“Hello, Melanie.”
“Hi, Mom.” I felt my mother’s eyes run over my body before fixing me with a look of disapproval.
“Your father says ‘hello’. He’ll be home from his trip next weekend. Would you bring the kids over for Sunday dinner?”
It wasn’t a request, but at least she’d pretended to ask. “Okay. We can do that.”
“Good.”
The waiter arrived at our little table. “Good afternoon, I’m Bobby, and I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I get you ladies? Something to drink?”
“Unsweetened tea, thank you.” My mother answered, giving me a significant look that told me not to embarrass her by ordering anything with calories.
I smiled at the young man. “Same, here, thanks.”
“All right, take a look at the menu. I’ll be right back.”
“So, what’s new with you, dear?”
“Nothing in particular, Mother. We met Paige’s new field hockey coach last night.”
My mother sighed. “I don’t know why you let her persist with that… sport.”
I looked up at the ceiling. “We’re not having this discussion again, Mother.”
“She’s never going to make a good marriage running around with a mouth guard and a stick, Melanie.”
I closed my eyes, pushing down my anger. “She has plenty of time to get married, if that’s what she chooses to do, Mother. And whether or not she plays hockey will have no bearing on that decision”
Our waiter arrived back. “Ladies? Make any decisions?”
My mother looked up. “I’ll take the Palm Beach Salad, thank you.”
“Very good. And you ma’am?” He turned to me.
“I’ll try the Georgia Summer Cobb.”
“Excellent Choice.”
As he wrote it down, my mother gave me a stern look and commented. “No blue cheese, dear.”
The waiter looked at me, questioning.
I looked up at him and handed over my menu. “I’ll take it as it comes, thank you.”
He nodded and moved away with alacrity, obviously not wanting to get in between whatever family drama was going on.
“That’s a lot of extra calories, Melanie. Ones you don’t need. Not if you ever expect to get married again.”
“You don’t expect it. Why should I?” I lowered my voice and mumbled to myself. “What does it matter?”
I don’t think she heard me. “Hope springs eternal, dear. But I don’t want to see you ruin your daughter’s life like you ruined yours.”
I muttered to myself. “I didn’t ruin my life.” I didn’t sound like I believed it.
“You drove your husband into the arms of another woman, because you couldn’t control yourself, Melanie.” She didn’t say it as an accusation, just a sad statement of fact. Of course, she wasn’t wrong.
It took me a moment to recover from the wash of shame that covered me. I immediately relived the two years after my youngest son was born. Trying to keep up with a preschooler and a first grader on top of a newborn, depressed and overweight, my husband distancing more and more. My life had been crumbling around me, with three children who didn’t understand why Mommy was always so sad.
“And look at you now. You hide in that house every day. People ask about you, Melanie. What am I supposed to tell them?”
I mumbled into my napkin. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing, Mother.”
Our waiter dropped off our salads, and I had a short, blessed reprieve as we ate. I would have absolutely killed for an Arnold Palmer, and since I was with my mother, preferably spiked, but I dutifully sipped my unsweetened tea. The blue cheese in my meal was as much defiance as I could muster today.
“Now, Bill has the kids this weekend, so you’re free two weeks from today?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Mother let out an exasperated sigh. “Melanie, are you free or not?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Good. There’s a fundraiser for John at the club. Joseph Druthers will be there. His ex-wife wasn’t a small woman. You might have a chance.”
“Ex-wife? Lucy died, Mother. She had cancer. She was a friend of mine.” It was true. She’d been one of the few people in my parent’s society that hadn’t treated me as an object of either contempt or pity, like a filthy, stray puppy.
“Right. And now she’s gone, and Joe is lonely. He might take what he can get if you show interest. And he’s not exactly a good looking man, so competition should be low.”
“Mother!” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my body trying to make up for the shame my mother refused to feel. “Joe is a wonderful man, and a good friend of Daddy’s. He’s also at least fifteen years older than I am.”
“It would just be nice if you were respectably married before you brother starts campaigning next year.”
“Why? You think his opponents will launch attack ads saying ‘Don’t vote for John Sullivan ’cause his little sister is fat and divorced?'”
“Don’t be stupid, Melanie.” She shook her head. “Besides, you know elections aren’t won on T. V. They’re won at parties and fundraisers, where it is absolutely relevant who your family is. And what they aren’t.”
“Okay, Mom.” I took another bite of my salad, hoping she would let the subject drop. There could be another solution, though. “Will is seeing someone now. First girlfriend.”
Blessedly that did the trick. Mom wanted all the details, including, of course, the girl’s last name and who her parents were. I had, quite intentionally, not asked my son those very questions. I’m not sure if Bill had, but the few times I’d met Anna I’d observed that she was sweet, and she was an honors student, and that should be more than good enough for anyone.
Mom didn’t even ask after Charlie. I guess a twelve-year-old whose closest friend was his computer wasn’t interesting to her yet.
“So I can tell your father you’ll be at the party, and that we’ll see you on Sunday?” Mother tucked her Mastercard Black Card back into her purse.
“Sure.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “See you next Sunday?”
My mother nodded and smiled at me, the first sign of genuine warmth I’d received from her since I’d gotten here. “You know I love you, dear. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know, Mom.”
I resisted the urge to stop on the way home and get some actual food, telling myself I’d make a healthy dinner tonight. My mother had lived inside my head regarding food since I was fourteen, maybe earlier.
My paternal grandmother had been a large woman. She’d made the most amazing Christmas cookies, over a dozen varieties, and I remembered heading to her house Christmas of my freshman year. I’d made the varsity cheerleading squad, quite a coup for someone my age, and it had catapulted me from a reasonably popular girl in middle school into the highest social strata at Lost Valley High.
When we’d arrived at Grandma’s my brother, three years older, and my dad had headed inside immediately, but Mother had held me back.
“No more than three cookies tonight. Preferably small ones. Understood?”
“But why?”
“You like being on the varsity cheer team?”
I’d nodded, suddenly scared. It seemed like everything good that had happened to me since starting high school had been a direct result of making that team. I had friends who I’d never dreamed would even talk to me, boys were paying attention to me, and, I think most importantly, my mother was proud of me.
“Then you stay away from sweets, watch what you eat. You don’t want to end up looking like Grandma, do you? She was thin when she was your age, too.”
From that moment on I weighed myself every day of my life, panicking whenever I saw the number on the scale go up by more than a few pounds, even though I had two more inches to grow.
And it was still going on. When I got home from lunch I did the only thing I knew would keep my mother’s voice out of my head for the rest of the evening, changing into some workout clothes and launching my favorite video. It would be the first time I’d done it all week. Running around after three teenagers didn’t always leave a lot of time for yourself, after all.
I managed to sweat through it, cursing myself for letting myself slip so far before stumbling into the shower. When I made it back out to my living room I saw I’d missed a call from my father, and I swiped over to call him back.
“Hey, Doodlebug, how are you?”
I smiled as Dad called me by the childhood nickname he’d bestowed on me when I was tiny. For some reason hearing it made me feel safe and loved, especially today.
“I’m good, Daddy. How’s Miami?”
“Hot. Oh my good Lord, the sweating I’ve done in this cursed state.”
I grinned at my dad’s whining. “You think it’s any better up here?”
“Well, there I can take it as a point of Carolina pride. Here, it’s just annoying. But the food, girl, I tell you, mmm. Best Cuban ever.”
“Better than Casa Cubana?”
“Oh yeah, and so spicy. You’d love it. I had a Picadillo a la Habanero for lunch today that blew my mind.”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t talk to me about that. I had lunch with Mother today.”
“Ooh, I’m sorry. She take you to one of those horrible salad shops?”
“Of course. Chopt. It’s okay, I guess, as far as those places go.”
“You going to have some real dinner?”