Chapter Twelve #3
When Thomas and I got engaged and at the outset of our marriage, my mother adored her son-in-law.
His credentials were her ultimate conversation topic.
She personally took my falling in love with him as a nod to her good taste in men because he mirrored my father.
That lasted until Thomas took her only offspring and first grandchild cross-country, and not even to a locale she could attempt to put a positive spin on, like San Francisco or Beverly Hills.
No one she knew knew anyone who lived in Sacramento, so according to Helen Steele, the city was populated by a bunch of nobodies.
Since Thomas is on her mind, I jump back into her favorite subject: hearsay.
“I got a text from Thomas a bit ago. Apparently, Alice begged him to come to her wedding, so I’m going to have to see the jerk in a few months.”
No response from my mother, so I try again.
“Thomas is invited to Alice’s wedding. After all this time, I’m going to have to see him.
And I’m going to have to be civil, since John and Andrew will be there too.
” I pause to allow my mom the space to rip on Thomas, since her eloquence with scathing adjectives is not yet fully lost.
“Oh, good. I always liked him.”
Wait, what? My mother hasn’t liked Thomas for twenty-two years.
I look again at the wedding announcement she is holding.
Aha! She’s speaking of Hotshot Fiancé Thomas, the one who promised her, my father, and me that we would live in a ten-block radius of my parents, always.
She probably thinks we still do. “He has the nicest manners.”
Wow, my mom is really lost in time. Does she think Thomas is going to walk in her door any moment with a cheesecake from Zabar’s?
It was the one indulgence my mom would take a spoonful of and then meticulously lick every last morsel off the stainless-steel utensil when her son-in-law stopped by with a ribboned box.
I wonder if I should hit the call button for Daphne in case Mom forgot to take her meds.
Or perhaps her brain might do well with a catnap.
“I so appreciated it when he got up early in the morning to claim my favorite chaise lounge at the pool so I could sunbathe. The resort could really use more chairs.”
Racking my brain, I can’t think of a single time that Thomas was at a pool with my mother.
She enjoyed lots of beach time with the boys when we took them back east for camp in the summers, and we all spent a week with my parents in the Hamptons, but that was long after my mother refused to wear a swimsuit in public.
“Mom, Mom.” I nudge her elbow with my toe to get her attention. She turns slowly, taking her eyes off my wedding announcement to gaze in my direction but doesn’t look at me. Instead, she stares past me.
“You did not go to a pool with Thomas, only the beach. Maybe you’re thinking of John or Andrew and when we would take them to our tennis club when you came out to visit.” She could be confusing the young Thomas in our wedding-announcement portrait with one of her grandsons.
“Yes, I did,” she sternly insists.
“No, you didn’t, Mom.” I know I need to remain calm, but I get irritated when my mom loses grasp of the most basic facts and timelines of her life.
I struggle, believing a woman who kept a meticulous diary of her daily comings and goings, referencing each appointment and event by the time, location, and what the appropriate dress would be, can’t keep the most important men in her life straight.
I’m not urging her to remember the butcher on East 73rd or the guru from her short spiritual stint when I was in sixth grade.
I’m only trying to straighten out the memory of the father of her beloved grandsons.
“Yes, I did. Spring break. Bahamas.”
“Mom.” I drop my head in disbelief and lower my voice, not wanting to join her in this forever-ago memory that I have locked away. “You’re getting your stories mixed up.”
“I know some of my friends find a southern drawl to be provincial, but I find it to be quite attractive. I like how it sounds when he calls you Cal-lee. Cal-lee. Don’t you?”
“I do.” Of all the deep memories my mother has waded into, this is a new one for her. For us.
“Do you think Porter’s family would like to join us for a casual dinner when they get into New York for the wedding?
Something simple, I promise. We’ll do it at the apartment.
” I know it’s easier to play along with my mother’s train of thought rather than correct her, but this is a gut-wrenching mix-up to relive.
“Sure, Mom.” I roll my head right and left, tension growing, heart clenching, forcing me to rub my chest aggressively with my fist.
“Or if you’d rather go to D’Angelo’s for Italian, I can call ahead and give them our credit card so there’s no fuss over the bill.
Our town, our treat. I’m so looking forward to meeting them.
What a shame it never happened at Princeton.
You two so in love with your books and with each other,” she says, looking wistfully at the gnarled maple tree once more.
I find myself agreeing with Mom, even in the confusion of her memories, that at twenty-two, I thought all I needed to keep me happy until the end of time was books and Porter.
“What are their names again?” My mom taps the arm of her chair with her finger, trying to coax the recollection forward.
“Delsie and Olden.” I give her the answer to move the conversation toward over.
“Oh, yes. Well, I sure hope Delsie and Olden know what a catch you are for their son.”