Mothers and Daughters

"Probably there is nothing in human nature more resonant with charges than the flow of energy between two biologically alike bodies, one of which has lain in amniotic bliss inside the other, one of which has labored to give birth to the other. The materials are here for the deepest mutuality and the most painful estrangement." ~Adrienne Rich

May 2013. Washington, D.C.

Since it was a national holiday, the National Museum for Women in the Arts was closed for the day, but Jordan Strauss actually preferred the quiet calm of the building, the solitary echo of her steps rising to the high vaulted ceiling, with its decorated and colored trays and the beautiful chandeliers (if you stood still long enough, you could see them swaying gently in the cool morning light, almost as if they were wallflowers at a ball, quietly waiting for the chance to dance). She'd spent the past week tucked away in her mother's house, under the constant and watchful eye of federal agents, and she was going absolutely stir-crazy. She loved her mother and her father, she loved her brother and her sister, but gods, there was something to be said for living alone.

They had a new exhibit opening in less than a month, and there was so much left to be done—so much that she'd been unable to do, because she'd been on voluntary house-arrest, because she'd chosen her family over all else, as she had always done, even when her presence couldn't actually fix anything.

Her father hadn't wanted her to come in, but by the time he had found out, she was already halfway to the office (she had an awful distaste for confrontation and avoided it at all costs—so, just as she had done when she'd come back to be with Chris, she'd simply waited until she was already gone before calling her dad to inform him of her plans).

Truth be told, it was her father who made her want to get away—he'd been acting weird and withdrawn and mopey ever since David had shown up on the doorstep yesterday afternoon (he'd said that it wasn't because of meeting Mom's boyfriend, but Jordan knew that it was a lie and it actually kind of annoyed her, how childish he was being). She couldn't spend another minute surrounded by the odd energy at her father's house, with Anna constantly chattering on and on about stupid high school drama and Christopher trying to make everyone laugh because he could sense the weirdness, too.

Now, Jordan was close enough to being an adult (what the hell did that mean, anyways—she had a sideways driver's license and could drink alcohol and vote and had a college degree and a car note and an apartment in the District, filled with knick-knacks and things that were all her own, which were all things that should make her an adult, but she still didn't feel like one), so she could actually understand the strange feelings bouncing back and forth between her parents. Her father had been dating other women for months now, and he was vaguely aware that her mother was dating again, too, but there was a difference between knowing it was possible and seeing it in living, breathing color.

Jordan Strauss had never been in love (ok, there was a time or two in college, when she had thought that she was in love, but looking back, those incidents probably weren't anything more than serious doses of endorphins and very misguided attempts to rip herself apart for the acceptance of another person, because like her mother, she was a bit of a masochist, apparently), so she couldn't imagine loving someone for three decades, much less being able to simply switch off all the feelings and memories connected to that person—which, technically, was the story of her parents. She knew, because she'd seen it in their eyes, that her parents still cared about one another on some level. She also knew that there were many aspects of their relationship that she didn't understand or know about (aspects she didn't need to know, aspects she didn't want to know), and somewhere in that tangled hidden mess lay the reason why Paul and Erin simply didn't work anymore.

If she were totally honest, she could admit that there had been times when she'd hoped that her parents would reunite (though she could also admit that her hope was a selfish thing, a part of her that longed for the simplicity and beautiful symmetry of her childhood, when everything seemed rosy and happy and loving and perfect and safe and right). But that semblance of a prayer which had quietly echoed through her daughter-heart was completely obliterated the moment she met David Rossi. She'd been amazed to see her mother blushing whenever Anna had first revealed David's existence, and she'd felt the first glimmer of intuition, which was confirmed the instant she actually met the man and saw what his mere presence did to her mother.

Her mom had never looked at her father like that. Her face had never glowed like a warm golden flame whenever he teased her, her eyes had never danced when he spoke and her hand had never lightly traced his arm with the soft reverence of a devoted lover, and she never had smiled at Paul Strauss with the same gentle bright-cheeked adoration that she held for this man who was supposedly "just a friend" a few weeks ago.

Maybe her parents had been that way in the beginning, when they were still in college, before marriage and children and thirty-plus years wearing on them. Maybe they had never been that way; maybe each love was completely different. Jordan didn't think that she really wanted to know. Regardless of what had or never had been between her parents, Jordan was glad that her mother had found some strange new youthfulness and happiness in David Rossi—there had been so much stress and darkness over the past two years, and it was a welcome change to see her mother smiling again (sure, she smiled at her children, but that was a different kind of joy).

Jordan's opinion was further improved by the fact that David returned her mother's affections, and that he had a weird sense of humor which fit in quite nicely with the rest of the Strauss clan, and that he seemed to understand the stress of her mother's job better than anyone else. Most importantly, he made Erin happy, and really, that was all he needed to win Jordan's approval.

The redhead gave a slight grin as she thought about how they'd acted like two teenagers yesterday afternoon, with their obvious lie about lunch reservations. Sadly, due to her mother's alcoholism, it hadn't been the first time that Jordan had felt like the parent in the situation, but this was the first time that it was actually amusing.

Speak of the devil. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she instinctively knew who was calling before she even saw the caller ID.

"Good morning, Mother," she forced a nonchalant tone into her voice.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" Apparently there would be no moment of peace before the storm.

Jordan pretended to be shocked, "Mother, language—"

"Jordan Elaine," her mother's tone was filled with exasperation. Still, she softened (only slightly) as she asked, "Why didn't you stay?"

"Because, Erin Elaine," she liked using her mother's name like that, liked reminding her how much they shared (personalities and names and history and the strength of Erin's mother, the original Elaine). "I can't hide away forever and I do have a job and I am an adult, capable of making my own decisions. This guy isn't after me; I'm totally safe."

"No one is ever totally safe," Erin corrected gently, and there was a hint of sorrow in her voice at that pronouncement.

"Who told you?" Jordan switched gears.

"Anna texted me."

"Of course she did." She was probably jealous because the house-arrest had kept her from some stupid pool party.

"She was worried."

"She didn't have to transfer that worry to you," Jordan tried to keep the growl from her voice. "You've got enough on your plate as it is."

There was a beat of silence. With a heavy sigh of frustration and regret (frustration at the situation, at her blabber-mouth little sister, regret at the thought of making her mother worry, of being so seemingly cavalier about everything), Jordan offered a compromise, "I'm just gonna be here for a few hours—four at the most. I'm gonna catalogue the new pieces that have come in since last week, and then I'll head back to Dad's, OK? I just needed to slip away for awhile."

"That bad, huh?" Erin's tone changed as well, tinged with sudden understanding.

"Yes and no," her daughter answered diplomatically.

Erin gave a small, knowing hum before slipping back into Stern Mother Mode. "Four hours. Then you're back in the nest."

"Yes, Mama Bird."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

"You don't sound very convincing."

"Really, Mother?" Jordan rolled her eyes as she heard her mother laugh in response.

"Four hours—"

"Mein Gott in Himmel, Mother, I've already said—"

"Yes, but I know how you get. You turn on your little Pandora thingy—"

"Ohmigod, Erin, Pandora isn't an actual device—"

"And then you get all absorbed in your work and you lose track of time, and you—"

"I'll set an alarm on my phone, mkay?"

"Good." Erin sounded smug, as if she'd somehow won an argument that didn't actually happen.

Of course, her daughter was never one to concede without throwing in a few more barbs of feigned anger (though Erin could hear the amusement dancing at the edges of her voice), "Don't you have better things to do than harass innocent civilians who are trying to be contributing members of society? Like play shoot-em-up cops and robbers with a bunch of psycho-killers?"

"Glad to see that you hold my job in such high regard," Erin's tone was wry and Jordan knew that she was smiling.

"I love you, Mother, I really do. I'm hanging up now."

Erin didn't resist the chance to aggravate her firstborn just a bit further by reminding her, "Four hours—"

"Goodbye."

With a sound that was something between a laugh and a huff of frustration, Jordan shook her head and tucked her cell into the back pocket of her jeans.

Mothers and daughters. No matter how old you get, you always the play the role assigned to you, and the role never really changes, because (like siblings) mothers had the uncanny knack for turning you into a child all over again.

April 1982. Washington, D.C.

Elaine Ledell MacLauchlan Breyer had one of those timeless faces, the kind that never truly aged, as if she were carved from some rare form of breathing marble. She had the deep Scottish blue eyes and the light Scandinavian blonde hair, a testament to the great American melting pot (although nowadays her hair color was thanks to her stylist, not her heritage), and a presence that could fill an entire room, though her frame was relatively thin and small.

To her eldest daughter, she seemed like the strongest person alive, like some human bastion against time and chance and change—even now, as she sat on the sofa, lightly stroking her daughter's blonde head as it rested in her lap in a tender and loving moment, the set of her shoulders still showed that she was ready to jump into battle at the slightest provocation.

This was how Erin Breyer had always experienced life with her mother—equal parts love and fear, feeling safe and yet holding a strange apprehensive reverence for the thing which protected her. Her boyfriend had simply summed her mother up as "a truly amazing piece of work."

Boyfriend. He wouldn't be that much longer. He was acting strange, suddenly shy and skittish, as if they hadn't known each other for three years now. She knew what that meant. She actually kind of hoped that she was wrong.

As if she could read her daughter's mind, Elaine quietly asked, "How's Paul?"

"He's good," Erin replied, closing her eyes and simply relishing the feel of her mother's fingers running through her hair. She'd come home for spring break, battered and bruised from her grueling final semester, frazzled nerves and a nearly-shot psyche, and she was enjoying the quiet comfort that only a mother could provide (it was even more deeply appreciated because Elaine generally wasn't an affectionate person, so this moment was to be absorbed and clutched to her childish heart like a shiny treasure, a golden ticket to knowing her mother truly loved her).

"He'll be there for your graduation." That was a statement, not a question.

Erin hummed in agreement.

"Use words, Erin Elaine." Her tone was soft, but the reprimand was still there (ladies speak clearly, concisely, and properly).

"Yes. He will be there."

"Good." Erin wasn't sure if that was approval for his presence or for her use of words. She'd learned a long time ago not to try and decipher the meaning behind her mother's words, because Elaine was an elusive twisting Sphinx of a woman with hidden motives and strange reasoning, beyond all comprehension.

There was another moment of silence, in which Erin silently prayed that this particular line of questioning was over, though she knew that it wasn't. Elaine had a strange conversational cadence, an odd sense of timing whenever she was on the hunt for some certain reaction or some revelation of truth. Really, it was beautiful and interesting to watch, if you weren't the object of her scrutiny.

"Martha Lorin said she saw him at Dresden's."

Ah, there it was. Dresden's was a jewelry store. More importantly, it was where almost everyone in their social circle went for engagement rings.

"Oh?" Erin wasn't sure what else to say, though this only confirmed her suspicion regarding her boyfriend's strange actions over the past few weeks. Paul had been out of college for two years now, and she was graduating in a little over a month, so it seemed like a natural time to transition their relationship into something more solid and grown-up as well.

"Has he said anything to you?" Elaine gently pressed.

"Not yet. But I figured this was coming."

"Doesn't that make you happy?" There seemed to be a hint of accusation in her mother's tone.

"Paul is a good man," Erin admitted quietly. She didn't really answer her mother's question, but then again, her mother didn't really want hear her answer. She knew that she should be giddy with excitement, but instead she felt a sickening sense of dread (I'm not ready for this, how can I be married when I still don't know who I am or what I want or where I'm going in life?). She also knew that if (when) he asked, she'd say yes (despite the fear, despite the hesitancy), because he was a good man, and he loved her, and she wouldn't let her childish uncertainties ruin his happiness.

"A good man from a good family," her mother added. That was what was truly important to Elaine Breyer—her daughter had found a suitable match, someone of equal social rank and standing, someone who would continue to provide for her firstborn in the manner to which she had been accustomed.

Elaine hadn't always been the best mother, she knew that. But she would still do her very best to ensure that her children were all well off. It was the least she could do, to make sure that her daughter would be taken care of, even after Elaine was gone. It was the only way she knew how to show her continued love (because she did love her children, despite her fumbling and failed attempts to convey the message, from time to time).

"He is," her daughter agreed, suddenly looking so much younger than her twenty-three years. She was still so naive, so tender and fragile and so unprepared for the long and heavy battle of life. Paul Strauss would be good for Erin—he was a strong man, a protector type who would shelter her from the rougher storms of life, who would guide her and help her become a full-fledged adult, who would keep her in-line and perhaps save her from her own headstrong ways (Jameson had coddled Erin too much in childhood, had encouraged her stubborn nature as if it were a virtue, had allowed her to stay so idealistically naive and yet so unbelievably stalwart, which in many ways held her back, damaging Erin's ability to survive in the strange social order that they inhabited, because she'd never learned to mince her words or hold her tongue or be the demure and shining socialite that she was expected to be).

"I think he's waiting until after my graduation to propose," Erin broke the thoughtful silence again.

"That's very considerate," Elaine replied noncommittally. While she wanted someone to tame her daughter, she also feared somehow breaking Erin's spirit—she prayed to God above that Erin wouldn't live her mother's life, stuck in a house full of children, with hungry ambitions and dreams of her own but no recourse to exercise them. Jameson had always pushed Erin to be the very best and brightest, and his constant pressure had paid off, because their eldest daughter certainly was an overachiever of the highest standard. It would be a shame to see all that effort wasted on a life spent in knitting circles.

It was a strange land, this hollowed out place of wanting and withdrawing that Elaine Breyer found herself in. She wanted Erin to have more freedom, more opportunity, but not too much, not so much as to ruin her abilities to be a good wife and a good mother and all the other things that she was expected to become. She realized that this was a different era, a world slightly widened, a view slightly shifted—this was the world of her children, the land that Erin must learn to live in and navigate, one that Elaine didn't truly understand, which meant she had no wisdom to impart to her eldest daughter on how to survive and conquer it. The task was further complicated by the fact that Erin was her father's child, a thing of the wind, a spirit of the earth, with a booming laugh and quick-turn tumbling emotions and wide-eyed dreams and unyielding faith in humanity—all these things that Elaine couldn't quite grasp or understand or control, which in turn meant that Elaine had never really figured out how to connect with her daughter. It was hard, being a mother to a child whom she wasn't sure how to mother. When Erin was younger, Elaine had chalked up the awkwardness as simply the uncertainty that always comes from the first child (parenting is a learned thing, a constant lesson in so many subjects, changing and muting on a daily basis, and the first child always bears the brunt of that learning curve), but deep down, she knew that it was more than that.

Peter was like that sometimes. Hard to understand, hard to connect. Carole never had been—she'd always been their good child, their quiet and respectful middle one, the one who didn't demand attention or push too hard against the sides of family life. And sweet Drew, he was the family jester, the one who always smiled and fished for praise and adoration with an endearing determination.

But Peter was, like Erin, more of his father's child as well.

"Is Peter seeing anyone?"

The question was asked so casually, too casually, and Erin felt her gut clench in response. Mother knew. How did she know?

"I…I don't think so." Erin mentally kicked herself for how slowly she pronounced the words, how easily she proved that she was obviously lying—her mother was a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out the truth.

That was what this sweet little moment was about. Elaine Breyer was nothing if not a cool read of human behavior, and she seemed to always know the quickest way to gain someone's confidence and trust—even her own children, which was why she'd let Erin rest in her lap, why she'd plied away her nervousness with soft words and gentle caresses, had distracted her with talk of Paul and impending nuptials, lulling her into a state where she'd be less on-edge and more likely to slip up.

This had never been about Paul or his visit to Dresden's or the unspoken question (will you marry him if he asks?). This had been about Peter and the secret that he'd told Erin at Christmas.

"He hasn't mentioned anyone?" Elaine's tone was still nonchalant, still so easy-breezy conversational, the same voice she used when talking to strangers at political parties, neutral and unassuming, but Erin could feel the muscles in her mother's leg tightening underneath her cheek, could feel the lioness emerging to single out the weak and ill-fated antelope.

Anyone. Her mother was using a gender-neutral word. Elaine Breyer never said anything that she didn't mean, and she was never one for frivolous usage of the English language. She knew. She didn't want to know, but she knew.

"We don't talk that often, Mama," her daughter answered dismissively.

"You two talk to each other more than you talk to me." There was a hidden accusation in that statement, a sense of betrayal and slight disapproval. Erin bit back the urge to retort, That's because we trust each other more than we trust you.

Erin and Peter were, according to their grandmother, "thick as thieves and just as daring". Their mutual affection and sense of camaraderie stemmed from the fact that as the two eldest, they'd been held to higher standards in childhood, had practically raised their two younger siblings as their father disappeared into the whirlwind of becoming an appellate judge and their mother spent days at a time locked away from her children with her migraines and illnesses, had learned to protect one another against the rest of the world and the strain of being forced into adulthood long before their childhood was over.

Now their mother was trying to pull them apart, trying to steal away Peter's secret, like a greedy gull trying to crack open a clam.

"I was hoping that he would have found a nice girl by now," Elaine said, an edge of wistfulness in her voice (which Erin knew was feigned, a tacky ploy to garner her daughter's sympathy). She pressed further, "I always worry about him, you know."

With a light sigh, Erin moved to sit up, but her mother's hand on her neck (just firm enough to push her back down, just tight enough to suggest possible violence) kept her in-place. Erin felt the first ripple of fear, a survival instinct from her childhood which whispered urgently in her head (just do what Mother says, give her what she wants and she'll leave us alone, don't make her angry, don't make Mother angry, don't make her hurt us).

"Are you sure he hasn't mentioned anyone?" Elaine Breyer's tone was cooler, more assured. Her fingers still rested innocently on the smooth curve of her daughter's neck, where she could feel the pulse thrumming underneath them.

"Mama, I don't know what you want from me." The panic was just beneath the surface of Erin's voice, and Elaine knew that it was a lie (her daughter only called her Mama when she was trying to appeal to her, trying to avoid answering some unpleasant truth, when she was afraid of Elaine's response to the answer).

"Erin Elaine, I have asked you the same question twice, and I have yet to receive an answer. That is what I want from you—a simple answer."

Oh, if only the answer were that simple.

"Are the words truly that difficult to formulate?" Her mother prompted again. Now the disdain and aggravation were in plain sight.

"No. He has not mentioned anyone." Erin felt her own anger building. She was slowly reminding herself that she wasn't a cowering child anymore, and her need to protect her brother was stronger than her fear of their mother.

Elaine took a moment to study the face lying in her lap—the classical profile that could be so beautiful, if it weren't currently set in such an expression of barely-masked defiance, the nose and chin so perfectly matched to her own, the grey-green eyes of her husband, which were focused on the other side of the room, the thin lips set in firm stubborn line (Erin had always set her mouth like that when she was angry, even as a toddler, a sure sign that she was holding back a particularly scathing remark).

Erin was not going to answer the question that Elaine couldn't bring herself to ask (does Peter like boys?), and part of Elaine was relieved, because she really didn't want to know (she did but she didn't, because if she didn't know, then she could pretend that it wasn't there, she could continue to ignore the things which she'd known for years now, the deep mother-intuition that had told her such things were true despite her refusal to acknowledge them).

But there was another emotion that overpowered the relief, and it was something between jealousy and anger—Elaine could never understand why her children couldn't love her and adore her in the same way they loved and adored one another, and it angered her to know that Erin was lying to her, defying her, choosing Peter over her own mother.

She loved her daughter, but she didn't particularly like her. Erin had always been a bit of a thorn in her side—Jameson adored her, was more affectionate towards her than to his own wife (she knew it was silly and sick, being jealous of her daughter in such a way), had always pressed Erin to take leaps and opportunities that he would have never allowed his wife to take (It's a new world, and Erin's going to be the one who conquers it, he always said with pride, as if that explained everything, as if Erin possessed some magical power that his wife did not, as if she were somehow smarter and better), and when Erin grew older, she stole Peter away as well, becoming his best friend. Somehow Carole hadn't fallen under her elder sister's spell, but God Almighty, there were times when Andrew might as well have been Erin's child, the way she doted on him, the way he looked to her with those big green eyes full of trust.

Elaine had always wanted more from life, had always felt that she needed something more, and her anger and envy and panic were further intensified by the realization that what did belong to her was being stolen away by a younger, brighter version of herself. Erin was already going to be and do and have more than Elaine—why must she take the things that belonged to her mother as well? Why couldn't her hungry wanting be satisfied with all the things her mother couldn't have, instead of devouring the few things that were Elaine's?

Truth be told, Elaine had always felt this strange dislike for her eldest child, and for the longest time, she'd felt guilty and ashamed of such feelings. But now, as she stared down at the silent and uncooperative face resting in her lap, she knew that her emotions had been justified.

Petulant, demanding child. Completely ignorant of her own selfish nature, because her father had taught her that it was her right to reach for more. This was Jameson's creature, through and through. She could never get it to bend to her will (and God knows, she had tried).

With an abrupt and rough jerk of her knee, she crossed her legs, effectively ejecting Erin from her lap. Her daughter sat up, though her body still slightly leaned towards her mother (still seeking out the motherly comfort that had been so sweetly offered before, because her Pavlovian response was still to pursue her mother's affection, despite a history proving the opposite).

Elaine crossed her arms over her chest and looked away, her voice filled with bitter ice, "Honestly, Erin, I don't know why you can never just answer a simple question without turning it into an entire dramatic production. That was an easy enough answer, was it not?"

She'd stopped calling her by her middle name, had severed their mutual connection, an action that did not go unnoticed by her daughter, who was highly-attuned to her ways and nuances.

Erin ducked her head, looking down at the carpet and silently chiding herself for allowing her mother to affect her so deeply, even after all these years of learning and relearning that her mother was a fickle and uncertain woman.

Still, reopening that old scar was worth it, if it meant that Peter was safe. She'd listened to her instinct when her mind had screamed to not tell Elaine anything, and she knew that it was the right choice. Besides, Elaine Breyer didn't really want to know the truth. Erin was just giving her what she wanted (plausible deniability), and yet she was being punished for doing just that.

From her hiding place at the top of the stairs, Carole Ann Breyer watched this strange dialogue between her mother and her older sister, her quiet eyes taking in every movement, every unspoken word written in the air by the shift in body language and the strange pulsing energy that she could feel, even from her perch. Mother didn't hold her like that, didn't talk quietly to her while soothing her head with gentle fingers—why did Erin throw that away by being stupid and angering Mother? Why didn't she just answer the questions, and take their mother's love? Why would she waste such a precious golden chance?

Erin did that a lot—making Mother angry, almost without trying. When Erin had moved away to college almost five years ago, Carole had thought that things would get better, but sadly, they hadn't changed enough. Though Mother was always angrier when Erin came to visit, or when she called to talk to Father, or when she sent letters (sometimes she sent little cards to Andrew, too, with funny cartoon drawings of her professors—those were the ones that made Mother the angriest).

Surely Erin knew that she only upset Elaine with these actions, which meant she was doing it on purpose. That filled Carole with a deep anger—even when Erin wasn't here, she had to make sure she was the center of attention, had to be stirring up trouble and ruining any chance for a peaceful home.

Carole was smart enough to realize that their conversation was about something deeper than whether or not Peter was dating, though she wasn't sure what that something deeper was. But that wasn't the point. The point was that Mother loved Erin (everyone loved Erin, Erin above all others was the center of love in this house) and Erin spurned her, choosing instead to goad her anger and hurt her feelings. The next week would be absolute hell as Elaine found ways to terrorize the rest of the household with her petty slights and outrages (Carole was also old enough to realize that her mother didn't deal with anger in a healthy way), and it was all Erin's fault.

The three women sat in the quiet house, each lost in her own thoughts, the angers and resentments and wants and needs and ghosts of things-not-yet-passed and the shades of things-never-to-be-spoken-or-resolved drifting through the sun-soaked hallways with the lazy assurance that came from knowing they would haunt these walls for as long as these inhabitants lived, and perhaps even a time longer, seeping into the next generation with the subtle quietness and deep weight of history repeating.

"So fathers, be good to your daughters, for daughters will love like you do. Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers, so mothers, be good to your daughters, too." ~John Mayer, 'Daughters'

*Author's Note: Much love and thanks to everyone who has left reviews so far. Also, I know several of you have left reviews as a 'guest' on the site—please understand that I can't reply to those, so if you have any specific questions, I can't answer them via private message, but I do still thank you for your input and for your support.*