Condemn Me Not

by Dianne Venetta

  Simone ran the numbers three times before the meeting and twice during, but unfortunately still came up short. Len was not happy with her, but she would have to implore forgiveness later. Her daughter had earned a place in the competition’s finals and she was damn well going to be there for it.

  “Really?” Mariah challenged. “You weren’t sitting with Dad and the Atkins.”

  Well Dad had the luxury of time, garnering a front row seat with a half hour to kill. She on the other hand, was lucky to snag a spot in the back. It was standing room only in the dark shadows along the auditorium wall and almost too far from the stage to see her daughter’s face. But Simone craned and tiptoed and watched every second of her daughter’s performance—which had been priceless. She had had that title until one word slipped her up. One, foreign word her daughter had never heard of. Simone wasn’t sure who was more crushed over the defeat at the time.

  Trampled by longing and regret, Simone heaved a sigh. “I was there, Mariah. I may have been late, but I was there.”

  The girl shrugged in what Simone felt to be the most insulting gesture, unleashing a wave of guilt nearly choked her. A day didn’t pass when she wasn’t torn between the obligations of work and home, leaving no time to “just be.” Yet here her daughter couldn’t care less.

  And why? Where was it written that she should bear this burden when her male peers did not? When her own husband did not?

  Mariah didn’t whine and complain when Mitchell went out of town. She didn’t mope or sulk or make snide comments about his whereabouts. Her father could be gone for days without the first peep from her. About to make it crystal clear exactly how hard she worked, Simone stopped herself from uttering the first word. She and Mariah were on brittle ground. Pushing now would only break the fragile connection beneath them. “I did the best I could, Mariah. I tried to be there for every one of your events, your big days and now for your graduation. I’m sorry if sometimes it seemed like I was absent, but looking back”—she drew out the sentiment—“I think my track record was pretty good and should speak for itself.”

  “Whatever,” Mariah said dully, discarding her insidious claim as though it were a meaningless observation and not a biting attack on the very core of her mother’s existence. She slumped to the armrest. “It would have been nice to have your approval at least once in a while. Maybe one day I’ll be able to prove to you that I’m worthy.”

  CLAIRE AND REBECCA

  Seated on the edge of the arm chair, Rebecca shook her head. “Mom, La Sorbonne is the best in the world. I thought you’d be happy that I was accepted.”

  “Oh honey, I am,” Claire insisted. “You’re a wonderful artist, gifted in fact. All I’m saying is that maybe college in another country is a bit extreme. Especially when there are very fine schools right here in the states. If you’re not happy with Rhode Island, we’ll find another one.” She tried to inject cheer into her proposal. “With your grades, you’ll have your pick.”

  Turning hands in her lap, Rebecca held firm. “Paris is what I want.”

  “I know it is, but…”

  But what? Claire thought. It was the “but” that hung between them, dragging down the mood of conversation.

  Rebecca had broached the subject with a cool head and a sweet apology. She had tempered her tone and stuck to her points. She even offered to attend part-time so she could work to help pay the bills. Claire was the one persisting in opposition. She was the one refusing to yield, to compromise. Her breathing grew shallow as she traced the piping of the throw pillow next to her. Her heart felt compressed. But what...

  But why? Slowly releasing her breath, unwinding the knot of objection wound so tightly in her chest, Claire knew the reason behind the “but.” But she’d miss her. Horribly, miserably. She couldn’t afford to travel to Paris once a month, couldn’t afford to fly her daughter home. If Rebecca lived in Paris, Claire would be lucky to see her for the holidays!

  Visions of Thanksgiving dinner trickled in, and her mind’s eye zoomed in on the vacant seat at the table. Plump, golden turkey with all the trimmings, fine china arranged in layers of gold-rimmed plates and crystal stemware... The magic of Christmas morning followed quickly, Jim and the boys making their way around the stack of unopened presents off to the side. Without Rebecca, the holidays wouldn’t be the same. They’d have holes, bare spots. Melancholy bloomed in her heart with a welling ache. Claire’s nest would be missing an egg, her warm cozy den missing a cub.

  “Don’t you trust my decisions?” Rebecca asked.

  “Of course,” Claire responded, the reply automatic—and undermining to her argument.

  “Well then?”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. Burrowed into the corner of her sofa, Claire felt trapped. It wasn’t what we discussed. It’s not what we planned. She brought pillow in hand over to her lap and hugged it close. You’re reneging on your part of the deal and leaving me hanging. Lost in her thoughts, she peered at Rebecca in silence.

  “I want a life, Mom.”

  “You don’t have to go to Paris to get a life, honey. Your life is wherever you are.”

  “But I want opportunity, excitement. I want to go places, see the world. You went to Paris when you were in college. Why can’t I?”

  Claire hated that her own youthful dreams were being used against her. It made her argument against the same impossible. “Yes, I did. But times were different back then.”

  Rebecca slipped into a knowing smile, the first sign she felt secure enough to relax. “That’s what every generation says.”

  Touché. A small smile crept onto Claire’s lips. “But they were,” she defended. “We didn’t have terrorism and unsettled governments back when I was in college. We didn’t have the level of security we have now, where they make sure you’re not hiding things in your privates, your bones.” Screeners were so invasive; it felt like they could see straight through her skeleton as they searched for explosives, weapons. “We didn’t need it. Times were different.”

  From her perch on the chair, Rebecca set hands to her thighs and looked down at her mother. “Mom, terrorism has been around since the sixties. Whether it was in response to the civil rights movement, the war in Vietnam or plain old Capitalism, we’ve always had groups out there intent on disrupting the peace.”

  Claire cradled her daughter within her gaze and marveled at her intelligence, her sensible, rational outlook. Rebecca didn’t work from a perspective of fear. She worked from practicality. And she was right. But in those days it was domestic terrorism, citizens with a beef against their government. Today the threat was international in scope and far more dangerous, emblazoning the backs of American citizens with targets you couldn’t miss. “That’s true to an extent, but it doesn’t negate the reality of compromised security. You have to be careful.”

  “I am. I’m always on the lookout for signs of danger, situations that might be unsafe. I carry my keys in my hand, stay in well-lighted areas, keep to a crowd.” Rebecca plowed her gaze into her mother, willing her to trust her. “I understand what’s out there.”

  “I know you do,” Claire replied, hating that any of this was necessary. But women weren’t safe anymore and if Rebecca lived abroad, who knew what danger lay in wait for her. Paris was a big city. Like Boston and New York, it had its dangerous elements, and wasn’t it only a few years ago that curfews were put in place to contain angry bands of young men as they roamed the streets in search of trouble? Claire shuddered at the thought of Rebecca being accosted by a group of unruly thugs. Who knew what the police in France would do to protect her, if they’d even come to her aid at all. She never had to test their performance during her summer in Paris. She’d been sheltered by Jacques. “I just worry.”

  “I know you do.” The teen slumped with a sigh, combed fingers through her hair. “But I promise you—I’ll be careful.”

  “But really, honey,” Claire said, undaunted in her quest for reconsideration. Rightly or wrongly, she coul
dn’t stop herself from trying to change her daughter’s mind. “What can you get in Paris that you can’t get at Rhode Island?”

  Rebecca stilled and Claire got the eerie sensation she was about to learn.

  “The opportunity to travel.”

  A surge of turbulent emotion rattled her. “Travel?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “I want to travel, and a home base in Europe will make my getting around a lot easier than if I tried to go from here.”

  Claire clutched at her pillow. “What kind of traveling are we talking? Where do you plan on going?”

  “I want to go everywhere.” Sparks of enthusiasm warmed the brown of Rebecca’s eyes. Her expression brightened and Claire dreaded her next words. “I want to see England, Ireland, Spain, Italy, maybe Greece. I want to travel to Germany and Russia… Ultimately I’d like to see China, India—the world! Just think of it,” she continued wistfully. “My eye for design will be fine-tuned by the exposure to incredible diversity in culture and it will make me better than I ever could be otherwise.”

  Oh my God, was all Claire could think. Travel the world? Rebecca would be gone from her forever!

  “I don’t want to limit my options, Mom. I want the power to dictate where I go, what I become. I want a career and I want it on my terms.”

  Her baby sounded so strong, so determined... For a moment, Claire saw Simone in her daughter. This was the kind of talk her friend would relish—coming from Mariah. Simone would treasure this desire to travel the world, yet she could not. Yes, Claire wanted her daughter to be independent, but not so self-contained that she severed all ties with home. “What about family?” Claire cried. “Marriage, children… Traveling doesn’t suit motherhood very well, you know...”

  Rebecca’s demeanor cooled. She pushed off the armrest and paced. Claire could only watch helplessly as her child came to terms with her future. Stopping behind the wingback chair, Rebecca folded her forearms across the rounded top and announced, “I’m not sure I want children.”

  “What?” Not sure she wanted children? Pressing the soft foam cushion to her midsection, Claire absorbed the declaration. Her daughter was contemplating a life on her own, and didn’t intend it to include a husband and family? Where was this coming from? Nerves sputtered and popped. “But you can have both, Rebecca—you don’t have to choose. Not in today’s world, you don’t.”

  “Can I?” She hardened her stance. “Can I really?”

  “Sure. Women do it all the time.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Me?” Claire gaped at Rebecca, surprised by her inclusion. “Well, sure I did. I have a career, in a sense...” She fumbled, and thought distantly, I have you, and the boys. You’re my career, my life. But even as she thought the words, Claire realized they’d ring hollow to her adventure-minded daughter.

  “And look at Mariah and her mom.” Rebecca whisked an arm toward the front door. “They don’t even get along.”

  “Don’t get along? Why, sure they do,” Claire replied instinctively. “One little disagreement doesn’t denote ‘not get along.’”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

  Did she? Did Claire just defend Simone and her daughter, the girl who for years whined and complained about her mother? She was never home. She was always working. Why, if her dad didn’t work from home, Mariah would have been left to fend for herself, one more latch-key kid, abandoned from school dismissal until dinner time. And dinner. Mariah hated that her mother didn’t cook, that her father prepared the family meals. If it weren’t for him, she claimed she would have starved.

  Although Claire overlooked Mariah’s dramatizations, privately she thought there was legitimacy in her issue with her mother. Which didn’t negate the fact that Simone loved her daughter and did the best she could by her. Simone just didn’t feel that doing her best required her physical presence. She maintained she was setting a good example as a happy and fulfilled independent woman, and that that was most important. Eventually kids went to school full-day, they played sports, went to their friends’ houses and when they started to drive...?

  They wouldn’t even know she was gone. Why waste those early years waiting for the same conclusion and watch her competitive edge in the marketplace dwindle to nothing?

  “But sweetheart,” Claire said, batting away choices she didn’t own, “kids and family are important. It’s a connection you want to nurture, not excise from your life.” Why, Jim and the kids were the most important things in her world. She could forgo anything, but she couldn’t do without them. Didn’t Rebecca understand that? “You don’t want to cut yourself off from the possibility. One day you may change your mind.”

  Rebecca shrugged and dropped a hand to the chair back. It landed with a dull thud. “Well then, when that day comes, I’ll decide where to go next. But it’s definitely nothing I want to do any time soon.”

  “What about Matt?” Rebecca’s boyfriend of two years came from a big family. He struck Claire as the traditional type. “What does he think?”

  “He’s very supportive of my choices.”

  “He’s okay with you leaving him?”

  Rebecca frowned. “Matt doesn’t look at it that way, Mom. He wasn’t going to Rhode Island with me. He won’t be going to Paris.”

  “But he could visit you at Rhode Island. I daresay he won’t be joining the frequent flyers club to see you in Paris.”

  “And that’s okay.”

  Okay? Claire balked at her child’s nonchalance over a boy she spent every day with for the last sixteen months. Were they breaking up? “Are you two okay?” Part of her approved of Matt as suitable husband material. Not that she wanted her daughter to get married any time soon, but eventually, someday...

  Looking at Rebecca now, resolve ticking away steady as the hands of time in her sweet young face, it appeared she was indifferent to all but Paris. “Mom, Matt and I are fine,” she said, as though reading her thoughts. “He understands what drives me and he’s good with it. He wants me to chase my dreams, follow my passion.”

  Claire felt the hit. Even if you don’t. The words went unspoken, but she heard them just the same.

  For a moment, it was all that remained between them. Caressing the silken fabric of the throw pillow still clenched at her breast, Claire wanted to stomp her foot down. She wanted to demand Rebecca take a year to think about it, mull over the decision that would change the course of her life. But in the same instant, knew she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Rebecca’s thinking had been done. In her mind the subject was closed. She was leaving.

  “Do you ever feel like you wasted your degree, Mom?”

  Sideswiped by the question, Claire reeled. “What?”

  “You know, you spent four years of your life pursuing a degree and you never used it. You never became an artist, an art professor. You never became an interior designer. You never became anything.” She puckered her brow. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Oh sweetheart,” Claire exclaimed, ignoring the fresh gash to her heart, “that’s where you’re wrong.” Encouraged by the opened path, she abandoned the pillow and rose from the sofa. She went to her daughter, engulfed by a slew of emotion. “I did become something.” Drawing the long brunette ponytail over her slender shoulder, she brushed the back of her hand along Rebecca’s cheek. The soft skin was warm to her touch, brown eyes trusting, inquisitive. “I have the best career of all. I’m a mother to you, and Jimmy and Joe.”

  Rebecca scowled. “I’m serious. Don’t you ever wish you went to work—did something with your life?”

  It was a loaded question, weighted with lead and steel, the blackest of iron. Certainly not gold. Rebecca wasn’t admiring her job title of “Mother.” She held it in disdain. It wasn’t coated in luster and prestige. It didn’t hold intrigue and romance. It carried no financial compensation, no shiny accolades. The reward in Claire’s life was intangible. Invisible to the inexperienced eye. No, her reward was lodged deep within. It was found in
the everyday time she spent with her children, the every night intimacy she shared with her husband. Her life was about living and loving, not money and recognition.

  Rebecca’s eyes glittered with need. “I want a life, Mom. A real life where I go places and do things, not wait on my family hand and foot.”

  Stinging from the comment, Claire allowed her hands to fall away. Rebecca may as well have slapped her across the face, for the pain of her words felt the same. However unintended, the judgment hurt. She never expected this sort of appraisal from her daughter, the beautiful young woman maturing before her very eyes, the one she was so proud of, the one she’d planned on spending the rest of her life getting to know, continuing to love. Their relationship was special and unique. It was a closeness shared only between mother and daughter. Claire couldn’t fathom that Rebecca didn’t understand the significance, feel it to her very core the way she did.

  Clearly, Rebecca had no concept of what it was like to be a wife and mother, what it meant to find fulfillment in nurturing a family. But how could she? She was merely a child.

  “I mean, don’t me wrong,” Rebecca said shortly, stepping away from her. “I’m glad you did it. I’m glad that you stayed home, but it’s not what I want. Not for myself,” she added quietly, and tucked her hands into the front pockets of her jeans.

  Claire didn’t hear the feckless apology. She was still lingering in the stupor of misconception. Rebecca was her mature child, the one she believed understood and valued her contribution as wife and mother. Claire fixed her gaze on Rebecca. Did she really have no clue what her life meant in real terms?