Finders Keepers

by Karin Kallmaker

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  above. Lots of exercise and those Take It Off meal packs. Right now the fewer choices and thought I have to give to the whole thing, the better. I’m weary of obsessing about every bit of activity and ounce of food.”

  “The last time we had dinner you said you were exercising more.” Her mother’s glance was evaluative but not overly judgmental. “You seem . . . a little thinner around your jaw. Are you pleased?”

  “It’s taking forever to get real results. I’m following every rule, every suggestion. Well, I’m supposed to pull out this Take It Off guide to ordering food when dining out but I have basic common sense. I know the grilled trout and steamed veggies will be just what I need. And more delicious than another frozen dinner, that’s for sure.”

  “I’ll have the same.” Her mother set down the daily printed menu. “As a show of solidarity. My cholesterol is up, too, so it’s best for me.”

  Marissa glanced at her mother in alarm. “Is it serious? The cholesterol thing?”

  “No, not really. I just need, as you say, to use my common sense. I’ve been a bit depressed lately and chocolate doesn’t cure everything.”

  “I wish it did.”

  “Amen,” her mother said emphatically. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way.”

  Surprised at the praise, Marissa could only say, “Thank you.”

  “On the way here I was remembering you in high school. For some reason that horrific fight we had when you went to spend the holidays with your father has been on my mind. I shouldn’t have tried to make you choose.”

  “Oh.” Marissa replayed the most vivid parts of their worst war of words. “I didn’t like that you wanted me to choose. But I shouldn’t have said what I said, about it being your fault he was gay. I knew at the time it was wrong for me to say that.”

  “You were angry and I was being a bitch.” Her mother now 147

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  seemed a little nervous. “The way we parted last time we had dinner made me think about how little we seem to say anymore.

  Looking back, I realize that I was so hurt, so wounded by your father that I couldn’t feel much else. I’m not sure you could understand.”

  For a moment, Marissa thought it was another of her mother’s attempts to claim all of her experiences as unique. “I know what heartbreak is, Mom.” She took a deep breath, accepting that there were worse things to lie about than your name. “But you’re right.

  I’ve never been lied to quite that way.”

  With a sigh, her mother peered into her empty glass. “This is certainly Dutch courage. I’m not even sure I should tell you this but you’re a grown woman and we’re finally being honest.”

  Her mother started to say something else but broke it off to engage their server. “Yes, I think we’re ready.”

  Marissa turned down the waiter’s offer of an appetizer and placed her order before returning her attention to her mother. Her mother asked for the same meal but added a dinner salad. “So what did you want to tell me?”

  “Your father didn’t lie about having been with men before we married. He was honest about that.”

  “Then why—”

  “He lied when he said he didn’t want men anymore. And so I married him. I had to marry him. It’s what one did in those days.

  Even in the liberated Seventies.” Marissa could hardly take in the wry smile in her mother’s eyes. “It was the liberated Seventies that got me in that situation. We were both high and he said he wanted to give a woman a go and I said he’d never go back to men after a night with me. We were stupid and young and it was a lot of fun.”

  Conquering a squeak in her voice, Marissa asked, “How many drinks have you had?”

  “Enough. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not extremely conscious of social position and how important appearances are. I married a gay man so our child would be legitimate. I live in a takes-five-million-just-to-walk-through-the-gate community. I know you think my life is vapid and self-centered.”

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  Part of her numb with disbelief and part of her reluctantly drawn to the ironic humor in her mother’s tone, Marissa said,

  “You’ve summed it up pretty well.”

  Her mother nodded. “I thought so, thank you. You might not like me much but I am your mother. The important thing is that I like myself. I do enjoy my life and what I do. If I have been a bitch to you about yours, it’s because you don’t seem to be able to say the same thing.”

  “I like my work. I truly do.” Marissa found herself reflecting her mother’s wryness. “If you and Dad had gone to Finders Keepers before you married we’d have told you there was little chance of your staying together. His preference for men and your insistence on monogamy were guaranteed points of conflict.”

  “That was the problem. It wasn’t that he was gay, it was that he’d told me he could live without men. I thought he loved me enough. I thought—” Her mother swirled the empty glass. “I really did love him and it all hurt. He lied because I wouldn’t marry him if he told me the truth. He may have even been afraid I wouldn’t let him see the baby. And he loved being a father. You know that, don’t you?”

  Marissa blinked back tears. “Yeah. I know he loved me. I feel it all the time.”

  “But you wonder about me. If I love you.”

  Marissa frowned at the basket of rolls and crackers the waiter set down between them. Two rolls each and several packets of saltines now tempted her. Hell, she really wanted a drink now.

  Several drinks and a hot fudge sundae. “You spent a lot of time telling me I was unattractive. That I wasn’t a real girl. That all I needed was a man to take care of me—I didn’t need dreams and ambitions of my own. Here was my mother, who has endless alphabet soup after her name and a respected reputation as an art appraiser, telling me not to follow in her footsteps. How was I supposed to interpret that?”

  “That maybe I didn’t want you to make my mistakes?”

  “But mother . . . All your advice seemed to be about changing me into you. Clothes and food and college courses—you never 149

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  stopped pushing me toward all the things that you had done. Like if I joined your sorority I’d wear a size eight and have all the social graces instead of being fat and better talking to machines than people.”

  Deep inside, she was still thinking about the idea that her con-ception had been an inebriated oops. Right now a frothy margarita on the rocks alongside baked brie with honey and almonds on fresh sourdough would be really tasty. How many calories did a saltine have, anyway?

  She was losing her mind, this much was clear. Starvation mad-ness, something like that.

  Her mother stared at her for the longest time, even when her salad was delivered. The server, perhaps interpreting their silence as ominous, scurried away more quickly than usual.

  “You know, Mom, I already didn’t like a lot about myself by the time I was a teenager. You made it abundantly clear you didn’t like me either. So I did the one thing I knew where I could excel—I learned programming. I learned reasoning and statistics and logic-based quantification strategies. I liked that part of me. But I always felt a failure because I couldn’t make you happy. I won’t wear pink with white gloves in the summer for church. That’s just not who I am.”

  Finally, her mother shifted in her seat. “Your father always said you and I were oil and water. I thought if I said something enough you’d hear me. I thought if I told you how I became so unhappy you would learn from my mistakes.”

  “I didn’t think you believed you’d ever made any mistakes.”

  Marissa shook her head. “But oil and water, that makes sense.

  Maybe . . . maybe because I’m a blend of both of you.”

  “You are like him in so many ways. And like me, and goodness kn
ows I’m stubborn.”

  Marissa rolled her eyes. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  Her mother sat up straight in her chair. “Just because we’re having this little heart-to-heart doesn’t mean you can be rude.”

  Then she burst out laughing.

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  At some point the evening had turned into an Altman film, Marissa decided. Or Fellini—any minute a juggling dwarf would walk through the room singing the Notre Dame fight song.

  “You’re stubborn and I inherited it from you. Deal with it.”

  “You inherited being gay from your father.”

  “Maybe.” Marissa shrugged. “If you don’t eat your salad right now I’ll eat it for you. And how long did you know I was gay?”

  “Years.” Her mother finally poured some dressing on her greens and took a bite.

  “So what the heck was with the dates every year for the summer ball? The annual fussing about what dress I wore and if my date and I will take a good photo? Geez, I hate all that.”

  “It’s your own fault. Well, partly.” Her mother speared a chunk of feta cheese. “What else was I supposed to do? I asked about your romantic relationships. I hinted broadly that you were free to bring anyone you wanted home. You wouldn’t tell me you were gay. I thought if I pushed men at you that you’d tell me the truth.”

  Dang it, that sort of made sense. It really sucked that her mother might have had reasons for some of the ways she acted. “But you were so totally homophobic about Dad. I thought you’d act just the same way toward me. And when I told you, you did get angry.

  You had that disappointed face you get, which I hate, by the way.

  You said I should have picked a better time and place.”

  “I meant . . . maybe I lost my temper a bit. I’m human. So sue me.” Her mother lifted one shoulder in an expressive gesture that simultaneously dismissed her own flaws and suggested Marissa would do well to dismiss them as well. “What I meant was maybe you could have told me a long time ago. You kept so many secrets about yourself from me, and it did hurt. It felt . . .” She took a quick sip of water. “Goodness. I never thought of this before. It felt like your father’s lies. It hurt and I blamed you and him and myself for not being able to show you that I could be trusted. I had to find out about you and Octavia starting that business from a friend.”

  “Is that why you told me we’d never be a success?”

  “I was angry.” She chewed thoughtfully on a crouton. “I get childish when I’m hurt. I own it and I’m sorry.”

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  Marissa had to swallow hard before she could speak. “I didn’t know you were hurt like that. I thought it was just . . . disappointment in me. That it was always me not meeting your standards.

  From my waistline to my friends to my career.”

  “Do you blame me for some of my reservations about what you were doing with your life? You gave up that good, meaningful job at the women’s clinic for what looked like a pipe dream with Octavia. You work nonstop and never seem to sleep or spend any time on yourself. You never seemed happy to me.”

  Her mother, tears swimming in her eyes, waited until her salad plate was taken away before she finished. “I thought you and Octavia were a couple and you weren’t telling me that either.”

  “We’re not a couple.” Now was not the time to divulge her senseless crush, especially if it was finally waning. It was hard enough not to sob openly into her napkin. “You were successful and brilliant and elegant. I never felt as if you thought I could be any of those things. Don’t you think I’m strong enough to be successful in life?”

  “Oh, ’Rissa . . . I didn’t realize.”

  They both wiped away tears over their trout and steamed veggies. “Lemon juice is gross,” Marissa pronounced, after sniffling.

  “What brought that on?”

  “Diet books are full of lies and I think the biggest is that vegetables with just lemon juice and a bit of pepper are delicious and satisfying.”

  “But lemon juice and pepper are delicious,” her mother protested. “Just what we need.” She signaled the waiter, who was promptly solicitous.

  “My daughter and I require hollandaise sauce. Is there any available?”

  “Of course,” he said. His pace was decorous as usual as he departed on his quest.

  “Mom, I can’t eat hollandaise.”

  “Of course you can. It’s lemon juice and pepper.”

  “With butter and egg yolk.”

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  “And those vegetables will be delicious tossed in one or two teaspoons. How much damage is that to your diet?”

  “I’ve been so careful. I don’t want to mess it up.” Marissa stubbornly ate a piece of unvarnished broccoli. Oh, yummy, she thought. I am so loving the flavor of this. “I am a grown woman.

  And I’m sitting here obsessing about whether I can have a freakin’

  saltine. You’re thin. This is the thing that hurts me that you can’t possibly understand.”

  Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. She felt very vulnerable all of a sudden. Her mother was not behaving in the ways Marissa expected and the difference was deeply unsettling, even if it was for the better. How could she tell her mother, of all people, how frustrated she was that her hard work at the gym and faithful adher-ence to near starvation wasn’t doing much for her waistline? Her mother would only say she wasn’t doing something right.

  She remembered, abruptly, hanging to the side of that cliff and thinking she’d find someone to blame for all the junk food she’d eaten in college. But she had eaten all that food all by herself and not done any exercise. There was no one to blame but herself.

  She’d even known she shouldn’t eat like that but she had anyway.

  “You’re right, I don’t understand, sweetie. One day I noticed you were putting on some pounds and I couldn’t figure out what had changed. You had always been reasonable about food, even as a little girl. You never had much of a sweet tooth.”

  Marissa made herself start on the trout, though she didn’t feel hungry. Her mother did likewise. When a small gravy boat of hollandaise was presented with a flourish, she poured what she hoped was just two teaspoons worth onto her vegetables. It smelled wonderful. There was very little, she decided, that butter didn’t improve. “Okay, this was a good idea. You’re right, in small quantities, butter is a beautiful thing.”

  “I’m sure if you keep up your hard work you’ll be successful.

  And sooner or later I know you’ll find the right person to make you happy.”

  “I don’t want someone who notices me just because I’m thin.”

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  If I lose weight and suddenly Ocky wants to date me, well, that sucks, Marissa decided. I don’t want that, she thought. Yet, I want someone who thinks I look good.

  Hell, self-image was confusing. She didn’t want to be loved just for the way she looked and not just for who she was inside. She wanted someone to love her for the whole package, three-hundred sixty degrees.

  She nearly brought up Linda then caught herself in time.

  Instead she said, half-smiling, “Mom, are you actually urging me to date women? Really? You’re sure it’s okay with you?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

  To Marissa’s utter shock, her mother rose to her feet, then stepped into her chair. With a grin at Marissa, she planted one Mephisto pump next to the bread basket and the other alongside the salt and pepper. Standing on the table, she looked down at Marissa as the dining room fell silent.

  “Marissa, dear, I want you to be happy. If that means you date fifty women, I don’t care. That’s right!” She gestured at the rest of the room. “My daughter, my brilliant analyst entrepreneur daughter, is a lesbian and I am her very proud
mother.”

  Her speech ended, she took the waiter’s hand and he helped her down from the table as if he was assisting a queen from her car-riage.

  Conversations resumed. Anyone who walked into the room now would never believe that only moments before the elegant woman dining with her daughter had been standing on the table.

  Finally, Marissa said, not smiling at all, “That’s not the first time you’ve stood on the table, is it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Marissa, dear. Eat your vegetables.”

  It was like eating dinner with a stranger after that, but not in a bad way. It felt like starting over. After the table incident it wasn’t that hard to believe she’d been conceived during a night of inebriated, giddy passion.

  After a discussion of everything but the Standing on the Table 154

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  Incident, Marissa said, “Thank you for dinner. It’s just what I needed—fresh but reasonable.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. I know that the science has changed in the last twenty years but when I was trying to lose weight after you were born I did realize how easy it was to put two hundred or three hundred extra calories into any meal. Thinking two tablespoons of oil was only one. Salad dressing—I absolutely have to have it or I get hungry right away. But it’s so easy to think you’re only having half of what you actually poured. And I know the first time I saw how little four ounces of steak was I was shocked.”

  Marissa nodded vigorously. “I figured out I don’t miss beef in my diet, that’s for sure, not when I can have twice the fish or chicken and still have eaten half the calories and fat, most of the time.”

  “Goat cheese.”

  “What about it? I love it—just discovered it on vacation.”

  “It’s full of air and water so you can have a great big dollop on nearly anything.”

  Marissa perked up. Finally, some good news. “I’ve been trying to accept that I’m one of those people who has to look at the oils and the cheeses and the dressings all the time. Not just one meal a day. Every meal. Forever. It’s . . . depressing. And I feel a bit stupid for having waited this long to figure it out. Like if I ate a dozen Oreos every day eventually they would stop being fattening.”