“I brought home some wedding cake,” Lizbet said when they were both spent from their efforts. “Do you want a piece?”
“Yeh-ah,” Brooke said, scrambling to a sitting position. “I never say no to cake of any kind.”
They raced each other to the kitchen in their bare feet. Lizbet removed two of the cake slices from the takeout container and placed them on plates while Brooke poured them each a glass of milk. They sat down at the kitchen table opposite each other.
“Remember when we were little and Mom used to bring us home a slice of cake from all the weddings she attended?” Brooke said.
Lizbet smiled. “I remember. She slid the slices under our pillows while we were asleep and asked us the next day if we’d dreamed of our future spouse.”
“Ha. She never imagined my spouse would be a girl.”
Lizbet studied her sister, who was forking big chunks of cake into her mouth. She’d always envied her sister for being able to eat whatever she wanted while remaining so slim. Her super-short haircut accented her dainty features, but the overall appearance was one of a confident young woman. Her sister was clearly not struggling with her identity.
“Tell me something, Brooke.” Lizbet set down her fork and wiped off her milk mustache. “You seem so sure of yourself, so put together. Why were you so afraid to tell Mom you’re gay?”
Brooke’s mouth dropped open, and cake crumbs fell onto the table. “Seriously? You have to ask me that, knowing what a bigot she is?”
“I’m not sure I would necessarily call her a bigot.” When Brooke stared at her like she’d sprouted a horn from her forehead, Lizbet laughed out loud. “Okay, fine. She is a bigot. But still, your relationship with Sawyer is obviously rock solid. And you’ve known for years you’re gay. Why not just come out and tell her?”
“Well . . .” Brooke sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “When Sawyer and I decided to move to Charleston, I knew the time had come to tell Mom. I planned to break the news during our weekend at the beach, but we were enjoying ourselves so much, I didn’t want to spoil it. I wanted to savor the last moments together before she turned on me.” Brooke pointed her finger at Lizbet. “And that’s exactly what happened when she found out. She’s lost all respect for me. When she looks at me, it’s like she’s looking right through me, like I’m not even here. Now that I know she’s dying, I’m sorry I even told her. I’ve made everything so much worse for her. For all of us.”
“There was never going to be an easy time.” Lizbet debated whether to ask her sister the one question she really wanted an answer for. Why not? Her sister appeared to have nothing to hide. “You’ve been with Sawyer for a while now. How did she not know that you hadn’t come out to your family yet? She seemed to take it pretty well.”
“Sawyer doesn’t show her anger, and she doesn’t hold grudges.” Brooke smiled, a dreamy look on her face. “I’ve met Sawyer’s parents many times. They’ve flown out to California to see her, and we’ve been to Atlanta to visit them. Last year, they even took us on an Alaskan cruise. Her parents have accepted our relationship. I knew Sawyer wouldn’t come to Charleston if she thought my parents wouldn’t approve of me being gay. And I really wanted her here. I really wanted her to meet you, Lizzy. I wasn’t the greatest sister to you growing up, and I’m sorry for that. But I’d like to try and make it up to you. I want us to have a relationship.”
Lizbet dragged her finger through the icing on her plate and licked it. “I want that, too. If it’s any consolation to you, I really like Sawyer. I don’t think I would relate to her as much if she were a boy.”
“That’s definitely one way of looking at it.” Brooke got up from the table and took their plates to the sink. She turned around and leaned against the counter. “That means a lot to me. More than you know. I can’t tell you how much it hurts to think Mom might die while she’s still mad at me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Lizbet said with more confidence than she felt. “She’ll come around eventually. I’m sure she appreciates everything you’re doing around here to help.” Lizbet swept her hand at the spotless kitchen. “This house has never been so clean. And the garden looks wonderful.”
“Being here is helping me more than it’s helping her. I don’t expect her to notice. She’s too sick.”
“Is she really that bad off?” Lizbet asked.
Her sister’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “It’s scary how much difference a few days have made. She’s so weak she can barely make it up and down the stairs. And scrambled eggs are the only thing I can get her to eat.” Brooke shifted her gaze toward the ceiling. “You should go up and see her.”
Lizbet followed Brooke’s gaze. “Maybe I’ll take her a slice of cake.”
“I bet she’d like that.”
Lizbet took the plate and left the kitchen. She trudged up the stairs, her family’s sorrow weighing heavily on her mind. Somehow, she needed to find a way to heal her family. In order to do that, she needed to reach her mother—help her mother see what a wonderful person Brooke had become and how happy she and Sawyer were together. Like any couple, they would have their challenges, but they loved each other enough to work through them.
She entered her mother’s room, noticing it was dark and filled with a funky odor that smelled like rotting fruit. She’d never known her mother to draw her bedroom drapes during the day, aside from that week in late September when Brooke first left for college and her mother, with an aching heart, retreated to her room.
Lizbet set the plate on the nightstand, lifted back the covers on her father’s side of the bed, and crawled in facing her mother. For a long time, she watched the rise and fall of Lula’s chest as she slept. It was some time before she finally stirred.
Lula opened her eyes and then closed them again when she saw her daughter beside her.
“How’re you feeling?” Lizbet asked.
“I’m dying from brain cancer,” Lula said with her eyes still closed. “How do you think I feel?”
“I don’t pretend to understand how you’re feeling, Mom—your pain or your fear. But I wish you’d understand this is happening to all of us, not just to you. We love you. We don’t want you to die. Will you please consider going for treatment?”
“There’s no point, Lizbet.” Lula opened her eyes and rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “The treatments will only make me feel sicker than I already do.”
She pulled the covers up over her mother’s chest. “You won’t know for sure until you try.”
“I don’t have the energy to try. There’s no point in dragging this out. The sooner this is over, the better off you all will be. Now be a good girl and leave Mama alone to rest.”
Lizbet sat up in bed, but she wasn’t ready to go. “I’ll go, but first I have a few things I need to say.” She took a deep breath. “I know you’re upset about Brooke, but can’t you at least try to be happy for her? She’s lucky to have found someone special to share her life.”
She felt her mother flinch beside her beneath the covers. “Lizbet, please. I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. I’ll be dead soon, and you can live your lives however you see fit. You won’t need my approval.”
“Brooke didn’t become gay to upset you, Mom. That’s just who she is. You should be proud of her. Just look at all she has going for her. She’s smart. She has a great job. She’s independent. She doesn’t do drugs. She’s caring,” Lizbet said as she ticked off each point with her fingers. “I respect her for so many things, including her choice in partners. Sawyer is a good person. You’d like her, too, if you’d give her a chance. Look at it as though you’re gaining another daughter.”
“I’m dying, Lizbet. I don’t have time to get to know her better.”
“If you won’t do it for Brooke, will you do it for me? I’m excited to be getting my sister back. I’ve missed her all those years she lived out in California. You can’t deny that you have, too.”
Lu
la struggled to sit up. “Lizbet, I’m warning you, you are trying my patience. I have a massive headache as a result of the cancer growing inside my brain. Brooke has made her choices, but that doesn’t mean I have to accept them. Even for you.”
“Why am I not surprised? You’ve never done anything for me.” Lizbet jumped to her feet. She managed to steady her voice despite the tears burning her throat. “I’ve tried to be a good daughter. I stayed in Charleston for you when Brooke went off to California and you begged me never to leave you. I saw how much you missed her, and I tried to fill her shoes. For seven years I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve come running every time you needed help planning a party or taking out the trash. I was the one you called when you needed your computer fixed. But it was never enough. I was never good enough. Brooke was always your favorite.”
“Shut up!” Lula screamed at the top of her lungs and then slumped back against the headboard, her hands pressed against her ears. “I’m begging you, leave me be, and let me die in peace.”
Lizbet stared, mouth agape, at her mother. Lula had never screamed at her before or told her to shut up. She’d asked for it. She’d provoked her mother on purpose to show her how unreasonable she was behaving about Brooke. But her agenda no longer included her sister. The fury brewing inside Lizbet stemmed from years of feeling pent-up anger, frustration, and hurt toward her mother.
“Fine, I’ll go if you don’t want me here.” Lizbet marched across the room to the door and then stopped in the doorway and turned back around. “Why would I want to spend time with you anyway? You’re selfish and mean and spoiled. You pout and throw temper tantrums when something doesn’t go your way.” The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them, and there was no taking them back. It wasn’t fair to blame a dying woman for everything she’d done wrong as a parent. Mothers made mistakes. They were humans, too. Even though the world held mothers to a higher standard than fathers. Mothers were meant to be perfect. And their children blamed them for everything wrong in their lives when they weren’t. Just as Lizbet had done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Lula
Lula drew the covers up to her chin as she listened to the sounds of Lizbet’s feet pounding the steps followed by raised voices in the kitchen. A minute later she heard the screech of her daughter’s tires pulling away from the curb out front.
No matter how hard they tried to convince her, she would never approve of Brooke’s relationship with Sawyer. Lula refused to be bullied into accepting something that compromised her principles.
Mean and selfish? Humph. She’d always tried to do right by her girls. She may have shown favoritism toward Brooke when they were little, but didn’t all mothers have a special bond with their oldest child? She’d certainly never meant to hurt Lizbet. Her youngest daughter was precious to her. She understood now why Brooke had chosen Stanford for college. She’d wanted to get away from Lula so she could live in sin. Lizbet claimed to have stayed in Charleston for Lula’s sake, but she was mistaken. Lula knew her daughter better than she knew herself. Lizbet had stayed because Charleston was her home. She was every bit the homebody Lula was.
What was so mean and selfish about wanting to be left alone to die? In her mind she was sparing her family the pain of having to watch her rot away. What a pity she couldn’t choose where and when she died. Her eyes drifted to the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. Or maybe she could. She was just so scared about dying, about what waited for her on the other side. Having Brooke living in her house served as a constant reminder of her failure as a parent. Having Brooke waiting on her hand and foot made her feel like an invalid. Brooke had taken over the chores of her house and her garden as though she were already dead. As if she could handle the responsibilities of her home better than Lula. Why didn’t they just dump her in a nursing home to live out her last remaining days?
Lula reached for a sleeping pill and popped it into her mouth, gulping it down with saliva. Sleeping away the afternoon seemed like a pleasant alternative to coping with the living hell her life had become. She slipped into a peaceful sleep void of pain and bad dreams about her daughters. When she woke again, the day was gone, and evening was upon them. She dragged her tongue over her parched lips. Her appetite had been MIA the past few days, but suddenly she craved a tall glass of sweet tea, poured over ice with a sliver of lemon and a sprig of mint. Her eyes focused on the silver handbell on the nightstand. Brooke had dug it out of a box of Christmas decorations. “When you need anything at all, you just ring this bell, and I’ll come running.”
Ring the bell, hell. Maybe if she showed her family she could take care of herself, they would leave her alone. She tumbled out of bed, slipped on her housecoat, and shuffled down the hall. She stared at the flight of stairs, the first leg of the journey that would take her to that icy, lemony glass of sweet tea. She’d never carpeted the steps because she admired the honey-colored oak treads—the same hardwood that would break her neck if she fell. Gripping the railing, she eased her body down to the top step and then slid on her fanny step by step until she reached the bottom. She hauled herself up, brushed herself off, and plodded toward the back of the house, where she discovered Brooke and Midge speaking in hushed voices with their heads pressed close together at the kitchen table. They stopped speaking when she entered the room.
“If you’re planning my eulogy, don’t bother. I want a private burial, with family only, at Magnolia Cemetery.”
“Nobody’s planning your funeral, Mom.” Brooke hopped up and offered Lula her chair. “Come sit down. Midge stopped by for a visit. She brought us a shrimp and orzo salad with feta cheese, dill, and a lemony dressing for dinner. It smells really good.”
More than anything, Lula wanted to keep on walking out the back door to her garden where she could see Phillip working. She longed to see her beautiful flowers and feel the fresh air, no matter how humid, against her skin. But she was too wiped out from the trip to the kitchen to pass up the chance to sit. She avoided Midge’s gaze as she situated herself in the chair. Her family’s pity was enough to deal with without having her friends feeling sorry for her as well.
Brooke took a seat in Phillip’s chair beside her. “Did you have a nice nap?”
“I’ve been asleep since ten o’clock this morning, Brooke. I’d hardly call that a nap.” She patted her daughter’s hand. “Be a good girl and fix me a glass of tea.”
Brooke went to the refrigerator and removed a pitcher of tea. “Would you like some, Midge?”
Midge shook her head. “I can’t stay but a minute. Bennett is waiting for me at home.” She turned her attention to Lula. “I’m so sorry, Lula, about everything you’re going through. It’s the worst rotten luck. I don’t really know what to say.”
“Then do us both a favor, and don’t say anything at all,” Lula snapped.
Midge flinched but recovered quickly. “Now, Lula, you know what a hard time I have keeping my big mouth shut. I have great news, by the way. Georgia has rearranged her work schedule so we can meet on Tuesday for tea just like old times. It’s been so long, and we’ve all missed one another. We have a lot to catch up on.”
Lula looked Midge in the eyes and said, “I’m busy that day,” even though she had nothing on her calendar except sleeping. Who did Midge and Georgia think they were kidding? They wanted one last powwow before she croaked so they could attend her funeral with a clean conscience.
Brooke set a tall glass of tea with lemon and mint—the way her mother liked it—in front of Lula. “Not according to your calendar.” She pointed beneath the phone on the wall toward the monthly At-A-Glance calendar where Lula logged all her appointments. “It’ll do you good to visit with your friends.”
“In that case I’ll go. If I’m still alive,” Lula said and took a sip of her tea.
Midge slid a slip of notepaper across the table to her. “A client of mine is a retired RN. She works part-time for people with needs similar to yours. I’ve spoken to
her, and she’s willing to help you out if you decide to hire someone.”
Lula glanced down at the slip of paper and back up at Midge. “Thanks, but I don’t plan to live long enough to hire a nurse.”
“Mom! You are being so rude!” Brooke glared at her. “Midge cares about you. She’s only trying to help.”
Lula picked up the slip of paper and read the name out loud. “Gladys Guzman. What kind of name is that? Never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t really want to know.” She held the note out to Midge. “Thank you for thinking of me. But Brooke and I are managing fine for now.” She spread her arms wide. “She’s a regular little Suzy Homemaker. Look around you. Everything is in tip-top shape, better than when I was in charge.” She knew she was being mean, but she couldn’t control herself. The only thing she cared about was going upstairs to her bed and falling into a drug-induced sleep.
“Aargh! You’re impossible!” Brooke snatched her phone up off the table. “I’m going for a walk.” She crossed the room in three strides and slammed the door behind her.
Lula peered over her glass at Midge. “I trust you can see yourself out. I don’t have the energy to walk you to the door.”
Midge folded her hands on the table in front of her. “I’m not going anywhere just yet. Not until I’ve had my say.”
First Lizbet, now Midge. Why did everyone need to unburden themselves today? Lula felt the beginning of a headache that promised to be a humdinger. She wished Midge would stop yakking and go home. “Please, Midge. Spare a dying woman the lecture.”
Midge stared her down. “I’ve known you for a long time, Lula Horne. You’ve stuck with me through a lot. You supported me in my efforts to conceive a child, and you helped me through the lonely years after my divorce. You are the strongest person I know. Not always the nicest. Nice isn’t always warranted. But showing compassion for your family and friends is.” She reached across the table and grabbed hold of Lula’s hand, squeezing it tight. “I’m gonna talk tough love to you, because you need to hear it. The way you are behaving is downright shameful. You are scared. The girls are scared. Phillip is scared. This is a time to embrace your family, not push them away. What if you had a seizure right now and dropped dead on the kitchen floor? Do you want what just happened at this table to be Brooke’s last memory of you?”
Sweet Tea Tuesdays Page 19
