“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that sister, dear.”
“Whatever, Ben. What about you, Dad. High? Low? Did you get high? Do you want to get high? I’m sure Ben can hook you up.”
“Actually, not a bad idea,” Ben pointed his fork, “medically speaking and all. Dad, we’ll talk.”
“As a matter of fact, I had a splendid day. It has been high. Did you know you can order anything off the internet? It really is the most handy thing. Over the winter I found this website for tracksuits that are the perfect polyester cotton blend. I’ve been ordering one a week, and now I have some nice colors. You can borrow them while you’re here, son.” The facial hair on Dad’s face could not hide his smile. I’d never seen him so cheery.
“You should probably save some of that love for Reese at Christmas, Dad,” Ben said.
“Oh yes. Good idea. I don’t think they make them in a girl’s cut, but don’t worry. The velour is flattering for any body shape.” Dad nodded at me.
“As long as you get a matching one for brother dearest.”
“Reese, honey, you have been mumbling all night. Your father and I aren’t spring chickens anymore. Can you repeat that?” Bernice leaned forward expectantly.
“Never mind.”
“Reese, have you filled in the parentals on you getting your pilot’s license? You’re pretty close now, right?” Ben grinned at me because he knew I didn’t tell our parents anything, ever. I’d only had three lessons, my last Christmas gift to myself, but I nodded.
“I’d fly in a plane with you any day of the week.” Bernice beamed, earrings waving.
“What a sweet idea. I’ll see if I can set up a little date for the two of you before we all leave Omaha,” Ben said, and I pinched him under the table.
“Well, since you asked, I had a good day. In case you were wondering it’s been quite the challenge to keep my business afloat while I’ve been here, but I’ve been doing what I can. I started getting up two hours early to get my orders finished for the afternoon shipping.”
“If it’s a problem, you could go back to Canada,” I said.
“Mom, I don’t think Reese or Dad know anything about this business. Why don’t I go clean up while you regale them with tales of your business acumen?”
“No, sugar, I want you to stay. You know you are such an inspiration for me.”
I burned disapproval into the side of Ben’s head and stabbed a piece of chicken, biting through the layers of buttery garlic in a fury.
“My business is called Bernice’s Masterpieces. I was only one glass of wine in when I came up with that.”
“Mom, it’s genius.”
“Darling, that’s exactly the word I used. Genius.”
“No more law?” Dad said, a look of interest flashing across his face so fast I almost missed it.
“Well, no. It’s a sewing business. I sew articles for the classy, the sassy women of America. And Canada of course.” She tittered.
“Are there a lot of those out there, floating about?”
“I make napkins. I make aprons for cooking or just for wearing, if you know what I mean. Do you want lace or extra lace? Okay, ma’am. Wink, wink, wink.”
“Ben, why are you winking too, can’t you see that’s Bernice’s job?”
“I spend hours shopping for fabric online and in stores buying the cloth with tractors on it for all the farmers’ wives out there, whole bolts of cloth with little chickens and kittens on them too. It doesn’t get any cuter. I buy miles of pinks and purples, of bow patterns and of little sunshines and sparkles.”
“Watch out, Ralph Lauren. Mom, I’m proud of you; I didn’t know it was this big.”
“Let’s just say I know how to speak to the myriad of cultures across the nations. I connect with my ladies. Okay, Benjamin, let’s do the dishes. This afternoon, I used the interweb and downloaded Queen B’s ‘Run The World’ track for us to practice.”
“Who runs the world?” Ben pointed at her.
“GIRLS, we run this motha!”
“Yeah!” Ben high-fived Bernice as he stood.
I sat immobile at the table while they started the dishes. I wasn’t sure why we stayed put, in this counterfeit reality of family. I only knew this space was sacred, like the smallest prick of a pin might break it, so we all tiptoed softly.
5
Bernice
I’d perfected my craft for the past few years, working away toward a little nest egg. I wanted to show my daughter, future granddaughters, what it meant to be a high-power woman in today’s society. I wanted them to see what it meant to have drive and pizzazz, to be respected and treated with difference.
I would lead by example.
Once upon a time, long ago in Omaha, I was a lawyer. I was promoted to partner around the time the kids were ten. It was unseemly in those days; the other mothers shoved their superior looks in my direction the limited occasions I could make it to a school function during the day.
Back then, I was proud of myself, of my accomplishments. But when I moved to Canada, I couldn’t practice law even if I wanted. As it turned out, I no longer desired the profession that reminded me so much of the life I’d deserted.
Strangely, I took up sewing. Sewing had been my mother’s job, and her mother’s before her. When I was young, I saw how hard they worked, tired to the bone, and I vowed to go an entirely different route. Law school was a challenge, mostly because no one understood why I was going in the first place. Even Carl looked embarrassed when our friends, whose wives stayed at home, asked us how it was going. I finished as I was nearing the end of my pregnancy and took a couple of years off to stay at home with the dirty diapers and days full of crying babies before fully throwing myself forward into my chosen profession.
It got complicated when my career soared while his floundered.
In the end, it didn’t matter anyway. So inch by inch, I stitched together my empire and basked in the glory of being a different kind of power woman. I let the rhythm of my sewing cool me down on long summer nights. Sewing had become my sweet therapy, my escape when I didn’t want to wander the million miles of what ifs. It was my happy place and paid enough to keep a roof over my head.
Since being back in Omaha, I’d wrestled my mother’s old sewing machine down from the attic and started on a little project for Reese, just a cute gift I’d been dying to make for her. I had to wait until she was asleep to sneak into her room and grab the few items I needed, but no problem. I was aiming for her birthday, but at this rate, I’d be lucky to have it done by the end of the summer. I stayed up late most days of the week to work on my undertaking, where Reese wouldn’t find out.
The medications had Carl sleeping most of the day, but he was up half the night too. It was often only the two of us wandering about in the dark hours. Night after night, I tiptoed to the edge of the living room where Carl sat with one of his Louis L’Amour books. Some things never changed. One night after he’d been back from the hospital for a few days, I dropped my pile of supplies on the couch opposite, thinking we could form some sort of truce. He glanced up and held my gaze for long enough to let me know I was unwelcome, then went back to reading.
I shuffled back to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. The kitchen table would have to do.
The next night I waited until Carl had gone to bed and waited another hour before slipping into his room and settling into the rocking chair we’d had since the twins were babies. I’d moved it up from the basement while he was in the hospital. He was sleeping now, so I grabbed his hand.
“I don’t know what happened to us.” It was easier to bring up the hard stuff when he was comatose.
“I do, you left.” Carl kept his eyes closed.
“Carl.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” His lips pressed together. I studied the new lines on his face, the unfamiliar gray in his hair.
“Carl, you did a good job with the kids. They’re incredible. They’re both so beautiful.” I wiped my e
yes with my apron. “Thank you for that.”
He opened one eye and watched me through the shadows. “I wouldn’t say it was all me.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I’d say they turned out this well in spite of me. And they had a good mother. You were a good mother when you were here, Bee.” He hadn’t called me that in so long I thought my heart would plumb fall onto the floor.
He closed his eyes, and I squeezed his hand.
“Carl, I—” I blinked back the tears.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” He commenced snoring, and I let myself out.
I woke up the next morning knowing it would be a hard day for me. I threw on a pot of coffee and was already drinking a hot mugful in the living room when Benjamin shuffled in behind Carl looking like a younger version of his father. My heart squeezed. My handsome son threw in a cheery “Happy Mother’s Day!” and ruffled my head on his way to the couch. Reese gave me a half nod, which was on the nicer side of how she’d treated me since I arrived, but to tell you the truth, it still hurt my feelings.
“Let me tell you people, pregnancy was for the birds. Two toddlers were for the birds. Two middle-schoolers were definitely for the birds. Getting my body back to this state of bliss was nothing short of purgatory.” I slammed my mug on the side table and went to make more coffee. I didn’t hear a peep as I exited and good riddance.
Reese wandered into the kitchen, holding out her empty coffee cup. I shook my head. “Having kids was your father’s idea in the first place. Carl originally wanted to have more children, like seven. Seven! But after I did it once, and two came out, but no way was I going to put this body through that sort of trauma again.”
“I need my tiny violin.” Reese looked annoyed.
“I told him he could carry the rest of the babies himself and that shut him right up.” I wiped my hands on my apron, feeling my blood pressure rising. “I gained double the weight with you two. Seventy pounds, people. My feet were so swollen, I’m surprised they didn’t fall off my body. They were each the size of Noah’s ark. I had to wear Carl’s shoes.” And how you each came out weighing a mere five pounds, I will never understand. Where did the rest of that weight go?
We needed to buy double the gifts at birthdays, buy double the food. Double the toddler meltdowns, the laundry, the stains on the couch.
Double trouble.
Double disaster.
I thought I’d get double gifts from them as they got older, but let’s be honest, that never happened.
“Uh, I’ll come get my coffee later.” Reese turned on her heels and practically ran out of the room, like she couldn’t stand more than a few minutes in my presence. I leaned against the kitchen counter as if it could hold in the rising tide of emotions.
I avoided them as best I could for the rest of the morning, and not knowing what else to do, I decided to start on the night’s dinner early. The busier I made myself appear, the less likely anyone was to make a fuss about me still being there. I liked being around my kids, under the same roof again, and I wanted to stretch it out as long as possible. I came to make my peace with Carl, but got distracted with my offspring instead.
I was halfway through my preparations when Benjamin entered and set up his work station at the kitchen table.
“You shouldn’t work so much, son. It’s not good for the body or soul.”
“Hmm.”
“Take a lesson from your sister, she’s got the relaxation piece down pat.” I shoved two dirty bowls into a sink full of sudsy hot water. “But I’ll tell you one thing: I wish she’d stop taking all those photos of me.” Benjamin was out working through the week, so it was nice when I saw him in the evenings, the weekends. He was as low-maintenance as me, his presence a nice break.
But my sweet pea Reese was another story. There was definitely something going on with that little lady. When she was home, she spent more time with her camera and mooning over that fool journal of hers, like she was Shakespeare, than with her own family. She’d started writing in a journal when she was ten, and I used to read it, long after she fell asleep, to make sure she was okay. It’s a parent’s right, you know.
Since I couldn’t find her current journal, I decided on a different plan. If anyone could help me figure out the labyrinth of my daughter, it was my son. I looked at him expectantly.
“It’s her thing, Mom.” Benjamin settled his papers around the kitchen table, and I added salt to the green bean casserole I was whipping together.
I’m worried about her. “Of course, I want photos of myself, but she takes them on days when I’m only wearing my robe and my face isn’t on. Yesterday, I fussed at her and chased her down the hall, but she did it again today.” I waved my spatula at him, but he didn’t look up.
“Uh huh.”
She’s struggling. “I worry that camera will give me a double chin. Or weird shadows that look like growths. Or a mean expression on my face.” I wiped my hands on my apron and made a note to buy more butter. To tell the truth, I was a little pleased too: every time she turned her camera on me, it proved I wasn’t as invisible to her as I felt.
“I hear ya.” He typed furiously.
“You can’t have any more cookies until further notice.” I silently dared him to make eye contact with me. I’d been making cookies every few days, filling the house with delectable smells, and even more reasons for me to stay put.
“Uh huh.” He reshuffled his paper stack and sent a text. I rolled my eyes at his bowed head because he was the main cookie monster between these walls.
“I tried to tackle her yesterday to see the images, but she ran to lock herself in the basement with all those chemicals which I know can’t be good for her.”
“Right.” He leaned back in his chair and didn’t take his eyes off his work.
“‘It’s film, it’s film, it’s film,’ she yelled through the basement door, and I just shook my head. The chemicals have already started eating her brain.” I’d moved to stand in front of Benjamin and placed my hands on my hips.
“Yeah, that sounds terrible.” He looked up in time for me to bop him over the head.
Reese
When I got up at six, I dressed quickly and headed to the porch to watch the sunrise. The morning was chilly, slow, and the gentle lines of the sun rose one by one and warmed my face. I waved at the father and son walking by with their dog and reveled in the calming stillness of dawn. When I re-entered the house, Ben was alone in the kitchen, holding an empty cup at the counter.
“You do realize it’s six-thirty in the morning?” He looked confused.
“Even before coffee you’re annoying. Noted.” I smoothed the bun atop my head.
“Why are you so gussied up? Hillary left a message. She wants her pantsuit back, the uniform that claims to care more about substance than style.” Ben made an A-OK sign before he pushed down the French press.
“I found it in the back of the hall closet.” I turned a full circle for inspection.
“So it’s either Mom’s or it belonged to one of Dad’s lovers. You know that, right?” Ben gave an exaggerated slurp of his coffee and settled onto a stool.
“Disgusting. I know nothing except I have a shortage of clothes here, and I’m desperate.” I ran my hands over the gray fabric.
“Clearly. Just don’t get caught up in Cleavage Gate. We don’t need that scandal hanging over our family.”
“Whatever, Ben.”
“Does Charlie let you dress like that when you work for him?”
“Charlie doesn’t let me do anything. I make my own rules.” I poured my coffee.
“What rules would those be?”
“I don’t have time for this. People are waiting for me.”
“Do tell.” He saluted me with his mug.
“At Dad’s office. Dad’s boss said I could come in and help. You know, like the good old days when we both worked there during high school. Or I can come work with you?”
“Have you ever heard of Cain and Abel?
Sometimes the whole twins going out to the field thing just doesn’t work out. For anyone.”
“First of all, Cain and Abel weren’t twins. Keep up. I think you meant Cal and Aron? There are a plethora of clever options waiting to be chosen. Second of all, I can’t spend another day here with our parents. Yesterday, Bernice sang full-blast through the entire Love is the Foundation album. There’s only so much I can handle.”
“Viola and Sebastian!”
“Whatever, Ben. I’ll go hang out at Dad’s office since you obviously don’t appreciate my talents.”
“Why don’t you go back to your real job?”
I watched him, contemplating. “Um, because Dad is sick. Besides, she has to go back home soon; I don’t know why she’s still here. I can’t talk to her—you need to.”
“Reese, I think she’s trying to make things—make something—right. She’s trying to help.” He gave me a searching look. “Sister, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Things have been weird with Charlie and work.” And on every level. “I don’t know if I belong there anymore, or what to do if I don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. It’s complicated. I’m here until Dad is better. I’d feel strange being anywhere else.” Dad’s health was an easy excuse to put my own life and looming decisions on the back burner.
“Alright, no need to get your power suit puckered. Meet me on the porch in two minutes, and I’ll drop you off on my way into work. The world needs to see you shine, and I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t walk in those heels, let alone drive.”
I smiled at him wordlessly because the lump in my throat wouldn’t permit me to do anything else.
When I came home from work, I walked into a Norman Rockwellesque picture of Ben and Bernice cackling around the kitchen table. Like a couple of high school girls. I scowled at their bowed heads. Ben had always been a Mama’s boy, had sold out by her second batch of cookies. I snorted and slammed the door behind me. Did they even remember Dad was sick?
“Reese, I made you a cookie with an R on it!” Bernice called.
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