November, 20th
John:
My mother invited Fanny, Robert and I for lunch at her home this Sunday. I arrive early and help set the table and take the roast from the oven: the baking dish is quite heavy and I know my mother's back is not what it used to be, even if I'm yet to hear one complaint.
We sit around the table, our roles the same as always. I carve the meat, my mother serves the dishes, my sister fills the glasses. Robert simply waits for everyone to be ready to start eating.
The meal goes by pleasantly. My sister chats happily about her new house and scolds her husband when he tries to shift the subject into finances, a topic I've always been surprised that it bothers her to no end. But it does. Our mother and I were never exactly talkative and neither is my new brother-in-law, but it doesn't really matter. That's how we are.
We eat dessert and then clear the table exactly in the same order we've always have. I carry the heaviest items (today they're the baking dish and the half filled bottles), my sister carries the most fragile ones, my mother takes care of the dirty dishes. Once in the kitchen we keep the routine going: my sister loads the glasses and cutlery in the dishwasher; I scrape the food from the dishes and load them in the dishwasher; my mother transfers the remaining food into smaller containers, puts them in the fridge and fills the baking dish with hot sudsy water.
Back in the living room we chat a little more over coffee. Fanny plans on opening her own PR firm and I listen attentively to see if I can finally find out exactly what my sister does, to no avail I may add. The only clear conclusion I get is that she expect her husband to fund her and not me. Robert seems content and not truly worried about Fanny's venture not working out well.
At 2.30 PM they leave and my mother asks me if I can take a look at her vacuum cleaner, which from her description of the problem must have a broken fan. I agree and we go upstairs, to the closet where she keeps the cleaning appliances. I sit on the floor and inspect the thing while my mother goes fetch an old set of screwdrivers that belonged to my father.
I work in silence, my mother next to me, watching. "Do you think I'll have to buy a new one?", she asks after a while. I still haven't found the issue so I shrug.
-"Glen and Martha sent me an invitation to their son's wedding", she says after more silent minutes. "But I don't really feel like going". My mother is a little self conscious in social meetings and avoids them as much as possible. Marlborough Mills annual party is quite a deal for her.
-"You don't have to", I reply reaching for a smaller screwdriver. "Maybe just show up at church and then leave. I'll go anyway, so it's not like we're snubbing them".
"Aha, so here's the culprit!" I think when I find a little piece of metal stuck in the fan. I remove it, screw the cover close and switch on the vacuum cleaner. It works.
My mother looks pensive.
-"I saw Daniel at Fanny's wedding. Why do you think he's not married?", she wonders aloud. "Do you think he, um, steps on the flower beds?"
Where does my mother take these expressions from? I frown up at her.
-"If what you're saying is that he's gay", I say standing up, "I might be wrong, but I don't think so."
-"Oh", she says. "Well, he's always been a little special, a little immature".
I have to agree with that. "Mostly I'd say he's shy." That's also true and shy rates better than immature in my mother's scale. "And too intelligent for his own sake", I add tapping my temple.
-"I asked him about you" Oh well. Hannah Thornton is no bush beater. I look at her again, frowning, but she's not put off... of course, she's my mother. "He said you met someone you liked and that you were disappointed".
-"Why didn't you ask me directly?" I try to defuse the subject. "And why did you ask him in the first place?"
-"You've been sad but I didn't think you'd tell me", she replies, "and that might be still true, but if you don't terribly mind..." she doesn't leave the question unasked: "What happened?"
That's a good question I haven't asked myself. I scowl but my mother is unimpressed; she takes that for a no, that I don't want to talk about it, turns around and leaves the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen.
What happened, really?
I don't have to tell my mother but somehow I believe that doing so would bring some order, some sense, even some peace to my mind.
-"Well, it was quite simple" I say walking into the kitchen and startling her, "there was this girl, I liked her, she didn't like me back, end of the story".
My mother nods and keeps putting away the lunch service. "If you say so", I think she mutters.
I stand there brooding, arms crossed, my head almost touching the kitchen's lamp. I feel like a thirty-five year old, 1.95 tall, sulking child.
-"Do I know her?", she asks.
-"No".
-"Was it long ago?", my mother seems satisfied with my replies. It's an old trick of hers to lure people into telling her more.
I let out a breath and give in.
-"A few months. I met her about a year ago and thought she was pretty and..." pretty doesn't do Margaret any justice, "pungent. With flavor. Intelligent and had guts. I never felt she had any interest in me and nothing would have happened if it wasn't for an incident in late January". I sit on one of the kitchen stools; being so tall I normally find high seats more comfortable than chairs. My mother is still busy putting away the cutlery and doesn't look at me. Better this way, I think.
-"One night I went to play basketball with Daniel, and when I was leaving two people tried to attack me in the parking lot." This draws my mother's attention. "I guess they wanted to take my wallet or my car. Well, she appeared out of nowhere and she thwarted the whole thing, she intercepted a hit that would have crippled me at best. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The tramps fled the scene at once and I found myself with her bleeding and almost unconscious". The rush of fear, impossible, unbearable fear that ran through my body still fills my stomach with lead. "Maybe it was the adrenaline but it was then that I realized how important she was to me. It was like everything fell into place".
My mother pours a cup of tea for herself and offers me another one. I take it.
-"I thought it over and went to her home the following day. I thanked her for interfering and asked her out, to which she said no", I look right into my mother's green eyes. "Quite emphatically".
My mother raises her eyebrows for a moment and then frowns.
-"And then?", somehow she knows there's more to it. Actually the worst of it.
-"Her mother was very ill and died shortly after. And right after the burial I learned that she was involved in a police investigation for links with drug and prostitution rings. I, uh", how does one say this?, "I knew a friend of Daniel's was the detective assigned to the case and I politely requested him to..." I shake my head, "to leave her alone. The case was huge and there were many suspects, and she was marginally involved. Not a prime suspect or anything, but still somehow entangled".
-"The Mickey Mouse mafia?" she asks. I guess she read about it on the newspapers, it received ample coverage.
-"Right", I reply.
-"They also questioned me", and to my look of disbelief she elaborates. "Maureen's son - Maureen is my hairdresser, he was found guilty of distributing drugs. He also distributed shampoo, so when they followed him to a delivery here they asked me. It was right, I suppose," she concludes.
Had I known my mother was in the list of suspects in the investigation I would have roughed up MacGregor a little harder.
-"And...?" now my mother is obviously prodding me.
-"Well..." this is where I'm not shown in my best light. "I doubted. What if she was... ah, well, into those things? So," I swallow, "I wasn't particularly nice to her in the following months".
I peer into my cup, now empty, probably looking for answers. "I don't know for a fact that she was or wasn't, though it's none of my business. I made up my mind to apologize," I look up and out the window, "for being so rude, but I only saw her once again."
My mother is expectant.
-"Her father, who was my teacher for my exam, died suddenly of a heart attack. The last time I saw her was at his funeral. She left Milton a few days later and haven't heard from her since."
-"Why don't you call her?" she asks matter of fact.
-"I don't have her phone number or address. Not even her e-mail", I pause. "Besides, what would I say? 'Hey, sorry about your old man dying and for me thinking you were a hooker or a junkie. How is it going?'" I say with affected cheerfulness.
My mother picks up on a previous bit of information.
-"She was your teacher's daughter?" her eyes gleam. "Didn't she go to the annual party?" my mother lets out a chuckle when I nod, and goes on. "That gorgeous girl in blue, wasn't she? I saw you greeting her, you kissed her cheek and then you had a goofy smile on your face for hours" she shakes her head, laughing at me. "She made quite an impression there, I had so many people asking me about who she was that I snapped to a few."
My mother seems thoughtful for a moment, perhaps pondering what else to say. Obviously she finds where to pounce the hardest.
-"And you say you needed a mugging attack to figure out your feelings? Oh my, you're worse than your father! He asked me to marry him only after I had my appendix removed in emergency surgery."
My mother laughs and I smile back but I feel crushed. She stops at once.
-"So you say that when you approached her, her mother was dying and she herself was hurt, probably in pain, right?" I nod back. "And that you hadn't considered doing it before... Have you ever thought she might have been surprised rather than, let's say, ungraciously disposed?"
-"Yes, mother, I can imagine she was surprised," I rebut, "but I thought that regardless the circumstances she would say simply yes or no". I grab a biscuit and munch it.
-"Did you ask her out again?" I wouldn't have guessed my mother would be so incisive.
-"No, mother, I didn't" I reply bitterly. "To me yes means yes and no means no. Besides there's the little fact that I wasn't particularly friendly with her after that".
-"My darling John, here's a piece of rare unsolicited motherly advice" she begins and I have to raise my eyes because motherly advice is quite rare indeed. "Get over yourself. If you have any other chance to apologize, no matter how slim or what you think it will come out of it, simply do it. Just don't be an ass."
-"I love you too, mum" I reply dejectedly.
-"I know you do", she says smiling.
I'm ready to leave now. "Is there any other appliance you've sabotaged to ask indiscreet questions?" I grumble before I fetch my jacket.
She glances sideways left and right. "The telephone", she says. "It doesn't ring often".
She winks and walks me to the front door, wishes me luck and shuts and locks it as soon as I step out.