by Ally Sky
“Please, don’t worry. I’m a big girl,” I try to reassure him. “Now I’d love to go and put my stuff in my room.”
“Okay. Are you joining us for lunch?” He gives me one last, grave look.
I’m tired—from a sleepless night, writhing in bed ardently with Ben, noisy and sweaty. But I have to make an effort. I must put on a perfect act.
“Sure, I’ll just throw my stuff in my room.” I mask my exhaustion. All I want to do right now is crawl into bed, close my eyes, and dream about the tiny caravan and Ben’s hands caressing me until I fall asleep. But that’ll have to wait. And so will I. Until we meet again.
My days are all the same. I get up in the morning, drink my coffee, and have a cigarette on the patio.
July brings welcome heat, and I’m finally able to enjoy the weather. I love the caressing sun and my trips to the park with my laptop and blog. The numbers have gone completely crazy. They’re growing at an unreasonable pace. I’ve already sent an angry email to whoever is responsible for the issue, requesting they fix it.
I carry on sneaking into Ben’s large, soft bed. He already recognizes my two eager knocks on his door.
It doesn’t change anything. He’s been imparting the same mantra for the past month, and his words are clear and decisive. However, his actions are confusing and ambiguous. He still gets angry when I don’t eat enough and he’s not happy when I don’t get enough sleep or when I drink too much. And I really am drinking more than I usually do, more than I should. My evening cup of coffee has been replaced by a glass of wine, and then another. My head and body are having endless celebrations.
I paint in the basement, listen to loud music, and spread paint on my hands and on the white canvas. I pour all my confusion, passion, and frustration into a place where no one can ask me questions I don’t know how to answer.
Danny, of course, has no idea. He thinks it’s Tom who holds me at night and he keeps insisting that I bring him to supper. I make up tons of excuses as to why it
never works out.
I still haven’t gotten used to Ben’s presence in Danny and John’s house. I still get excited, like a sixteen-year-old in love, each time he comes for supper. As he sits across the table from me, staring into his plate, I restrain myself in order not to divulge any revealing details. I steal quick looks his way and am still amazed each time he lets me sleep over.
Sarah is the perfect boss. She’s pleased with the work I’m doing, and I wonder if it’s my endless energy that makes my visits to the galleries across the city so easy and such fun. And Ben is happy that Sarah is pleased and constantly tells me so.
My demons have emerged from their locked space and they’re naughtier than ever.
The sun is setting behind the red, shingle rooftops of the neighbors’ houses in the small, southern community. Until three days ago, this was my Mom and Dad’s house. Now it’s just my mother’s.
My head is resting on the rough patio wall as I sit on the floor with my laptop and type, amid my tears.
I look at the last rays disappearing on the horizon, leaving behind the red, familiar light of twilight.
From inside the house I can hear visitors paying condolences. Danny is sitting with Mom on the large sofa, listening to stories about Dad, which everyone loves to tell now that he’s gone. I prefer to detach myself from their stories and pour my pain into my blog, allowing my words to be my safe haven, away from the crowd of people filling up my house.
My beloved father. Everybody wants to come and share our bereavement. But I’m repressing the sorrow. I would rather joke around and be funny, and even cynical. It hurts less this way. The pill I took is fogging my thoughts, hiding sweet childhood memories and teenage fights. My dad and I, we had a stormy relationship filled with love, anger, and endless arguments. He just wanted what was best for me. And now he’s gone, never to return, and I feel as though I disappointed him. All he saw was chaos. The thought is horrendous and sends poisonous arrows through me. I sit on the cold floor of the patio, listening to the quiet and allowing my thoughts to soar.
Danny has hardly said a word since he arrived home. He just sent a quiet hello in my direction and went straight to his bedroom, leaving me in the kitchen in the middle of preparing supper. John, in his usual quiet way, joined him in their room.
Now the three of us are sitting around the table, eating a light meal of omelets, toast, and salad in almost total silence. It’s Tuesday. This isn’t going to be an easy week. Not at all.
“Did you call Mom?” Danny’s voice is the first to break the silence, and I squirm in my seat.
“No,” I answer in a faint voice. I didn’t call her.
“Talia.” He sounds disappointed
“Please, don’t start with me,” I say, while playing with a piece of omelet with my fork.
“Have you spoken to her at all since arriving here?”
“No.” I’m not pleased with the direction the conversation is taking.
“Talia! You haven’t called her?” He doesn’t hide his anger.
I haven’t called her. I don’t want to exchange even one word with her. I’m not interested in hearing what she has to say or answering her nosy questions.
“I assumed you’d talked to her and updated her.” I’m frustrated by Danny’s scolding.
“What does that have to do with anything? You know what day it is tomorrow. You need to call her!” He raises his voice.
I know what day it is tomorrow—the anniversary of my father’s death. It’s the first time we won’t be at home and my mother will be alone, with no audience to applaud her wonderful acts.
“I know very well,” I answer firmly. “But I’m not calling her. I can’t deal with her, especially not now.”
“Well, you’d better find a way to deal with her because she’s coming for the weekend.” Danny drops a bombshell and my jaw falls open.
“She’s what?” I stare at him stunned. She’s coming here?
“Talia, she’s all alone at home. She misses Dad and she misses us, so I invited her to come for a few days. Stop thinking only about yourself,” he retorts.
“I can’t believe you invited her! You know I want to stay away from her, especially this week.” I’m enraged. What did I run all the way to London for if she’s just going to show up here?
“Don’t be selfish.”
“Selfish?” I’m appalled. “What am I supposed to do?”
“What am I supposed to do? Let her stay alone at home, especially on the anniversary?” he asks in anger.
This is the first time this week he has mentioned those words— the anniversary of Dad’s death. We’ve all been walking around on eggshells for the past couple of days, pretending we’re fine. But we’re not fine. And now my mother is coming to London, and it’s going to be a big mess.
“Fuck…”
“Watch your mouth,” he snaps at me and I shut up. Danny doesn’t like me using those kinds of words. He prefers that I be more refined.
“Whatever. I’m going down to the basement,” I hiss angrily and get up from my chair in a display of unhappiness, leaving Danny and John sitting at the table. I open the basement door in anger.
Ugh!
I collapse on the small sofa. Music is playing loudly and I know very well they can hear it upstairs and that no one will come down to tell me to lower it. I’m filled with rage. My mother’s coming for the weekend! Right now, I can’t think of anything worse.
Half an hour later I see a crack of light at the top of the stairs. Someone’s coming down. The music is loud so I can’t hear the footsteps. As I stare at the bottom step, and watch John walk into the basement, I use the remote control to lower the music. I assume he wants to talk.
“Talia.” His voice is calm and soothing. I sit up and make room for him on the sofa. He sits down and looks at me sympathetically.
“Don’t try and persuade me that it’s a good idea because it isn’t.” I’m still hurting.
“That
’s not why I came,” he answers in his characteristic quiet way. “Sweetheart, you need to understand Danny.”
“I don’t need to understand anything. It was really shitty of him to invite her.” I allow myself to use words Danny doesn’t like hearing. I know John doesn’t care about such nonsense.
“What do you want him to do? He’s stuck in the middle, between the two of you. Your mother is at home, miserable and missing you both. You’re here, and all you want is to avoid her.”
“You meant she misses Danny,” I blurt out.
“Talia, you know that isn’t true. You may not get along, but your mother misses you.”
“Don’t get along is an understatement.”
“It doesn’t matter right now. She’s coming for the weekend and we will all have to make an effort to get through the days. It’s very important for Danny and I’m asking you to try.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but his tone is serious, even tough. I’m not used to him using such a tone, and I look at him uneasily.
“Okay, she can have my room. I’ll sleep in the basement.” I relent a bit. In any case I’ll be spending most of my time down here in order to avoid her.
“Okay. Please don’t worry. It’s only for a few days.” He sounds relieved. He leans toward me and kisses my hair like Danny does, before getting up from the sofa. “Don’t stay up late.”
He goes up the stairs, leaving me on the sofa, still feeling irritated.
My mom is coming to London. Shit!
Danny’s yelling was to no avail. I steadfastly held my position and refused to go with him to the airport to pick up my mother. John just stared at me, begging me to give in, but I refused. I don’t want to make any conciliatory gestures toward that woman. It’s Thursday afternoon, and I’m sitting on the small sofa in the basement on aware that in just a few minutes the door will open, my mother will come down the stairs, and the mess will begin.
Thursday
July 5th 2012
That Woman
She had to follow me all the way here. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to get away, her nails will catch up with me eventually, and she’ll get a hold on my life. I have no idea what to expect. The woman is exhausting; she could teach drama at the best acting schools. I’m trying to muster all my strength for the stormy weekend approaching. I hope that my fears won’t become true.
My life is here, with my paintings in the basement, my job with the coolest galleries in London, and my man. I need him now, more than ever. I don’t even know if he’s in London or going up north. There are so many things I’m unsure of, except my longing for him. I want to hide in his inviting bed, between his sheets, allowing him to help me forget everything—my mother, my father, and this predictable weekend. I need him, but he can’t know that. I can’t afford to chase him away, not now, not today. Not when that woman is on her way here, to rock my world.
I hear the door opening and familiar high-heeled steps. I’m cringing inside.
Then I hear the familiar voice, caressing, flattering, and hiding a great fatigue between the words.
“Talia, sweetheart.” Her hands are stretched out to me, asking for a hug.
She’s here, in the basement, in my world. I look at her with emotional exhaustion.
I don’t want her to touch me. Her embrace isn’t genuine and her smile is fake. I can see it so clearly.
“Mom,” I manage to say. “Welcome.”
“Darling, Danny told me you cleared out your room for me. You shouldn’t have.” Her words roll from her mouth in infuriating sweetness.
Where did she think I’d sleep? With her?
“It’s really no bother. I’m down here most of the time anyway,” I answer, forcing a smile, which impresses even me. I don’t know if she’s buying it, but it’s the best I can do.
“Are you painting?” She looks around, examining the paintings that are on the floor resting against the walls. She knows that I paint, but she’s never seen any of my paintings.
“Yes,” I answer, wondering what she’ll have to say about them.
“They’re…interesting.” She smiles at me slightly.
Interesting? That’s the best she can do?
“Danny’s making coffee. Come join us in the kitchen.” Her brown eyes look at me uncertainly. She doesn’t know what to expect from me.
“Okay,” I agree, knowing very well that if I don’t go, Danny will be furious. I get up from the sofa and straighten my top.
“You’ve gained a little weight.” She smiles at me and I feel as though I’ve been slapped.
What? Is she serious? Even if that’s true, she knows that’s the last thing I would want to hear. I can’t believe she said that.
“Whatever.” I’m livid. That was a really crappy thing to say. I walk past her without looking at her, go up the stairs in silence, and listen to her high heels behind me. The weekend has begun.
My coffee is hot and strong, and it’s exactly what I need. Danny knows me well enough to know when weak coffee just won’t do the job.
I’m sitting next to John on the living-room sofa. Danny and my mom are on the sofa to my right. I take another sip. I have nothing to say to her. Her life doesn’t interest me and I don’t care how she’s been getting on since I left. She’s probably doing just fine. No need for her to be living in constant concern about what the neighbors will say about her daughter.
“Thank you for inviting me to come.” She pats Danny’s hand and he smiles at her. I know his relationship with her is different. He’s the successful son. He never had to put up with what I do.
“You know you’re always invited,” he says, and I’m not sure whether or not to believe him. He gets along with her, but now that I’m living here, it would be best if her visits weren’t that frequent.
“Thanks, darling. How’s your work?” She runs a hand through her mane of brown curls, which are amazingly tidy, and stares at him with big, brown eyes.
My mother is a good-looking and well-groomed woman. I know I’ve inherited my hair and eyes from her. Her nails are always painted with some kind of red nail polish, which attracts attention, and she always wears high heels. I flinch when I remember how angry she used to be with me when I would come out of her room wearing her heels and makeup, as happy as any five-year-old girl could be.
Put them back immediately! How many times do I have to tell you? Those things are expensive, and I forbid you to play with them.
“We’re swamped with projects, so we’re all working hard.” Danny’s voice brings me back to the conversation in the living room. They really are swamped at work. Danny comes home late at night and, although John won’t stop complaining about it, he manages to be unbelievably understanding about the situation. I chat with my man on Facebook while he works late into the night at the office, and I see him less than I’d like to.
“Talia is doing a wonderful job.” Danny gives me an encouraging nod and I give him a slight smile in return.
“How’s it actually going, darling?” She turns to look at me over the cup of coffee she’s holding with her long fingers. I try hard to smile.
“It’s going well, I think,” I answer politely.
“What exactly do you do?”
“I work with Sarah, the manager of Interior Design. I visit galleries and exhibitions in the city, making sure that if there’s something interesting happening, we’ll get the first phone call,” I explain.
“And do you like it?” She looks at me, showing interest.
“What’s not to like?” I frown. “I get to dress up, smile at people, be nice and charming, and my boss says I’m doing a good job.”
Plus my boss is the most amazing man in the world. He kisses me, tells me how beautiful I am, and drowns himself in me in his large bed…
“It sounds nice,” my mother answers, trying to smile. I have a feeling she’ll have a thing or two to say about my job.
“Nira, we thought we’d go out to eat supper somewhere,” John suggests, changin
g the subject. He’s probably heard enough about work for the evening.
“John, darling, that sounds great, but I’m really tired. I haven’t slept a wink since yesterday. I was so excited.” She smiles at John.
“We can order something in,” Danny suggests.
“That sounds like a good idea.” My mother turns to Danny and pats his hand again.
“Okay. Chinese?” He looks at John, who shrugs, and then turns to me.
“Sure,” I agree. My mother said I’d gained some weight. But if I don’t want to start World War Three, I’d better eat something this evening. I don’t plan on giving her ammunition.
Danny gets up from the sofa and orders food over the phone. We stay in the living room and I listen to my mother telling John something about her office, which doesn’t really interest me. I lean back and relax, counting the minutes until the evening will end and I can retreat to my basement.
“Danny, that was wonderful.” My mother smiles tiredly at Danny. I clear away the dishes, happy, for a change, to wash up, to do something that distances me from her. During the entire meal she spoke repeatedly about her work at an architectural firm, not sparing us the details of the many compliments she’s received, as well as telling us how successful and appreciated she is. I could only think how lucky Danny is, having inherited her talent for architecture. On the other hand, it’s clear to me I inherited her talent for drama, plus her mane of curls.
“Nira, would you like a glass of wine?” John asks my mother, as he makes his way to the fridge.
“No thanks, John,” she carries on in her musical voice, which I’m not buying. “I think I’ll turn in now.”
“Already? It’s still early.” Danny sounds surprised.
Ugh, why is he insisting? Let her go.
“I know, but I really didn’t sleep well last night. I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yes. I thought the three of us could go out, you, Talia, and me,” he replies, and my jaw falls open.
What is he thinking?
