“College isn’t going anywhere.” Simone brushed her knuckles lightly against Mariah’s cheek, the last eighteen years flashing through her heart in a rush of pleasurable ache. The years had melted away, moved incredibly fast, yet there was so much to be done, to be experienced, so much life yet to be lived. “I wouldn’t rule it out,” Simone said. “You may choose to go at a later date, you may choose not. And if you don’t, you don’t.” Old reservations pulled at her, but she unleashed their grip. There was no room for doubt. Not anymore. “Your father didn’t go to school and look at him,” she touted. “He didn’t turn out so bad.”
A smile tugged at Simone’s mouth as she realized how easy it was to say those words. It was a proclamation of fact. Mitchell was a self-made success. If he could do it, Mariah could do it. Whether Simone liked it or not, there was more than one way to write a business plan.
Mariah smiled, clearly pleased by her mother’s acceptance. She raised her eyebrows in a hopeful pose. “Does that mean you might reconsider giving me the money from my college fund?”
“Not so fast, sister. Whether you like it or not, I’m holding out hope for college.”
Mariah frowned, though it was clear she harbored no serious displeasure.
“My money, my prerogative,” Simone said. “And there’s no better time to start your education in business than right now. Rule number one,” Simone inserted a stiff forefinger between them, enjoying the moment immensely. “She who controls the money makes the decision.”
Mariah laughed, her delight spilling into the room. “How could I have forgotten? Yet another reason I want to own my own business—I want to make the rules!”
Simone’s pleasure faded. “It won’t be easy, you know.”
“I know. But like you always say, nothing easy to come by is worth having.”
Mariah made it sound so simple. Years of hard work invested in her child, her career, guidance developed over the course of a lifetime and her child simply recites it back to her, as though nothing more were required. Mariah knew the rules. She would find the prize. There was nothing more Simone could do but support her.
Simone pulled her daughter into a hug and squeezed. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Three little words, three hugely important words. Had she said them enough? Simone suddenly wondered. Did Mariah know how much she was loved? Did she understand the depth and breadth of her mother’s feelings, the sheer ferocity with which she cared—about her well-being, her future, her…everything? Simone squeezed harder, her daughter responding in kind. Head to head, chest to chest, she and Mariah were now on the same team. They were crossing a bridge, moving to the next stage, the next platform, and for that they needed a new mix of trust and love, guidance and friendship.
Simone indulged in the embrace. They were too few, too infrequent and she was intent on savoring every one. There was no way Mariah could understand the full extent of a mother’s love until she became one herself. Everything changed when you had a baby. Your body, your mind, but mostly your heart. Life was never the same after you had a child. It was fuller, richer, because one special human being had entered your world.
CLAIRE AND SIMONE
Claire slid the metal sheet pan laden with quartered potatoes into the lower oven, a rush of heat flushing her cheeks and neck as she pushed the door closed. Tossing the floral heat cloth to the counter, she programmed the timer for forty minutes. Retrieving the plate of chocolate chip cookies, still warm, the air infused with the scent of chocolate and buttery brown sugar, she returned to the kitchen table, offering one to Simone.
“Are you sure?” Claire persisted, setting the plate down on the table.
She nodded her head. “I’m sure.”
Claire resumed her seat beside Simone. “They’re my Toll House specialties,” she tempted with a smile.
“I’m good,” Simone replied dully, toying with the white tip of her French manicure.
Simone was here to apologize, not to snack. She had called earlier, begging for a second chance at being her friend—which was silly. There was no need for either. Claire had understood Simone was only speaking her heart, but she told her to come over anyway.
Rebecca and the boys weren’t scheduled to be home for another two hours, and she could use the company. As for Jim, the man never set foot in the house before seven. “How’s Mariah?” she asked, steering conversation down normal lines. Claire didn’t want every conversation they had to revolve around doctors and illness. She wanted to talk about life and living, even if it meant broaching the thorny issues between them.
“She’s good.” Unexpectedly, a hopeful bounce lifted Simone’s expression. “She’s not moving in with Logan.”
“She’s not?” Claire asked. She would have pegged that decision to the cork board and called it mission accomplished. “How did you manage that—and please don’t tell me you succeeded in bribing Logan.” A tactic she still couldn’t believe her friend had tried.
A sly smile eased onto Simone’s lips. “Didn’t have to. I told her she could stay home.”
“You did?” Claire’s surprise was complete.
Simone nodded. “I couldn’t let her do it. I couldn’t stand by and watch her walk into a sham of love and commitment. Living together is a trap. She’d walk in that front door and assume it meant she and Logan were a couple, that they shared a future.” Simone paused, laid her right hand flat on the table, the turquoise stone ring shiny and bright against the silver band.
Simone concentrated on Claire. “But you know it doesn’t.” Simone lowered her eyes, and the line of black lashes underscored her point. “It’s nothing but an escape route.”
Claire understood. Commitment was commitment, no matter what challenge lay in its path. Playing house was nothing more than a charade for true commitment.
“If she and Logan are meant to be together, they’ll make it happen.”
“What about your promotion?” Claire ventured, almost afraid to ask. Simone had revealed the opportunity on the way to meet Teresa at the grocery. But the job was in Chicago. How would she manage if Mariah was staying on at home?
“I told Len it wasn’t my time.”
It was a guttural blow. “Oh, Simone.”
Claire reached out for Simone’s hand, folding it within her own. This was the opportunity Simone had been working for her entire career, the end game, the position that would place her securely at the top of her profession. Simone had finally been accorded her due. It must have killed her to turn it down.
“How does a mother walk away from her child?” Simone asked, her demeanor suddenly cracking. “How does she throw her hands up in the air and say ‘Fine, go ruin your life. See if I care.’?” She paused, tears filling her eyes. The plea emanating from deep in Simone’s heart reached clear into Claire’s. “She doesn’t,” Simone stated. “I can’t.” Claire felt Simone’s hand trembling and squeezed it with her own. “I can’t do it,” Simone repeated. She shook her head. “I can’t.” The tears spilled over.
“Can’t” wasn’t in Simone’s dictionary. To hear her say the words now almost broke Claire’s heart in two. Except that she was so damn proud of Simone. “I know you can’t,” Claire told her friend. Just like she couldn’t give up on Rebecca or the boys. She continued to hold Simone’s hand. There was no longer a need for words.
Sunset cast the room in muted shades of gold, the tiny floral pattern disappearing into the wall as daylight merged with night. In the air the cozy scent of slow-roasted chicken began to saturate the room with the promise of a home-cooked meal. In an hour the kids would be home, followed by their father, the house made comfortable by the presence of family. As Claire burrowed into the feeling of home. This was safety. A place where friends came together and shared their hearts, their troubles, laid their worries to rest.
An understanding passed between the women as they sat connected by a single grasp. Whether a woman worked outside the home or in, earne
d millions for her time or a mere “thank you,” a mother was a mother first; everything else came second. A mother would do what was necessary for the sake of her children. She would sacrifice, she would sustain, she would nurture and she would nudge. Whatever the situation demanded, she would give it. And not because her children defined her, but because love burned stronger than ambition, pulled harder than self-gratification. A mother’s love was the strongest love of all.
It was instinct. It was natural, the most natural love in the world.
“Chicago isn’t going anywhere, right?” Claire prodded. Reaching over, she wiped the moisture from Simone’s tear-stained cheeks, makeup smearing beneath her fingers.
Simone smiled, radiant in her darkest hour. “Hasn’t for the last hundred years.”
“It will be there when you’re ready. Your company knows a good thing when they see it.” Simone’s smile faltered. Did she second-guess her decision? Claire wondered. Had she thought it through in that most analytical and painstaking way of hers, or had emotion run wild, the aftershocks threatening to drown her in regret?
“It’s not worth losing my daughter,” Simone said.
Simply stated, Claire squeezed her hand. “Nothing is.”
Simone squeezed back, then wiped her eyes, which were reddening against the amber flecks. “Nor is it worth losing my best friend. Will you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“No? How about my bone-headed, stubborn-minded mulish behavior?”
Claire laughed. “But that’s one of the things I like best about you!”
Simone’s expression twisted. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. And it’s exactly that strength I’m going to need in the next six months.”
Simone cleared her face of all sarcasm, all jest and said, “We’re going to beat this.”
“I know we are. And I think you did the right thing,” Claire replied quietly.
“Wish I could be so sure.” Simone swept her gaze around the kitchen, her doubts nakedly revealed as she struggled with her decision. “Work is such a huge part of who I am, you know? Giving up this promotion scares me a little.”
But it was the fear tucked into the corners of her soft brown eyes that spoke volumes to Claire. Simone was crossing into unchartered territory. She wasn’t used to detours or stop signs. She was green-light ambitious. “You’ll get the next one.”
“There might not be a next one.”
“Oh, please,” Claire waved her off. “You’ll make a next one—I’m not worried about that!”
Genuinely pleased by the vote of confidence, Simone smiled. “I never thought I’d be so wrong about so many things.”
Claire straightened the apron across her lap. “What do you mean?”
With a wistful air, Simone posed, “I thought that if I set the example, Mariah would follow. I thought that if I planted the seed for college, the desire would bloom. I thought that I had to reach the top of my career in order to feel successful.” Simone’s eyes went quickly to Claire. “I thought that if I missed any benchmark, I’d feel like a failure.”
Claire placed a hand to her arm and gently rubbed.
“But I don’t,” Simone admitted. “I feel confused, uncertain...” She laughed nervously. “And one hundred percent fortunate.” Her gaze closed around Claire. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I want you to know I don’t think less of you for staying home. It was the right choice for you. But it wasn’t for me. My career is incredibly important to me. It’s not about money, though I can’t deny that’s part of it,” she added quickly. “It is, but only so far as what the money can afford me, like freedom, independence.” Sliding a forearm onto the table, Simone leaned her weight onto it. “Mostly, my job gives me a sense of purpose. I can’t imagine a life without it. I feel like my contribution to the companies I help matters, that my contribution extends to society as a whole—even my family.” A shadow dimmed her expression. “Giving it up never crossed my mind. Am I wrong? Does that make me selfish?”
Claire shook her head. “Only in the best sense of the word. There’s nothing wrong in doing for yourself. You have to—we all have to.” In fact, it was the hardest part about her situation. Sometimes, it felt like her whole life had been about everyone else. Between the kids and Jim, the house, there didn’t seem time for anything else. But there were days she could have used some time for herself. Weeks even, where she would have relished the opportunity to jump off the merry-go round of obligation and just sit, observe. Paint the sky, paint the yard. Go to the coast and sketch the beach, the waves, anything but stay at home.
“I really believe I’m better able to handle the stress and exhaustion,” Simone continued, “because I have an intellectual and creative outlet that doesn’t involve My Little Girl Pony and Barbie.”
Claire chuckled. “I know what you mean.” Exactly.
“I’m a better, more patient, tolerant, present mother,” Simone went on, “because I work. Because I get release through my job that I wouldn’t otherwise get.” She searched Claire’s gaze for understanding. “Can you understand that? It’s not an insult to you. It’s about me.”
Claire nodded. There were definitely days she could use release, even if it meant sitting on a bench in the local park with nothing but ducks and pond to keep her company.
Simone reached for a cookie. “It’s not right that men don’t have to grapple with this issue. I, for one, think it’s high time we women start demanding that men stay home. Breasts should not entail shackles to the front door.” She raised her cookie and downed a healthy bite.
“Let’s not get carried away,” Claire replied. “I, for another, don’t want Jim anywhere near my kitchen.” She reached for her own cookie, slightly warm and perfectly soft, and toasted the sentiment. “As they say, ‘too many cooks in the kitchen.’”
“You can borrow Mitchell when you’re ready for a break.” Admiration lit up Simone’s smile. “What he does with an onion and garlic will blow your mind.”
Claire raised her brow. “That could work.”
“Perfect,” Simone deemed. “I’ll loan you Mitchell for the kitchen and you loan me Jim for the garage.”
Claire laughed. “Agreed!”
Simone cocked her head and said, “Come to think of it, I think marriage should be a barter system—between couples.” She plucked another cookie from the plate. “You bake cookies for my family, and I’ll handle your accounting. Jim will fix the cars and Mitchell will whip up a gourmet meal at the end of the day for all of us.”
Claire gave an appreciative nod. “Count me in.” Then, watching the wheels begin to whir in Simone’s brain, as though she were actually concocting a way to make it happen, Claire confessed, “I called Sarah.”
Simone dropped cookie in hand to the table with a thud. “You did?”
Claire may as well have announced “I’m going back to work” Simone’s astonished reaction would have been the same.
“Wow. I’ll bet she was surprised.”
“There’s the understatement of the year.” And as painful as it was true.
Claire shouldn’t have waited so long. There was no excuse. Not crying babies or dirty dishes—nothing should have kept her from her sister, her flesh and blood, her other half. “It felt really good, too. She sounds exactly the same. And happy.” Fond recollection of their talk streamed through her. Sarah’s new travels, her recent portfolio, her talk of a baby... She had so much going on in her life, but most of all, she was happy. That’s what Claire remembered from the call. Sarah was happy. Happy to hear from her sister, happy with her choices, happy with life.
“I imagine you told her about Rebecca.”
“I did.” Excitement fluttered through Claire’s breast, accompanied by a good dose of angst. “She can’t wait. She’s already planned my first trip, including a trip to the Louvre, lunch at her favorite bistro, a grand tour of Scotland… I won’t get a minute’s rest!”
“Oh, yo
u’re going to have such a wonderful time.”
“We are,” Claire agreed. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
Simone fell silent, a deep sadness crossing her expression. “Did you tell her?”
“I did.” Sarah was beside herself at the news, more worried than even Claire. But it was the distance. So far away, so utterly removed, she felt helpless. It was a sentiment with which Claire could identify. Rebecca’s entire college education promised to submerge her in the same helplessness. “She’s upset, naturally, but I assured her I was going to be fine.”
“And you will be.”
Claire nodded, stuffed back the tears and bit into her cookie. There was no time for pity or sadness. There was only time for fight. Whichever path you chose, whatever obstacles befell you, the direction you chose was yours. How long you followed it, how fast... These were the decisions that defined a person’s life. You could turn, twist or stop. You could barrel straight ahead, you could linger and dawdle. But at the end of the road, the swath you cut was of your own making. What did Claire want to see when she turned back to look upon her road traveled for the very last time?
She wanted to see her loved ones standing beside her.
FAMILY
Claire and Simone stood side by side, the graduation party swelling to a crescendo of celebration around them. Streamers hung from corner to corner, balloons floated from ties to chairs and tables while music danced faintly in the background. In the kitchen, counters were covered with hors de ’oeuvres. Beside them, the dining room table was host to a baker’s masterpiece: a massive four level cake, fondant done in the girls’ school colors of red and white, the insides layered with white chocolate and raspberry filling, sugared jelly she could practically smell from here. It was Teresa’s gift to the girls, along with envelopes of money, of course. Wasn’t that every graduate’s choice gift?
Rebecca and Mariah were at the epicenter, surrounded by friends, radiant with pleasure as they shared their big day. And a tiny part of Claire envied the girls. They stood on the threshold of choice, of life. The path ahead was open and welcoming. They could go any way they wanted, do anything they wanted. They had no obligations, no one to answer to...they were free to do as they pleased. Amazing how much had changed in three weeks’ time.
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