Twenty
Wes finished the plain noodles that made up the bulk of his meal and tried to avoid the tasteless chewy fish his mother had served. Across from him, Amy moved her own food around her plate as their mother complained about her job and the people she worked with.
Wes picked up a dish to give him an excuse to duck into the kitchen and marshal his thoughts. He’d told Amy about Ella’s Italian internship, and she agreed he did the right thing. “At least she’s done with school now, so you don’t have to worry about tuition next year,” she had said. He knew most of Amy’s money went to rent and hadn’t ask her to chip in. However, she’d been against his suggestion they cover for their sister, insisting Ella should be the one to tell their mother her plans.
“You’re not doing her any favors by letting her avoid Ma,” Amy had said earlier on the phone when he’d asked her to come for dinner. “Ella needs to learn to stand up to her.”
“That would work if Ella was more like you,” he said. “She’s not. You let it roll off your back, but she dwells on it. Remember that recorder recital when she was nine?”
“She quit band because Ma kept telling her she wasn’t good enough,” said Amy. “Point taken. Well, I’m sure you’ll hand-hold Ma through this new catastrophe.”
“That’s not fair,” Wes said. He loved Amy, but she had little patience for their mother and what she called Wes’s enabling.
“It’s very fair, and the fact that you’re asking me to give up my peaceful night at home to provide moral support because you can’t tell her to act like a human being proves it.”
Wes sighed. “Amy.”
There was a long silence. “Hold on,” Amy said suspiciously. “What are you holding back?”
Then Wes told her he would be leaving for a three-week work assignment, and Amy laughed and laughed. “You’re going to dump all the news on her at once so she doesn’t know where to get upset first,” she said. “Sneaky.”
“Then you’ll come to dinner?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this,” his sister said. “I’ll bring dessert so we’ll have one thing that’s edible.”
Now Wes listened to Amy making conversation with their mother as he cleared the rest of the table. Unlike Ella and Wes, Amy had a natural ability to tune out their mother that had been refined by a year of therapy, which she had started the second she moved out. She simply ignored all their mother’s interruptions and talked about nothing in the most boring way possible. “Then this guy makes a left-hand turn…”
“I have a pain in my foot. Wes won’t bring me to the doctor.”
“The guy didn’t signal once.”
“You didn’t thank me for making you dinner.”
“I was behind him for three lights. Can you believe it?”
Wes put the cupcakes on a plate and brought them out. Their mother eyed them with disapproval. “Waste of money,” she said. “Amy could have made them at home if she wasn’t so busy working.”
“Too bad I inherited the Chen baking gene or lack thereof on the female side,” said his sister.
Wes stepped in before his mother took this as an insult to her cooking. “Ma, do you want chocolate, pistachio, or red velvet?”
“You know I only like vanilla,” she said.
“They were sold out.” Amy took the red velvet.
“Don’t use that tone with me, Amy. You know I don’t like it.”
“What tone? The tone of relaying factual information?”
It was time for him to intervene. “Ma, why don’t you try the chocolate?” Wes held it out.
Her expression was mulish. “No. Amy made me lose my appetite.”
They ate in silence until his mother started up again. “Has Ella told you when she’s coming home? I need to clean her room. It’s dusty. She’s been gone too long.”
Amy kicked Wes under the table, and he clenched his jaw and released it to get out the tension. It was time.
“Ella has an opportunity. A job.” Technically not true, but good enough. He knew his mother wouldn’t care enough about the details to ask. “She won’t be moving back after this summer.”
“What?” Their mother uncrossed her arms, and the deep downward grooves of her mouth twitched. “What did you say? You tell her she belongs at home. She’s breaking up the family, like Amy.”
Amy took a deep breath but kept quiet.
“This is a great chance for Ella,” Wes said, keeping his tone neutral so his mother wouldn’t get more upset.
“At least a son never leaves his mother,” she said, reaching over and grasping his hands. “Girls only think about themselves. A boy will protect his mother.”
“Of course, Ma.” Wes caught Amy’s raised eyebrows across the table.
“You’ll be here for me,” continued their mother. She cast a sidelong look at Amy, easy enough to interpret, but Amy didn’t take her eyes off Wes. Out of all of them, she was the one who packed the lightest for their mother’s guilt trips. Wes tried to channel some of Amy’s energy.
“Actually, Ma, I need to tell you something.”
His mother yanked back her hands. “What?”
When he waited too long, Amy kicked him under the table again, this time hard enough to make him flinch. “I have a work trip that came up suddenly. It starts tomorrow. For three weeks.”
There, it was out. He tensed, waiting for the explosion or the tears.
She shook her head as if denying what he’d told her. “No.”
“I’m sorry, Ma.”
“Tell them you can’t go.”
On the other side of the table, Amy picked at her cupcake before putting it down on the plate, her expression tight. He felt like an asshole forcing her to be here when she’d specifically told him to deal with his own shit.
“I’ll do the groceries before I go, and you can order online if you don’t want to go to the store. Mr. Prescott next door can help with the garbage bins.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You understand just fine,” muttered Amy in a voice only Wes could hear. “You only pretend you don’t.”
Wes, on the other hand, felt helpless to do anything but play her game, the way he had for years. “I have a work trip, and it starts tomorrow.”
“Why do you have to go?”
“Ma. Because it’s work.”
His voice must have betrayed his growing frustration, because she changed tactics. “What if someone breaks in?” she demanded. “You’re leaving me to die.”
Ignoring Amy’s whispered “Good luck to that burglar,” Wes said, “That’s not true, Ma. You know I love you.”
“Work, work, work.” She was upset, her voice rising. “Work doesn’t need you. You’re replaceable there. Writing silly pathetic stories that no one reads. Anyone could do that. I could do that if I hadn’t wasted my life having children.”
“It’s only three weeks,” said Wes, ignoring the familiar verbal hits. “I’ve been gone longer before.”
“The girls were with me then. I’ll be alone.” Their mother stared at Amy, who merely looked back instead of making the offer to stay their mother expected. That was enough to put her in a rage that she turned, as usual, on Wes. “You’re not a good son. You’re ungrateful, like your sisters. As bad as them. Worse.”
Something snapped in Wes. It was as though a cable laid across his shoulders had been cut away, leaving him bobbing aimlessly but free. After all he did, it was never enough. He was never enough. There would always be more ways he’d be asked to prove himself. More ways to fail. He stood up. “Fine.”
“Wes?” asked Amy, uncertain for the first time.
Wes left the table as his mother burst into tears.
Amy followed him into his room. “Wes?”
“I’m sorry, Amy.” He threw a few final things into the bags he’d packed earlier. “You were right. I’m a weakling.”
“Whoa, hey, I never said that.” She caught his look. “In those exact words.”
That made him laugh, at least a bit, and she smiled tentatively at him. “I’m sorry I made you come over for this,” he said.
“We stick together.” She put on a Humphrey Bogart voice. “The problems of three people can amount to more than a hill of beans.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Amy always cheered him up.
“Cut me some slack. I’m trying to work with the source material here.”
From the dining room, their mother’s sobs got progressively louder and more theatrical. Wes tried to ignore them. “I left a sheet for Ma in the kitchen with emergency numbers and information about garbage and recycling.”
Amy closed the door to block their mother out, then grabbed him by the shoulders. “Wes. Listen to me. You do not have to leave emergency numbers or preorder groceries. She is perfectly healthy, and if she’s capable of handling herself in the office, she can do it at home. She is choosing to do this, and it’s not your job to parent her. Or Ella for that matter.”
Wes heard the words—Amy had delivered this speech in various forms over the years—and as usual, he ignored them. It was easy enough for Amy to say, but she didn’t have that same feeling of responsibility Wes did. Wes had to fix things. Had to make sure the people in his life were happy. He gave his usual response. “I know.”
“I wish you did.”
Amy waited until he was packed, and they went out to where their mother sat in front of the television. She didn’t look up as they entered, and Amy poked him in a sisterly gesture of solidarity.
“It’s okay,” Amy whispered.
She was right. Ma was able to care for herself, and he wasn’t a bad person for going to stay at Dot Voline’s house. He wasn’t selfish or negligent. That being said, it was best not to draw this out, because it wouldn’t take long for the self-reproach to surge high enough to break his spirit, causing him to unpack and tell Nadine that she needed to stay in the big house all alone.
Nadine would say fine, but he knew it would upset her. In the end, it was thinking about Nadine sitting up at three in the morning worrying about the strange sounds outside that confirmed his decision. At least his mother would be at home and within shouting distance of the neighbors.
“You can call if you need, Ma,” he said as he bent to kiss her cheek. She leaned away, refusing to make eye contact. “Don’t be like this.” He hated when she ignored him, pretending he was invisible. When he was younger, he sometimes felt he was.
Behind her, Amy mimed stabbing herself in the brain.
“Grow up, Ma,” she said.
Their mother simply turned up the volume on the reality show she was watching.
Amy followed him to the door. “Sorry to leave you with the dishes,” he said.
“No problem, big brother.” There was an expression on her face that Wes couldn’t read. It wasn’t anger or resentment. Perhaps…pride? Whatever it was disappeared in a flash. “Bye, Wes” was all she said.
He sat in the car for a few minutes. He had to get groceries for Dot’s house. He had to text Mr. Prescott to check on Ma. He had to…
He slumped over and leaned his head on the steering wheel. This wasn’t the first time he’d gone against his mother, and he already knew what would happen in twenty-two days. He’d come home to at least a week of tears and accusations before life would continue on its same way.
Wes sat up. He would deal with it then. Today, he would go to Dot’s twelve hours early and get a jump start on Nadine. Seeing her face tomorrow morning when he met her at the door with coffee and a full breakfast to emphasize he’d had the run of Dot’s mansion without her would help the heaviness weighing down his chest. Three weeks was a long time, and he had a lot to do before he came back to his mother’s house.