4. Tuesday, September 5, 2023 #3
She grabs Geoff’s glass of wine from the counter and takes it to Polly’s room.
Knocking softly and getting only a grunt in response she opens the door.
She’s relieved, and a little disturbed, to see her daughter lounging on her bed, unbothered, scrolling through her phone.
No sign of tears or emotional trauma at all.
“You okay?” Alice asks, perching on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah,” Polly answers, her tone implying that Alice has just asked an incredibly stupid question. “I’m just never doing that again.”
“Doing what?” Alice runs her thumb through the condensation on her glass so that it drips onto her creased linen pants.
“Trying to help that little shit make friends.”
“Please don’t call him a little shit, Polly.
” Alice takes a sip of the wine. “I appreciate you trying to help in the first place, but as you may remember, making friends in high school is a complicated affair. He’ll have to figure it out on his own.
” Alice is pretty sure that Polly has never had a hard time making friends, but she hopes she can at least empathize.
“Yeah, well, good luck to him.”
Alice decides to ignore that and move on to more important things. “Did Quinn find out about the—” She pauses, searching for the right word.
“The what?” Polly asks, scowling.
“The history of the house,” she snaps back. “The murders.”
“Oh yeah. He knows. Everyone in town does apparently, and they call it the ‘murder house.’ ” Polly uses air quotes and her lips curl up in a snide grin. “I honestly don’t know how you thought people wouldn’t know about it.”
Alice takes a gulp of wine. “Well, I’ve never moved into a murder house before, Polly. I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked. I guess it’s just another way I’ve let the family down.” She moves to stand up, but Polly grabs her hand and pulls her back down.
“Stop with the martyr complex, would you?” she says, laughing.
In typical Polly fashion, her wrath has turned to softness so fast it gives Alice whiplash.
“I’m sure the longer we live here the more that reputation will fade,” she says reassuringly.
“And anyway, I’m not sure it even matters.
Most people seem like, totally fascinated by it.
Quinn’s just overreacting because, well, he’s Quinn. ”
Alice is too grateful for Polly’s kind words to scold her for criticizing her brother. She gives her daughter’s hand a pat. “Thanks for that.”
In the kitchen she finds Geoff sitting at the island, scrolling through his phone with a new glass of wine, fuller than the last. He’s got the lasagna in the oven. She checks the fridge for lettuce and of course there isn’t any.
“If you want my world-famous Caesar salad, then you’d better go to the store for some romaine,” Alice says, closing the fridge. Geoff looks at the glass of wine in his hand. “That’s your first, right?” He gives a slight nod that isn’t as committed as she’d hoped. “So, then you’re good to drive?”
“I’m fine,” he says, pushing the glass of wine away.
“Good. Take Quinn with you so you guys can talk.” She leaves the room before he can find excuses.
Out of her work clothes and in a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, she pads back to the kitchen and tops up her wine.
Panda’s sitting by the back door patiently waiting for someone to let her out, which means Quinn must have gone with his dad to get the lettuce.
She opens the door for her and decides to bring her mother some mail that came for her today.
Panda skirts around the edge of the yard sniffing, and Alice knocks on the cabin door. Standing there, she realizes she hasn’t checked in with her mother much since they moved. An uncomfortable wave of guilt washes over her.
“Entrer!” her mother calls out.
Alice finds her sitting on the couch in the living room with a book on her lap, a Van Morrison record playing softly, and a martini on the table in front of her.
Her three rescue cats are gathered around her—the deaf black cat pressed right up against her hip; the ancient calico curled at her feet, blind in one eye; and the gray one perched on the arm of the couch looking like he’s sleeping sitting up.
Her mother has been married three times and now jokes she’s finally learned that cats are better companions.
And it’s a good thing, because the cabin isn’t big enough for two people.
One large room at the front has a kitchenette, enough space to hold a small dining table, and a living-room area big enough for a couch and an armchair.
Off the main room is one bedroom with an en suite.
And that’s it. Alice glances around, amazed at how lived-in the place looks.
Colorful art, mostly her mother’s own pieces, clutters the walls; dishes are stacked neatly on the open kitchen shelves; books fill the bookshelves; and a multicolored braided area rug ties everything together.
In the midst of it all, her mother relaxes, looking immaculate in a hot-pink silk kimono, lipstick to match, and a long braid down her back.
“The place looks great, Mom,” Alice says, sitting down in the armchair across from her.
“I’ve done what I can with what little space there is,” her mother answers, leaning forward slowly for her martini, trying not to disturb the cats.
It doesn’t matter that she has provided an entirely separate living space, rent-free, for her mother, and that Beverley is invited to join them every night for dinner or pop in whenever she wants company; no, Alice will forever be reminded of and punished for the size of the place.
“Well, you’ve made a very cozy home for yourself,” Alice says, ignoring the comment.
“I always have been good with interiors. Remember that house we had on Chestnut Drive? With the peacock-colored walls in the living room?”
“I remember the house, but I don’t remember the walls.”
Her mother tsks. “How do you not remember? It was very French salon with my beautiful paintings. I got so many compliments on my bold color choice.” She waves a hand at the space around her.
“I wouldn’t do something like that in here, though.
It would just make it feel like a tiny cave.
” Her mother takes another sip of her martini, then gives Alice a once-over.
“So, did you come for any particular reason or just to escape your husband?” She chuckles at her own joke, oblivious to how close to the nerve she is.
“I came to…” Alice’s brain goes blank. She knows there was a reason for coming out here, but for the life of her she can’t think of what it was. She gives her head a shake as though she might jar it back into working order.
Her mother points at Alice’s hand. “Is that mail for me, perhaps?”
Alice huffs. “My God! I feel so stupid. I was holding it the whole time.” She passes the mail to her mother. “I guess that’s the menopausal brain fog that I keep hearing about. Or is it perimenopausal women who have that?”
Alice’s mother shakes her head. “I wouldn’t know. I had a full hysterectomy after you were born. They gave me medication, and I barely felt a thing. Not even a hot flash.”
“You had a hysterectomy?” Alice repeats in disbelief. “Why have I never heard this before?”
Her mother shrugs. “You never asked. I had it right after I gave birth to you. I knew then that I didn’t want any more children. I thought, might as well take care of it while I was there.”
“Did Dad know?”
Alice’s mother thinks about it for a few seconds. “To be honest, I’m not sure.”
Alice has a vague recollection of her dad telling her they hoped to give her a little brother. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t know, Mom.” Alice is unable to keep the bite out of her voice. Her dad died when she was sixteen. Her mom remarried soon after.
Alice’s mother shrugs. “My body, my decision. Isn’t that what women say these days?”
Alice wants to tell her mother she’s selfish and that it’s abhorrent to appropriate a feminist slogan to justify betraying her father and gaslighting her daughter.
She doesn’t. Her instinct is always to try to keep things civil.
So she keeps her mouth shut and wonders at the strange sense of gratitude she feels that she even made it into the world.
“I remember my own mother going through it,” Beverley says with an exaggerated cringe.
“Going through what?”
“Menopause,” her mother answers, as though they’d been talking only about that all along.
“One night she broke every dish in the house because my father came home smelling like perfume. Turned out it wasn’t perfume at all but hand soap from the dentist’s office.
” She nods in Alice’s direction. “Let’s hope you don’t take after her. ”
Alice decides the visit has gone on long enough. She stands. “Well, that’s enough chitchat for now. Dinner will be ready in about an hour. I’ll call over.”
“Are you sure you’ll remember, or will I end up going hungry?” Her mother winks and smiles. Alice frowns in response. “I was only joking, dear. If you can’t laugh at the trials and tribulations of being a woman, then what can you do?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before going back to her book.
As Alice leaves the cabin she notices a collage of framed photos on the wall by the door. They all feature her mother looking gorgeous in some exotic locale on the arm of one of her husbands. Not one photo contains Alice, or her grandchildren.
Fucking Boomers, Alice thinks as she shuts the door behind her. Across the lawn, she hears Panda growling at the path to the woods.
Beverley