Jess stepped out of the elevator, turned to her right without looking up, and ambled towards 4D. She lifted the strap of her black laptop bag as she straightened her powder blue sweater underneath. Lowering the strap back to her shoulder, the pack settled in at the right hip of her jeans. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she carefully stretched her neck. After the school year had ended, she picked up another adult writing class to teach for the summer. Twice weekly, Tuesdays and Thursdays, 6-8pm. It wasn't a bad way to earn a little extra pay, and it kept her busy. But the previous year's stories of mermaids and murderers had given way to tales of dragons and meth dealers. And, in no less than three occasions, dragon fighting meth dealers. She liked her students, and they were eager to learn. But something just didn't feel right. Something was off.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar cooking smell as she reached the loft. Unable to immediately identify the smell, Jess frowned and opened the door. She freed herself from her bag and set it on the side table as the smell grew stronger. Closing the door behind her, she quickly moved into the kitchen, hoping to solve the mystery. As she approached, she saw Schmidt behind the kitchen island, which was covered end to end by bowls of various shapes and sizes. Schmidt caught sight of Jess and smiled as he ran his fingers down the front of his yellow apron.
"Well, look who's home," he said knowingly. "Just in time."
"In time for what? What are you cooking?" Jess asked, the confusion spreading across her face. "It smells so familiar?"
"Well it should!" a voice exclaimed happily.
Before Jess' brain had time to identify the voice and where exactly it was coming from, the smiling face of her mother popped up from a crouching position behind the island.
"Hi, sweetie!" Joan exclaimed before quickly turning to Schmidt and handing him a long, wooden spoon. "Always wooden, Schmidt. Always."
"Oh, you don't need to tell me, Joan. Jess, your mom knows her way around the kitchen. Even taught me a thing or two," Schmidt said, smiling at Joan before stepping over to the stove, spoon in hand.
"Well, what are we doing? Come here, young lady," Joan said, stepping around the island towards Jess. After two steps, Joan had Jess wrapped up in a tight embrace, her lavender blouse all but enveloping her still stunned daughter.
Jess, head still spinning from surprise, softly slipped her arms under her mothers and hooked them over the back of her shoulders. After a moment, she let all the confusion drop and just shut her eyes, allowing the mother's hug take over. Burying her face in her mother's shoulder, Jess felt the weight swiftly fall from her shoulders. After a good, long hug, Joan released her daughter and stepped back. She brought her hands to Jess' face, cupping it briefly before brushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes as Jess blinked the wetness away.
"What… what are you doing here, Mom?"
"Since when does a mother need a reason to visit her daughter?" Joan mock scolded as she put her hands on her hips.
"No, it's just…"
"Right now she's teaching me how to make her special grilled cheese with tomato and yellow pepper soup," Schmidt chimed in. "She tells me it's…"
"My favorite," Jess finished, looking at her mother. Joan flashed a sad, knowing smile, a smile that conveyed the indescribable. Adjusting her own glasses, Joan briefly fussed with her short, grey hair and turned towards Schmidt.
"How we doing over there, kiddo?" Joan asked.
"The puree is settling nicely. Another 20 minutes and you should be all set," he answered giving the soup a stir. "Thanks again, Joan. I think this little meal will be perfect for my inevitable second date with Michelle. Simple. Rustic. Homemade. How can a gal resist?"
"Oh, so went on your date with Michelle?" Jess asked, taking a seat at the island.
"No, not yet. But I've got big plans for that one. Like, Hummer limo, private rooftop dining plans. So. Yeah, I'm fairly confident there will be a second date."
"You must really like this girl, huh, Schmidt" Joan asked walking over to inspect Schmidt's progress.
"Well, I like parts of her. I like parts of her quite a lot."
"Schmidt," Jess warned.
"I mean, I don't really know her all that well."
"And yet you're already planning a second date?" Joan asked. "A second date after what sounds like a rather opulent first date. All for a girl you're not even sure you like?"
"Well…"
"I don't know," Joan continued. "Don't you think the two of you might be better off starting small? Intimate. Maybe a cup of coffee or something. See if you like spending time with each other first. I mean, you're such a handsome, successful, charming young man. I don't think you need to try so hard. Just be yourself!" Joan said with a smile, turning back to Jess.
Jess watched Schmidt as he considered her mother's words carefully. It wasn't like him to let anyone tell him anything when it came to women, but he took his time with Joan's words, quietly mulling them over for a few moments. He abruptly lifted his head as some epiphany flashed through his eyes.
"I think you're right, Joan. I'm going to go make a few calls. Cancel a few reservations. Check the Yelp reviews of nearby coffee establishments. I could slum it a bit, let my shining personality win her over instead of my wallet. But I will not abide by burnt coffee grounds. And I know baristas these days simply take no pride in their craft. You can't be too careful."
"Um… okay?" Joan offered, confused.
"Thank you, Joan," Schmidt said, kissing Joan on the cheek before facing Jess. "Jessica, your mother is a saint."
"Oh… kay…" Jess said as Schmidt turned tail and quickly skipped off to his room. She turned back to her mother. "That was…. strange."
"He's a good boy," Joan said, looking down the hall where Schmidt had disappeared. "I think he just needed a little mothering."
"I could see that."
"Speaking of a little mothering," Joan said, reaching into the cabinet and removing a pair of matching teacups. "I hear I've got a little work to do with my own baby."
"Mom, what…"
"Cece called," Joan answered, removing the kettle from the stove. She tipped the kettle over the empty cups.
"Cece called you?" Jess asked, somewhat irritably. "What did…"
"She called because she's worried, Jess. Worried about you." Joan returned the kettle to the stove before carrying the teacups to the island. Pushing some of the bowls aside, she slipped a cup in front of Jess, took one for herself, and sat down across from her daughter.
"Well, I don't know what she said. But Mom, I'm fine."
"You're not fine sweetie…"
"Mom."
"I can see it already. You're pale, your face is thin. And I saw you when you walked in. Not even the hint of a bounce to your step.
"Mom, it…"
"No bounce!"
"It was a long day, that's all. It's already almost nine ," Jess said frowning. She took a sip from her cup before furrowing her brow and looking down. "Mom, there's no tea in here. It's just hot water."
"I know. The caffeine in all those fancy teas of yours are too much for me. Makes me all jittery."
"What?"
"This is better."
"Mom, there's hardly any…"
"Don't change the subject."
"Fine. What did Cece say?"
"Well," Joan said, sipping at her water. "She says you're still pretty broken up about Nick."
"She said that, huh?"
"Yes. And she said she thinks you're in some kind of denial, but…"
"Denial?"
"… but I wanted to find out for myself."
"I don't know what you want me to say, Mom."
"Jess, honey," Joan said, reaching out and putting her hand over her daughter's. "What happened?"
Jess inhaled deeply and blinked hard at her mother. She had never allowed herself to be fully honest with Cece about how things went down. That was partly because she'd never allowed herself to be fully honest with herself. But lying to herself and misleading Cece was one thing. Trying to slip something past her mother was quite another. The jig was up.
"I… I don't even know," she said, taking her glasses off.
Her words hung for a while, her mother seemingly aware of the cathartic moment that was taking place. As they sat in silence, Jess at first fought it. But before long, the waves of relief started breaking through. She felt her pulse quicken, and her body warm. Even as she felt her eyes fill with tears and her breathing became labored, she was taken aback as she felt a broad, uncontrollable smile spread across her face. A breaking of the façade she had been keeping up for weeks brought with it an undeniable feeling of liberation.
"I don't know," she repeated with a small laugh. "Isn't that funny?"
Joan looked softly at Jess before releasing her hand. "I don't think I find that funny at all, honey. Take me through this. What happened?"
"I don't know…"
"We've covered that."
"…. I just, we were hung-over… there was this toy… there was a fire…"
"A fire?"
"And we started talking about our future…"
"Seems like a good time for that."
"… and we just realized that we just… we don't really… have one," Jess said. As the words left her mouth, she felt the temporary euphoria she'd been riding come to an abrupt halt. She slowly raised her eyes to her mother's, searching for the comfort they'd so often provided. "At least not together."
"I see," Joan said, fighting the urge to cross the table and take Jess in her arms. "And what, in your impaired state, led you two to that realization?"
"We just… we fight all the time. All the time. About stupid stuff," Jess said, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "And our ideas about the future couldn't be more different."
"What ideas?"
"Mom, I honestly don't even know how to begin to answer that. We just… we're not… we have nothing in common! I mean, you know what that was like. We're as different as you…"
"What? Me and your father?" Joan asked, a look of sadness building behind her eyes.
"I didn't…"
"No, it's fair I suppose," Joan said, straightening up in her seat. "Your father and I have always been very different people."
"Yes. And I know it took me a long time, Mom, but I think I'm finally starting to get why things didn't work out between you guys. I mean… you're so different. So different."
"We are."
"And you must've just gotten to the point where, without anything in common, your love just wasn't enough," Jess said. She propped her elbows up on the island and rested her chin in her hands. "I just don't want to get to that point with Nick. He's too important. I don't want to resent him. And I don't want him to resent me. I just… I couldn't live with that."
"Well. That's all very logical, sweetie. Very sound thinking," Joan said, sitting back on her stool. She took a sip of her water before looking thoughtfully at Jess. "There's just one thing, if I may add?"
"What?"
"Your father and I were very different, that's true. And we were never not going to be different. But that's not why we didn't work."
"No?"
"Nope. No, in fact, the longer we were married the more we had in common."
"What do you…:
"Well, two beautiful girls for one. You and your sister, Jess? Loving you two? It's a bond your father and I will always have. And it's very special."
"I guess I…"
"And then as you guys got older, there was even more. And then even more. We'd go to your dance recitals. We'd go watch you play violin in the junior orchestra. We became very close with your sister's Juvenile Parole Officer, Mr. Wiggins. I still get a Christmas card from his family every year. I think your father still golfs with him in the summer."
"Heh," Jess laughed.
"We shared a joy in all of your extra curriculars, no matter how unpleasant, and we shared a hatred of your all of your sister's boyfriends. And I mean all of them. Every single one of those terrors she ever brought home."
"Then… what…"
"What was it? Why did your father and I decide to end things? That's easy… Well, no. Not easy. But it is simple," Joan said, leaning forward to look into her daughters azure eyes. "One day we just realized that, not only were we not in love anymore… but we hadn't been in quite some time."
Jess tightened her lips as she considered her mother's demeanor. They had never talked about the divorce before. At least not with such honesty. She didn't seem sad. She didn't seem regretful. She seemed measured, and she seemed deliberate.
"So. Who really knows how these things happen. But it wasn't for a lack of shared interests, I can tell you that," Joan said, standing up and taking a sip of her water. She stood quietly for a moment, watching her finger trace over the rim of her mug. Sighing deeply, she turned her head toward the loft window, and stared out at nothing in particular.
"Mom…" Jess started.
"Do you still love Nick?" Joan interrupted.
"I…"
"Your father and I separated some 20 years ago, Jess. And we've moved on. Met some lovely people whom we've shared some wonderful dalliances with. But Jess… I… I can only speak for myself here, but…" Joan brought her eyes from the window and locked them onto Jess'. "Your father is still the last man I've ever loved. So, before you decide to walk away from Nick, just make sure, I mean 110 percent sure, that it's the right thing. Because we aren't guaranteed love, Jess. We aren't guaranteed anything close to it."
Jess watched quietly as her mother went over to the stove and gave the soup another stir. Ten minutes earlier, she had expected a rather unassuming night in. Probably a simple salad for dinner, followed by a glass of rose as she read over the interchangeably amusing and dull tales of her creative writing class. Instead, she was watching her mother prepare her favorite childhood meal as she digested a piece of motherly advice wrapped in an unexpected and heartfelt revelation. Jess stood up to approach her mother from behind.
"Mom, I…"
"It's done!" Schmidt cried from down the hall, startling both Joan and Jess. He emerged from the hallway with his phone raised high above his head. "Reservations at Scarpetta? Canceled. Hummer limo? Canceled. Tickets to the hottest play in town? Canceled."
"Schmidt, we…" Jess said meekly.
"I just casually told Michelle to swing by the loft tomorrow for some leftover soup and sandwiches. Told her we'd just find something on Netflix to watch or something. Real laid back. No frills. It'll be frill- frill-less," he finished, clapping his hands.
"Well, good job, Schmidt," Joan said, offering a wide smile. "I think you're going to do great."
"Thank you, Joan. So, what's the next step? Three types of cheese, right?" Schmidt asked, stepping to the counter by the stove. "Smoked cheddar, Gouda, and…"
"Neufchatel," Joan answered, looking past Schmidt towards Jess. Joan smiled and winked at her daughter before continuing. "Now, the key is to pulse the three cheeses in a food processor. But not too long, you see. You want it to be soft, but not gooey. That part comes later. Right Jess?"
"Right, mom," Jess answered, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. She sat back down at the island and watched as her mother continued tutoring Schmidt. Though she tried to keep her thoughts light and her mood loose, her mind kept drifting back to her what her mother had just shared with her. And, of course, her thoughts would then find their way back to Nick.
A few hours later, Jess found herself lying awake on the couch. Joan's tutorial on the perfect grilled cheese sandwich had been complicated with the arrival of Coach and Winston. It was decided that, with Winston due to start training for the academy the next morning, one last day of gluttonous celebration was in order. Thus, Joan's tutorial for Schmidt became an all-out culinary exhibit, with all the boys taking notes. After the lesson, the meal itself, and the cleanup, it had been time for bed. The guys had all shambled of to their respective rooms, while Jess set Joan up in hers. As Jess said goodnight, she was left with a rather perplexing bedtime tiding from her mother .
"Goodnight Jujube. Don't think so much about any one thing so that you don't get a chance to sleep on it," she had said with a wink. "Not that there should be much to think about, though. After all, it's actually pretty simple."
As Jess considered her mother's words, she reached onto the coffee table and flicked on her phone. It was 1:20 am. She had been lying awake, getting nowhere close to sleep, for more than 90 minutes. In that 90 minutes, she had done a lot of thinking. About the fights she'd been having with Nick. About her worries on the future. About how she hadn't seen him in three weeks. And, of course, about what her mother had said. She felt her breathing increase and her pulse become more rapid. 90 minutes was long enough. She stood up and stepped into her flats that she kicked off under the table earlier. She walked towards the door and grabbed her keys from the table. Pausing for a moment, she considered changing out of her blue checkered pajamas before leaving. Shaking her head, she instead grabbed her purple pea coat from the hook by the door. The time for thinking was done. She stepped out into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind her.