The Real Mother

by Judith Michael

  THIRTEEN

  I’m thinking of going out of town,” Sara said casually at breakfast.

  “Monday, just overnight. The problem is, Beth and Meg are both traveling, and Linda has her whole family visiting, so she can’t stay with you. I thought I’d call—”

  “No, no, no,” Carrie said vehemently. “We don’t need your friends, we can take care of ourselves. Anyway, we’ve got Abby.”

  “Abby is pretty wound up in herself these days; I don’t think we can expect—”

  “But we can take care of ourselves,” Carrie broke in again, stubbornly. “We’re very independent. And resourceful. You said that: you said we’re amazingly resourceful. It’s because of you,” she added cagily, “the way you brought us up, so we’re very”—she grinned proudly—“self-reliant. So we’ll be fine because you taught us to be. And Abby’s okay; you said yourself she’s a strong person. What’s so funny?”

  Sara was smiling. “It isn’t funny; it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. But it’s not really fair, you know, to throw someone’s statements back in her face.”

  “Why isn’t it fair, if you said them?”

  Sara laughed. It was a relief to talk to Carrie after a sleepless night of thinking about Reuben and constructing various scenarios of where they could go from here, her thoughts riding on an undercurrent of worry that she would not be able to go with him at all. For the moment, it was a relief not to think of him. “You’re right,” she said to Carrie.

  “Carrie’s always right,” said Abby, coming into the kitchen. “She’s the smartest of all of us. Except for you, Sara. I just want a piece of toast.”

  “That’s all anybody’s having,” Carrie pointed out.

  “Fruit,” Abby said, pointing at the bowl on the table, and shuddered.

  “But you love blueberries!”

  “I don’t love anything.”

  “Not even us?”

  “Anything else.”

  “You love us and not anything else?”

  “Yes!” She jumped up and put bread in the toaster. “Can’t you just stop talking about it?”

  “Where is Doug?” Sara asked quickly.

  “Dawdling,” Abby said absently. “Making something with LEGOs, I think.”

  “Before breakfast?” Sara went to the stairway. “Doug!”

  “Right, right, right.” He came leaping down the stairs and threw himself into a chair at the table. “Can I have some bagels?”

  “If you think you have time, go ahead.”

  “You mean I have to fix them myself?”

  “Don’t you always?”

  “Well, yeah, but I may not have time. You’re faster than I am.”

  Sara sighed and stood up.

  “Sara’s going away for Monday night,” Carrie said. “You’ll have to get your own bagels then.”

  Abby looked up from her glum slouch. “You’re going away?”

  “It isn’t definite. I’m still—”

  “She’s worried about us,” Carrie said, “but I said we were independent and resourceful and self-reliant, and we’d be fine, and she should definitely go.”

  “Go where?” Doug asked.

  “New York,” said Sara. “Just overnight.”

  “Why?”

  “A friend invited me and I thought it would be fun.”

  “Which friend?”

  “Reuben, I’ll bet,” Abby muttered. “He’s from New York.”

  “I thought you broke up,” said Carrie.

  “So, could I have a friend for a sleepover?” Doug asked.

  “No!” Carrie cried. “It’ll just be us.”

  “Well, Sara’s gonna have fun, why can’t I have fun, too?”

  “Will Mack be here?” Abby asked.

  No one spoke. Sara spread the halves of a bagel with cream cheese and set the plate in front of Doug. “I don’t know. He’s been gone most nights, sometimes all night, I think. Would you like him to be here?”

  Abby and Doug and Carrie looked at each other. “It’s okay if he is,” Doug said. “I mean, we all like him, you know, even if he makes us feel…you know.”

  “Uncomfortable,” Abby said distantly.

  “He’s strange,” Carrie said, as she had to Tess.

  “He’s mostly cool,” said Doug, “but then he gets sort of…weird. Anyway, he probably won’t be here. I don’t think he likes our house anymore.”

  “Well, I like it,” Carrie said, “and I can take care of it, help take care of it anyway. I mean, I’m almost fourteen, and Abby’ll be sixteen next week, so we’re fine. So you should go, Sara, to New York, I mean.”

  “Is it Reuben?” Abby asked.

  “Yes,” Sara said.

  Carrie said, “But I thought you broke—”

  “Some people can be in love,” said Abby gloomily. “Some people are lucky. Some people have happy lives while the rest of us sink into loneliness and despair.”

  “Oh, poor Abby,” said Carrie, and looked at Sara to make sure her good behavior was being registered.

  Sara let all of it go by. “What are you all going to do today?”

  Abby shrugged. “It’s Saturday.”

  “I’m going to Jeff’s house,” said Doug. “His mother’s taking us to the museum, to see the mummies.”

  “I’m going to Barb’s,” said Carrie. “A bunch of us are going to a movie. Can Barb spend the night, Sara?”

  Across Abby’s downcast head, they discussed their schedules, and then, still talking, Carrie and Doug cleaned the kitchen and went upstairs. At length, Abby rose languidly and, without looking in Sara’s direction, drifted toward the stairway.

  Sara stopped her. “Abby, please sit with me for a minute.” After a pause, Abby drifted back and drooped into her chair. Sara gazed at her lovely face, barely visible through the screen of ash-blond hair. A pout pulled down the corners of her mouth; her eyelids were puffy. For the first time, Sara felt a spark of irritation. (Later she would admit that it was because of her chance with Reuben, of finally feeling, after so many things had gone wrong, that something might go right.)

  “I know you feel very alone,” she said, “as if no one ever felt this awful, no one ever could understand how you feel. The truth is—and you know this as well as I do—most people feel truly awful at times, and they’d all sympathize with you. I sympathize with you; this is a painful time. You’re growing and changing, and sometimes it’s hard to make sense of who you are and where you are now, and where you go from here.”

  Abby had parted the strands of her hair and was looking at her. Sara hesitated. Would a mother criticize a daughter who was in the midst of what seemed like a tragedy? I don’t know, she thought angrily; how am I supposed to know? What am I supposed to feel? What she did feel was irritation, frustration, and anxiety about Reuben. She was sure those were not motherly feelings, but, like Abby, she felt alone and she had to make sense of where she was going from here.

  Be positive. Start with the good things. “I’m very happy that you came downstairs this morning; I know you’re trying. But we’re trying, too, Abby, and you don’t give us credit for that, or any help, either. We all want to do what’s best for you. But we have to think about what’s best for us, too.”

  She contemplated Abby’s dejection. She really is suffering; what an awful age this can be. I wouldn’t be sixteen again for anything in the world. But as unsure as she felt, she was being propelled by her own needs and desires, and finally she thought, The hell with it, and went on. “Abby, I want this trip on Monday, it’s important to me, and I don’t want to spend it worrying about the three of you. That means I have to be sure you’re in charge. Carrie and Doug are wonderful, but they’re very young. I can’t rely on Mack. You’re the one I need to rely on, and I want to hear you say you’ll do this for me, and do it like a grown-up instead of a self-indulgent child.”

  Abby’s eyes widened. She had been coddled so much in the past days she had forgotten what it was like to have demands made on he
r. But then she remembered how awful she felt, and Sean was gone and he’d never really loved her, and she’d done a stupid thing and everyone would hate her, and everything was totally tragic, and she didn’t want to be in charge, she didn’t want to be responsible for anybody, she just wanted to curl up in bed and be taken care of, and she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at Sara and think about Sara wanting something, too, and maybe feeling really bad if she couldn’t have it.

  The kitchen was very quiet. All Abby could hear was the hum of the refrigerator and freezer and, through the open windows, a bird singing up and down the scale as if everything in the world were fine and happy. Abby kept her eyes shut, and waited. Maybe Sara had left. It was Saturday; she always went grocery shopping on Saturday. She was probably gone, and the kitchen was empty, with nothing to stop Abby from going back upstairs to her room.

  Slowly, Abby opened her eyes. Sara was sitting across from her, just where she had been. She hadn’t moved; she still was looking straight at her. What do I do now? Abby thought, and closed her eyes again.

  “You tried that and it didn’t work,” Sara said evenly. “I’m waiting for you to answer me. I’m not talking to myself, I’m talking to you, and I expect the courtesy of an answer.” She waited. “I’m not asking for all that much, you know. I’m asking that you crawl out of this shell of misery you’ve created and stay out of it for Monday and Tuesday so you can take care of your brother and sister. That’s all. If you want to crawl in again Tuesday afternoon when I get home, that’s up to you. No one will stop you. We’d be sorry, because our family is only complete when you’re part of it, but we won’t stop you.” She waited again, her fists clenched in deepening frustration. “Okay, one last time. I am telling you, you’re taking charge here for two days and one night, so that I can have something I want.” No real mother would do this; what am I saying? “I’m tired of spending a lot of my time trying to figure out what you want and how to give it to you, instead of aiming for what I want.” What would a real mother do? Keep talking? Or shut up and apologize for sounding like a tyrant? “It’s my turn now, and I expect help from my family. I expect you to tell me you’ll do this for me, and you’ll do it like the adult you often tell me you are. Answer me, Abby.”

  Stunned, Abby was gaping at Sara; her mouth was open but no words came. Sara never ever talked about what she wanted (well, she used to talk about medical school but she’d stopped that a long time ago); Sara was the one they all went to when they wanted something. None of them ever said, on a Saturday morning, “And what would you like to do today, Sara?” None of them ever said, at breakfast, “We’ll make dinner tonight, Sara; why don’t you go out with your friends, or something?” It never occurred to them to say anything like that. Sara was just… there. Like one of the paintings on the wall, Abby thought, and felt ashamed.

  She became aware of the stretched-out silence, and the lingering echo of Sara’s command that she answer her. “Fine,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I mean …fine. I’ll take care of them.” She felt miserable and she hated everybody, but she had to do this because Sara said so, and because something had happened to Sara, she was different in a way Abby couldn’t understand, and that was scary, because they all depended on Sara being there for them, the Sara they knew, so she had to make Sara happy so she’d be the old Sara again.

  If that makes sense, Abby thought despairingly.

  But Sara wasn’t leaving until Monday. What was she supposed to do until Sara left? All day today, all day tomorrow…She could go back to her room, but somehow that seemed crazy now that she’d agreed to take charge on Monday. So what could she do?

  “Thank you,” Sara said, and it sounded like a sigh to Abby, a long, long sigh. She came to Abby and hugged her. “I’m going to the farmers’ market, would you like to come? I see a lot of your friends there every week.” Abby cringed, and Sara kissed her on the forehead. “You don’t want to hide from them forever, sweetheart. They’re an important part of your life, and you’re an important part of theirs. You know that’s true; why else would they keep calling you, even though you won’t talk to them?”

  Slowly, Abby said, “They’ll make fun of me for being stupid and… being fooled by…Sean.”

  Sara nodded thoughtfully. “It sounds just like them. They’re cruel and thoughtless and make fun of you all the time, right? They’d never give you credit for being their wonderful friend who might make a mistake.”

  Abby smiled, then realized she was smiling and tried to frown.

  “Well, think about it,” Sara said casually. “I’m leaving in fifteen minutes and I certainly could use your help carrying things; I can never find a parking place close by.”

  Left alone, Abby imagined hiding in her bedroom, sinking into her new rocking chair that curved around her, shutting out the world. But she had to admit she missed her friends. And she missed school, and she had tons of homework to do that Sara brought home for her, every day after work going to school and picking up her work, and Abby hated knowing Sara had to do that on top of everything else, and she hated getting behind in her work, and everything was really a mess. Shit, she thought, and was disgusted with herself because she sounded like Mack. I won’t sound like Mack; I’d rather sound like Sara. I’d rather be Sara.

  “Okay,” she said with a sigh to the empty kitchen. “So I’ll go to the farmers’ market. I guess I owe that to Sara. At least I’m good for carrying shopping bags.”

  And somehow Sara kept Abby busy through the weekend. The reunion with two of her friends at the farmers’ market had been surprisingly (to Abby) natural, and as Sara moved away she heard the friends chattering away, and Abby beginning to respond. She let them rediscover each other as she walked from stand to stand, selecting fruits and vegetables and planning Monday night’s dinner for her family, while she was away. (While I’m away, while I’m in New York, while I’m with Reuben, with Reuben, with Reuben… ) She wanted to dance her way across the market, from potatoes to onions, from arugula and portobellos to tomatoes and basil. I’ll make a lasagna for them to heat up, and they can fix an arugula-and-tomato salad, and there’s bread in the freezer, and sliced turkey for sandwiches for lunch on Tuesday… because I’m going to be with Reuben.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought, I’m beginning to sound like Abby. On impulse, she bought half a bushel of apples, so when she returned the four of them would make pies and applesauce for the freezer, as they did every fall. A whole day just with them, she thought, to make up for my going off with Reuben.

  At home, she and Abby put away their purchases, and then Sara suggested they spend the afternoon going through Abby’s closets, “to see what you’ll need for all the senior parties and dances coming up.”

  Abby shook her head. “I’m not interested in parties. Or clothes.”

  “I thought you had a good time with your friends.”

  “They were nice, but, you know, it was only two of them.”

  “Okay.” Sara sliced bread for sandwiches. “We don’t have to think about clothes, if you don’t want to. I brought a lot of work home; I’ll do it this afternoon.”

  “Oh.” Disconcerted, Abby paused in apportioning slices of turkey. “You’re too busy to do it?”

  “I could be busy. I thought for today it would be more fun to spend the afternoon with you.”

  “I guess,” Abby said after a moment, “I guess we could do it, just for a while. I mean, I don’t need any new clothes ’cause I won’t be going to any parties, but my closets do sort of need cleaning out.”

  “Well, then, we’ll start right after lunch. Oh, and tonight I thought we’d rent a movie; there are a couple I’ve really been wanting to see.”

  Abby burst into tears and threw her arms around Sara. “I love you, Sara. You’re the most wonderful mother in the world. Oh, well, you know, sister, but you’re just…you’re just wonderful.”

  Sara held her, thinking, It’s all right, she’s not angry, she doesn’t hate
me for making demands where I have no right to make demands, she loves me. Thank you, thank you, dear Abby, I’m not sure if I could have left on Monday if you were upset and angry and resentful. And then she thought, Everything will be all right.

  Together they made lunch, and Sara listed plans for Sunday, to make it easier for Abby. “Doug needs to pick up his sculptures,” she said, “and I’d like you with us; we’ll go tomorrow afternoon.”

  Abby shook her head. “I’d rather stay home.”

  “I’d rather you came with us. You can help carry the sculptures. There are a lot of them. All of them, in fact.”

  “Nobody bought anything?”

  “No. I was thinking of buying one, secretly, but it would have been terrible if Doug found out.”

  “Nobody bought even one.”

  “No.”

  “But why not? They’re so good.”

  “They are. For a ten-year-old.”

  “Then why did those people let him have a show?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand it.”

  “Well, you can tell me all about it when you get home. I really don’t feel like going, Sara.”

  Sara nodded. “Doug and I need your help carrying, and we’ll be glad to have your company. It won’t take long.”

  “We can’t go; they won’t be open on Sunday.”

  “I called. They’re open.”

  Abby slammed down the peppermill, and stormed from the kitchen.

  “Do you want to drive?” Sara called after her.

  Slowly, she reappeared in the doorway. “I’m not ever going to drive again.”

  “Oh, what a shame, I thought it would be good practice, driving on the expressway. Well, okay. I’ll drive.”

  After a moment, Abby inched her way back and picked up the peppermill, grinding onto the salad with great concentration. “You think I’m good enough to drive on the highway?”

  “I guess I do or I wouldn’t risk my life being in the car with you.”