to-be ex-husband.
I try to ignore the sickness rolling around my stomach and focus on what life might look like when it’s all over. Paige will be settled at a new school. I will have a reliable job that pays decent. Hell, I might even be able to look at doing something with my marketing major.
I’d just completed an internship running events for a charity when Gerard insisted I give up work to prepare for a baby. I allowed the excitement of starting a family to override my heartbreak at giving up something I loved.
I pull a compact mirror from my purse and pop open a tube of concealer, making a mental note to do my makeup in the bathroom next time, so I don’t get distracted by my mother.
I smear some concealer onto my fingertip and slow down to dab some beneath my eye.
God, these bags should have passports.
In truth, I just want to get the divorce proceedings over and done with. Not for the money—although that would be helpful, and after twenty years supporting Gerard and his dreams, I feel I’m due—but for closure.
I need to move on, and I’m really not sure how to do that, so I need every bit of help I can get. Not having Gerard’s presence hanging over me while I do it is a good start.
My phone pings with a reminder that I’m due at the offices of Bentley and Bentley in fifteen minutes and my hand starts to shake so much I almost conceal my entire eye.
Someone holds the coffee shop door open for me and I mutter my thanks as I walk through, and then an exasperated “fuck” as I apply another blob of concealer.
My feet take me toward the sound of grinding beans, then just as I’m about to snap the compact shut, I slam into a mass of suit, stubble and burning hot coffee.
“Jesus!”
My shocked squeal draws the attention of a full coffee shop and the volume of chattering drops like a stone.
I stare down open-mouthed at the enormous brown stain covering the whole front of my ten dollar blouse.
It’s drenched.