Chapter 7

"Nothing is going on" I say

"You were shouting " Rachel insists

" we were talking loudly " I explain, mildly amused by the look she is giving me. I sense what it must be like to a member of VA and be on the receiving end of such a look on a regular basis.

"Was it about me?" she asks, and for all the bravado and confidence I see her face fall, not wanting to unwittingly be the cause of a further family rift.

"No Rachel, it wasn't." well, not directly anyway. " Not everything is about you. It was about me, me and my failures and short comings, it's the Corcoran Family favourite subject."

"Good Lord Shelby, were you always such a martyr?" My mother butts in. "Not everything revolves around you either. Not 5 minutes ago you were busy pointing out how weak and unsupportive I was."

"Well?. Did you just expect me to…"

"Enough!" Rachel shouts out, cutting us both off. "Dad and Daddy, always told me that if I had a problem with someone, I should just sit down, and tell them exactly what was of my mind. That way everyone knows where they stand, and you can figure out a way to solve it."

She gives me a pointed look. Suddenly I realise that yes, actually I wouldn't mind having my say. I am fed up with the jibes and the judgment and the sniping matches that inevitably occur every family gathering.

"She has a point" my mother says " we can't keep going on like this."

"Right, fine. You want me to get things off my chest? Well here you go" I say, turning to face my mother, I begin

"You said how you didn't understand how I could so cold heartedly give away my baby? Well you made me that cold hearted bitch. When I had Rachel, I was young and naïve and had dreams of stardom. I didn't realise how much I would come to love my baby, I had no idea how much it would tear me apart to give her up. I cried every single day for 6 months. I was heartbroken, and I vowed I would never ever feel like that again, to do that I decided that I needed to stop feeling.

So the first defences went up around me. That wasn't your doing, that was my own choice. But, you helped build them up. You never came to see me on Broadway. I knew you didn't agree with it, I knew you thought I was being silly, but I thought that as soon as I prooved that I had talent you would come and visit.

Every opening night I kept thinking that may be I would come off stage and find you waiting in the audience, and you'd say to me that you were sorry, and that you loved me, and missed me, and you had enjoyed my play and had read all the good reveiews. But you never came. So I had to harden myself just a little bit more to cope with the disappointment.

Then, I return to Ohio, to get a normal job, just like you've always wanted. I take Vocal Adrenaline from nobodies to National Champions within 3 years. We have taken the title every year since. With each passing year, each award, each trophy, there is still no praise from you, no congratulations, no requests to see the recordings of the victors concert.

Every year at Thanksgiving I have to sit at the annual family gathering and listen to you tell people how proud you are of Sarah. PhD in Astrophysics, tenureship at the university, made some great discovery, has a perfect husband and given you a wonderful granddaughter.

"Oh Shelbys still doing that singing". That's all you ever say. No explanations. It makes me sound like a god damn back-up singer or American Idol Reject.

All I am ever made out to be is one big disappointment. Its no wonder I'm a cold heated, emotionless cow. Its easier that way. The rejection doesn't sting so much, it means that the hurt doesn't affect you from getting out of bed and going about your every day business.

I am not as hard as nails because I want to be, I am because I have had to become that way to survive in a world where I have received so little genuine affection that I have truly begun to forget what it was like to feel loved.

My pupils respect and fear me in equal measure. My co-workers respect my achievements, but none would truly miss me if I left. I haven't had a serious relationship since the Clinton Administration. I am not immune to that, and how I have become as a result of it."

Mom is silent for a moment. Processing what I have just said. If she has been affected by any of it, it does not show on her face. She is the Matriarch of the Pokerface.

"Shelby" she says, in a somewhat gentler tone than she has used up until now.

"You are just as stubborn and headstrong as I am, and I wouldn't be surprised if Rachel has inherited that trait too." She glances at Rachel, who looks somewhat mildly affronted, but similarly realises it is true.

"When you become a mother, one of the biggest changes you need to make, as I am sure you are finding out, is that you can no longer be self centered. You must put your childs needs, their wants and desires before your own. Sometimes this involves doing things that are painful, and difficult, but you do it any way because your own needs are secondary.

I didn't want to stay away from you. I have never wanted to not see you. I didn't want to limit our relationship to phone calls and occasionally cards and an annual visit. But I kept away, I kept my distance because I thought that was what you wanted. I thought that you didn't want me in your life, so I didn't want to push it. I took a step back and walked away for you, because I thought was what would make you happy.

I didn't come visit in New York, or see you performe. But I read every single review of everything you ever did. I have never been to a single vocal adrenaline performance, but at the same time I am not a mind reader Shelby, how was I to know whether I was welcome? how I am I supposed to know when they were performing if you never told me ?

You can't have it both ways, you can't push me away and then berate me for not being there.

You won't apologise for going to New York and I won't apologise for not supporting that dream. I did what I thought was best at the time and I stand by that. That's not to mean I regret it, that's a whole other matter, but your father and I only ever had your best interests at heart.

And, while we are at it, you are wrong about one thing. I am proud of you Shelby. I've not always been proud of the way you have gone about things, but I have always been proud of the end result. Its up to you whether you believe me or not, but I know how I feel, and you are anything but a disapointment.

Now, I've said my piece. I'm getting too old and too weary to be having this argument every time we meet. Things have got to change. Where we go from here is up to you. We can go back to how it is, I will drive back to Akron this afternoon, and we will resume our old pattern of minimal contact. Or, we let bygones be bygones, and we start afresh and at least share news in person once a month.

It's up to you, I will stand back again if you want me to. Like I said, my feelings are secondary to your happiness,"

She sighs, runs her hands through her hair and for the first time I think she looks old. I wonder when that happened. She is looking at me, expecting an answer, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Rachel staring at me waiting to hear what I will say.

I will be the first to admit that I have done pretty well without my mother playing a regular feature in my life. That is, until 6 months ago. In these past few months that Rachel has been in my life I have found myself increasingly wishing I was able to confide in my mom and get her opinion about how I should handle all these mother-daughter issues we have been dealing with. Instead I have had to wing it, with varying degrees of success.

Having Rachel in my life has also made me realise how much I need my daughters continued presence in my life. If she were to walk away and barely communicate with me, it would devastate me. Yet here I am doing the same thing to my own mother.

"I think" I begin…" I would like us to start over."

"Well" says mom, who is trying not to look too pleased, " That would be nice."

For a moment we all just sit there, until mom speaks up again. "Do you think I could get a hug?"

Gingerly, we both stand up, and meet in the middle. I feel her arms wrap around me for the first time in years. I am not entirely unaware of the similarities between myself and Rachel, I want my moms approval just as much as Rachel wants mine.

We are interrupted by a loud sniff. Breaking apart I turn to see Rachel dabbing theatrically at her eye. "That's so sweet, I feel as if you should be playing the Wind Beneath My Wings in the background."

Mom rolls her eyes. "Dear god. I wish I knew where this tendency toward over dramatizing and the theatricality came from. Neither your father or I could carry a tune in bucket or act our way out of a paper bag."

"I don't know either" I say, "but it makes life more interesting." Eye-ing our long forgotton, nearly full mugs of stone cold coffee, I gesture toward the kitchen " perhaps I should make us another mug."

"I'll do it" Rachel volunteers.

"No, it's fine" I insist "I'd like a moment to clear my head."

Ensconced in the kitchen, I put the kettle on to boil, and through the open doorway I can hear the conversation between Rachel and my mom.

"Mrs Corcoran, would you like to see .…"

"Please, Rachel, Mrs Corcoran is my late mother-in-law. Call me Elizabeth, or Liz, or Grandma, whatever you feel comfortable with. What do you call your other grandparents?"

"I guess Grandma would be ok. That way I wouldn't confuse you with Granny Berry."

"Do you see her a lot your Granny Berry?"

"Not really. She lives out of state. Granddad never really accepted the fact that Daddy is gay. So we don't visit them all that often, though she always ditches Granddad and comes to visit us for a week in August every year. We write often though, and talk, and she always sends me gifts in the mail."

"Did she knit you that sweater ?"

From the kitchen I cringe inwardly. Rachel is wearing a blue knitted sweater with a penguin on the front. I have to admit, I have noticed the animal knitwear, and I do keep meaning to have a word with her about it. There is nothing wrong with the preppy look, but if she does want to start going to auditions in the future, she does need to consider reducing the animal theme jumpers.

"No, I bought it"

"you bought it? Really? Huh..I didn't know you could still buy that kind of thing"

My mother as subtle as a freight train. I take this as my cue to re-enter, barging through with a tray containing 3 mugs.

"Mom!" I admonish, setting the tray down. "Rachel, ignore her, she knows nothing about fashion."

Mom harrumphs "I know plenty about fashion, thank you. You are still sulking over the time when you were Rachel's age, and I told you that wearing your hair poker straight and applying heavy eyeliner made you look like Morticia Addams, and that you should inject some colour in to your life."

"I wasn't sulking over that, I was sulking because you sewed Laura Ashley patches over my ripped jeans."

"Of course I did, they had holes in them"

"That was the POINT"

"Guys" Rachel interupts. "It's ok, in fact I'm glad Mrs Cor…Grandma said it looked home made. That was the point."

My mother and I look at Rachel with confusion written over our faces.

"Some one with my level of talent and skill, will naturally always stand out from the crowd, it is both a blessing and a curse….difficult as this may be to believe, but several years ago, at the beginning of middle school, I went through I stage where I just wanted to fit in and be like everyone else.

One day, at break, I over heard this girl called Missy, complement this other girl called Cara on her sweater. Cara said that her Nana had knitted it, then all the other girls staryed joining in the conversation, talking about how their moms made them this, and their grandmothers made them that etc. I couldn't join in because, I didn't have that. I didn't have a mom, and Granny Berry doesn't sew or knit. So I went and started buying woolly jumpers that looked as if they could have been hand made. My dads thought that I liked them, so started buying me them for Christmas and birthdays, and I guess it just kind of became habbit and stuck."

Before any one can reply, Rachels phone rings, and we all get 3 bars of All That Jazz, before she answers.

"Finn!" she exclaims, "You know not to ring me when I'm at my moms house" she spirits accross the room and goes out in to the hall to finish her conversation. Heaven forbid my mother and I should be party to the teen chatter.

"It's very strange" mom says to me, as she sips her coffee "to hear a teenager refer to you as mom. Because that means if you are the mom, then I am the grandmother, which means if I am grandmother to a teenager then I am officially old. The generations have shifted."

"If you think its odd, then try being me. Every time I get called mom, I want to look behind me, as I think it can't possibly be in reference to me. To be honest, I feel a bit of a fraud, I don't really deserve the title, but the selfish part of me enjoys hearing it."

"It's all about what I was saying before" mom replies " You need to start thinking about things from Rachels side. Perhaps she likes calling you mom, because she has always wanted to be able to call someone that. In which case you need to put up and shut up and let her carry on."

"I guess you are right."

"well it has been known to happen occasionally. Speaking of families, and in light of our hatchet burying ceremony, Sarah and Phil are having a party to celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary next month. Which you would know about, if you bothered to call your sister recently. But anyway, I'm hosting it as they are having work done on their house, its going to be a fairly informal affair, neighbours, friends, your cousin Amy is flying in and such. Do you want to come along? It could be a good opportunity to see everyone. Especially now that Rachel is on the scene, this could be her chance to meet everyone."

Go public? I mean aside from the people who found out by default. I suppose it would put to rest the unease I had about Rachel still thinking I was ashamed of her. I guess there was only one way to find out.

"Honestly" Rachel exclaims as she returns to the living room "Finn really needs to pay attention to the relationship calender I made him. He didn't think I had plans today."

"Rach?" I ask. "How would you feel about going to a party?"

TBC