by Lisa Patton
That crawled all over me. “Mother. I am fifty-eight years old, five foot eight, and I weigh … well I weigh less than I did a year ago. I hardly think ordering sweet tea is the end of the world.”
“Do you still wear the same size you wore last year?”
I give her a small shrug. “In some things.”
“That”—she squints one eye, pops up her pointer finger, and adds a loud clucking noise inside her cheek—“is the end of Haynes’s world.”
Every single cell of my body winces. When we were young, Mary and I would kick each other under the table whenever she did it, all the while knowing what the other was thinking … she makes me siiiick. We call it the ick. “Mama did the ick today,” one of us might say, or “She icked the lady in the checkout line.” It’s without question the most annoying thing in the world. Mama, by the way, is a four. Still. At eighty years old. Her arms are the size of my big toes.
“Did you invite me here to spend the afternoon insulting me?” I ask her. Haynes is forever preaching to not let her bother me. But she always has, always will.
“No, but you have to think of Haynes.”
“What about Haynes? He loves me just the way I am.”
She lightly strokes my forearm. “Honey, men keep their sex drives much longah than we do.” She leans forward. “Is Haynes still having luck … down theyah?”
I lean in toward her, our foreheads nearly touching. “I refuse to talk with my mother about this subject. I’m going to pretend like she never asked me that question.” Settling back in my chair, I take a sip of water. And stare at her.
She purses her lips, then tents her fingers together. “Your fathah died so young. I never knew if his would still work when he got ol—”
“That’s it!” I slap my hand on the table. A piercing screech fills the room as I push back my chair. Standing up, I grab my purse.
The room chatter dies a sudden death and Mother glances around at the onlookers with indignant eyes. “Wilda, please,” she mutters through clenched teeth. “Sit down.”
Slowly I lower myself back in the seat, still clutching my purse. I lean in again. “What in the world makes you think I would ever have any interest in my daddy’s penis? Either change the subject or I’m leaving.”
“Okaaay.” After scanning the restaurant to see who’s still looking, she clutches my hand, which is still resting on top of my purse. With a much kinder expression she says, “How is Ellie? And how’s it going with her roommate? It’s Annie Laurie, right?” Mama picks up my napkin and hands it to me. I’ve been in the restaurant entirely too long not to have placed it in my lap.
I sigh, resigned to my fate, and wrap my purse strap around the back of the chair. “I think they’re doing okay. It seems they’re fairly different, but I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
“I can’t tell you how glad I am they are rooming togethah. The girl is from such a fine family.”
I ignore her comment. Her definition and my definition of fine family differ inexhaustibly. “She’s made a new friend from next door whom she adores. A girl from Blue Mountain, Mississippi. I met her. She’s a lot like Ellie.”
“Where is Blue Mountain? I’ve never heard of that. Actually”—she points a finger in the air—“I have. It seems to me there’s a character from one of Tennessee Williams’s plays from Blue Mountain. But I can’t seem to recall which one.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
Mama lifts her readers from the chain around her neck and places them at the tip of her nose. Then she glances at her menu. “It’s because of the great depth with which I studied Tennessee Williams at Sweetbriah.”
She wants me to acknowledge this, but I don’t. I’ve heard it a thousand times. “Anyway. Ellie wants me to write her an Alpha Delt rec. I guess the girl doesn’t know many alums and needs all the help she can get.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because you don’t know a thing about her.”
“That’s a snobby attitude.”
After pinching off and buttering a small corner of her roll, Mama lays her knife at the top edge of her plate, the proper way to place it. Then she peers at me over the top of her glasses. “It’s not snobby. Why, it’s responsible.”
“You were never in a sorority, Mama. It’s a big deal these days. Especially at Ole Miss. Everyone should have an equal opportunity whether they come from the correct family or not. It should be based on the person, not the parents.”
“For your information, I was in the best Tap Club on the Sweetbriah campus. I’ve told you Sweetbriah didn’t allow sororities. We were too busy horseback riding. It was Vahginia, after all.” She looks away, shakes her head, and tsks. “I always wanted my granddaughtah to ride. It’s a shame she wasn’t allowed. She would have been a champion.”
I glance at my watch. I still have forty-five more minutes of this. “Mama. You know English riding is a very expensive sport.”
She purses her lips, cocks her head to the side. I know exactly what she means by this gesture. I’ve forbidden her to say it out loud, so she’s taken to expressing her words through body language. What she means is: You should have married a man who makes more money. Haynes is an extremely gifted attorney. He heads up a small firm and provides pro bono representation for several of his underprivileged clients. Needless to say, however, he didn’t go into it for the money.
The tempo inside my chest feels like a metronome that’s been set to high speed. I close my eyes and try to figure out a way to escape the madness. No wonder I feel like I don’t measure up.
Once we’ve ordered and the waitress has delivered our food, Mama seems to be preoccupied with inspecting her meal instead of meddling. My heart is just regaining its natural rhythm when she says, “Let’s switch subjects. How is Ellie liking that elegant dorm room I paid foah?”
This is the one place in my life I’ve given my mother license to meddle. I should never have told her about my predicament with Lilith Whitmore. Then she never would have offered to loan me the money. Then I would have been forced to tell Lilith no. I have no one but myself to blame. If only I could have a redo.
“It’s beautiful, Mama. She loves it. Thank you again.” I take my first bite of green beans and am pleased to know they aren’t overcooked.
“The pictures on Facebook are simply stunning. I particularly love the one of Ellie and Annie Laurie with their arms around one anothah.” The day Mama got on Facebook was a dark day in the Woodcock household. “Now that girl’s a beauty.”
I nod. “She is pretty.” The fried chicken is cooked to perfection—dark brown and extra crispy. I practically salivate when I pick up the first piece.
Unlike me, Mama eats to live. So far she hasn’t taken a single bite. “Two pretty girls. Living in what must be the most magnificent room on the floah.”
“Oh, it is. I think Ellie may be a little overwhelmed by it to tell you the truth. It’s nicer than any room in our house.” The absurdity of this makes me giggle out loud.
Mama nods. “I’m sure the Whitmoahs have extraordinary taste.”
I’m in the middle of chewing, so I cover my mouth. “There’s no question about that.”
As I’m nibbling on the chicken leg I can see her staring at me out of the corner of my eye. She slices off a small corner of meatloaf, then changes her mind about eating it and puts down her fork. “Now. Let’s discuss your loan.”
When she offered the loan she insisted there was no hurry to pay it back. I swallow. Put my chicken leg down. “Okay.”
“I’m assuming you’re still keeping this from Haynes?”
My eyes close on cue. Hearing her say it out loud makes it worse.
“I think you should go on and tell him. He won’t mind. He adores Ellie.” Finally she takes her first bite of meatloaf, all the while staring me down as she chews.
“Read my lips. I’m not telling him. He wouldn’t understand.” I lean back in my ch
air. “I’ve decided to get a job and pay you back myself. The only reason I’m waiting is because Lilith has asked me to serve as an Alpha Delt Rush Advisor. Rush doesn’t begin until October ninth, and I’ll have to be in Oxford an entire week.”
She taps her mouth daintily with her napkin. “I think it’s a shame the University has pushed Rush back to the fall. What a terrible inconvenience for the girls. The very idea of having Rush while attending class is ludicrous.”
“Apparently they were losing big money. Girls were dropping out of school when they didn’t get the sorority they wanted—while they still had time to enroll somewhere else.”
“Well, thank God for Lilith Whitmoah. Now that her daughter is Ellie’s roommate I’m sure that will go miles toward ensuring Ellie’s chances at a bid.”
“Ellie doesn’t need Annie Laurie to get a bid!” My pulse is pounding again.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” She presses a hand to her heart. “I simply meant having a girl with an outstanding pedigree for a roommate could only help Ellie.”
There is no point in arguing with or challenging my mother. My prevailing thought—flashing in neon to plague me with regret—is something she taught me long ago, something I had forgotten about until right this minute. The borrower is always slave to the lender.
NINETEEN
WILDA
After lunch, I run to the cleaners for Haynes’s shirts, and to the grocery to pick up fish for dinner. Once I’m back in my car a cursory glance in my rearview mirror confirms what I already know: My hairdo is shot. If I’d been smart, I would have taken my umbrella into the grocery when I saw the dark cloud in the distance, and my hair would still look okay. I try lifting the roots, but give up. It’s no use. I’ll have to fuss with it again before Haynes gets home.
Rifling through my purse, full of receipts and other superfluous junk, I find my cell phone resting at the bottom. As I call Ellie, Haynes’s voice echoes in my mind. “Try not to call her every time you think about her. Let her be independent. No smothering.”
I hang up, and call Cooper instead.
He’s “temporarily” living in North Carolina, managing the Apple store in Raleigh. He knows that I know he’ll never move back to Memphis, but he won’t admit it. Even though I know he’s at work, I call anyway. It goes straight to voice mail.
So I call Jackson.
He’s in Nashville, where he at least admits he’s never leaving, working as a medical supply rep, and picks up on the first ring. I’m in the middle of breathing a deep sigh of relief at having at least one child to talk to, when he says, “Mom, I’ll have to call you back. I’m only halfway though a report I have to turn in tomorrow, and I’m stalled for words.”
“Can I help you with it? I’m good with words. I made an—”
“A in all your English classes at Ole Miss. You’ve told me a thousand times.”
“Jackson.”
“You wouldn’t get this, Mom. I have to have to call you back.” Then he’s gone.
And I’m empty.
For the first time the thought strikes me in a profound way just how empty I really am. I am officially an empty nester and I don’t know what to do with myself. Maybe Lilith asking me to be on the Advisory Board was no coincidence and rather a gift from God. Rush starts in five weeks and it can’t come fast enough. I’ll get to be in Oxford an entire week.
When I get home to my computer, Ellie’s email is in my inbox. As curious as I am to read Cali’s résumé, I check Facebook first. And I can’t help but get distracted by the Nordstrom ad flashing at me from the right side of my home page for the exact pair of boots I had decided, over a week ago, were entirely too much money. As hard as I try to keep my eyes from floating over to them … I can’t. It’s killing me. How in the world am I not supposed to click on it?
Click.
And I’m drooling at that same pair of boots I shouldn’t have looked at in the first place. And I love them. And dammit, I do want them.
Click.
I add the most adorable pair of booties to my cart in a size 8 and buy them before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. Now the thank-you-for-your-order page is staring me in the face. $215.27 after tax.
But I’m getting free shipping. I convince myself they probably won’t look good anyway, and I can use the free return-shipping option and send them right back. But the only way to know for sure is to try them on. Right?
The phone rings and my face lights up when I see: Ellie. I push the talk button. “How’s it going, El?”
“Hey, Mom. Did you send the rec?”
“I’ve got my computer open right now.” I was so busy buying booties I had forgotten why I was on the computer in the first place.
“Okay, please do it now. We’re counting on you.”
“I’ll call you when I hit send.”
“A text is fine.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, I’ll just text you.”
Once I pull up Ellie’s email, and Cali’s rec packet is open, I’m happy to see there’s a great close-up picture of the girl, standing in a cotton patch. She’s adorable—not as pretty as Ellie, in my humble opinion, but just as cute as she can be. The second thing that practically leaps off the page is her GPA, and rightfully so. She has a 4.20. And a 32 on her ACT. My goodness, this girl is brilliant.
As I scroll down the page I learn she was valedictorian of her class at Blue Mountain High School and class president as well. She’s in the National Honor Society, belongs to the Methodist church, has done loads of volunteer work—including several mission trips with her church—and works for the Daisy Chain Gift Shop in Blue Mountain. She’s even an interpreter for the deaf and hard of hearing. On the second page I learn she ran cross-country for four years and plays the piano. What’s not to like? What about this girl is not perfect Alpha Delt material?
She’s listed no Greek affiliations; Ellie warned me about that. Instead of parents, she’s listed her grandparents, Charles and Margaret Watkins, both professors at Blue Mountain College. Bless her heart. I can’t imagine how Ellie or the boys would feel if they lost Haynes and me. My heart is breaking for her, and I don’t even know her.
Filling out the Alpha Delt rec is easy. We used to do this longhand, but having it online is much more convenient. The rec form asks about everything from leadership skills, interests, and talents to academic and service achievements.
There is also a question asking how I know her. I’m tempted to say I’ve known Cali for a long time, to help the girl out, but the more I think about it Lilith’s face pops into my mind’s eye. She knows perfectly well I don’t know Cali Watkins and, considering she will probably add in her two cents, I better not lie.
Finally it asks if the potential new member understands there are financial obligations in joining a sorority, with an option to check yes, no, or unknown.
I text Ellie to find out and within two minutes she texts right back: yes.
The real and more pertinent question is: can we meet the financial obligations? I now owe Mama ten thousand dollars we don’t have. A sorority for Ellie will cost us another five hundred dollars a month—at least. What happens when Ellie wants another sundress or a nice pair of shoes? I just spent her sundress money on my own boots. But, I think, with momentary relief, I have a college degree in journalism. I will get a good job within the month.
Immediately a mental picture of the interview I’ll have springs to mind: Man behind big messy desk at the Commercial Appeal with me sitting across from him, hands folded in my lap, legs crossed at my ankles. “So, Mrs. Woodcock,” he’ll say. “You’re fifty-eight with no experience? No problem. Of course you can have a top job with our newspaper. How’s seventy-five thousand to start? Go on down to Personnel now and sign your paperwork. Congratulations, Mrs. Woodcock! And welcome aboard.”
TWENTY
CALI
While walking to class this morning all I could think about was: Ellie’s mom is writing me a rec. Alpha Delt is one o
f the oldest, best sororities on campus! Once she sends that in, I’ll have eight recs total. Kappa, KD, Pi Phi, Chi O, Tri Delt, AOPi, Alpha Phi, and now Alpha Delt.
Even though this helps my chances at membership, there’s another important detail I must address. And that’s money. I must save more money. First thing this morning, before my math class, I stopped at the Union. There’s a giant bulletin board there with all kinds of job opportunities for students. I tore off stubs for three babysitting jobs and one helping out with the girls’ volleyball team on weekends. Yesterday I went over to the employment office to see if I could get a signing job. That was something I got interested in when I was little. Sometimes I sign during church when the regular lady is away. But mostly I practice at home. I’ve never been paid for it, but I love it.
Our math teacher actually let us out of class early. Something about an appointment she couldn’t avoid. Although she offered numerous apologies, no one could have cared less. We all dashed out of there to soak up the sunshine. Today is one of the prettiest days we’ve had so far. Not a cloud in the sky. Nearly every tree in the Grove has students underneath its canopy with their noses buried in books.
Now, on the way to writing class, when I happen to look ahead, I see Annie Laurie walking toward me. She’s texting and hasn’t seen me yet. I think back to what she said about black people always being on their phones. She’s on hers more than anyone I know.
She’s wearing a big T-shirt and Lulu shorts. I’m wearing a regular-size T-shirt and blue jeans. When she’s only ten feet in front of me I call out to her. “Annie Laurie.”
She stops walking, and glances up from her phone. A smile is on her face, a rarity for sure. “Hey.”
“Where you headed?” I ask.
“English, but I’m starving. Wanna go eat? I’m dying for something delicious. If I have to eat this campus food again I’ll puke.”
I shrug. “I wish I could. I’ve got writing class.” As much as I want to be friends with her I know I have to keep a little distance between us. Because of that nosy streak of hers.
