Story #88 - Mom's The Word

Mom's The Word

“You're not flying in?” Mother's voice was disapproving.

“No mom, I can't,” I said into the receiver, “I know its Thanksgiving, but I've got a lot of work to catch up on and Julia has a new client that needs their brief done by the weekend. It just isn't going to happen.”

I didn't say anything about the expense; trips out east weren't cheap, and the market had been down for last few months, hurting both of our incomes. Mentioning it to mom would mean a round of the “I'll pay for it” game, which would end either in acceptance and massive guilt, or a self-paid flight and massive debt. Lose-lose either way.

Mom really did want to see me, but Julia she'd take or leave any day – preferably leave unless the two of us could start popping out some grandchildren. That was why Thanksgiving always stayed out east – my brother and old sister had grown up, gotten “real people” jobs and married young, both ending up with two kids before thirty. My brother had one from a “failed” relationship and one with his current wife, but mom glossed over that fact every time it came up. Having a grandchild was more important than who it came out of.

“Fine, son,” she said, “I hope you and Julia manage to catch up, and have a happy Thanksgiving.” She meant it; she wasn't malicious or vengeful, just sad. I was the only one to move away, the only one who didn't fit the family mold. Freelance work wasn't something mom could get behind – she understood the concept, but thought I was recklessly putting my family in financial danger.

Julia, thank God, knew better.

Was it selfish of me? Yeah, but it was also what I loved doing, and it showed in an increasing profit each year I worked. We struggled but made ends meet, and tried to avoid my family where and when we could.

Julia's family was mostly gone; she'd lost her father before we met and her mother shortly after, so these kinds of phone calls never happened to her. Two sisters in different cities phoned periodically to check in, but they both had lives and careers of their own. Once every five years or so the three of them would get together, but that was all Julia needed.

If only!

Mom wanted to see us every time a holiday came up, wanted the chance to look right at as and ask, “so, why is there no baby?” She'd been more subtle when she started, poking and prodding away at Julia and then at me with questions about friends with babies and how cute the darn things were, but we ignored her.

“Don't worry,” I had told Julia, “the other grand-kids will be enough.” I was wrong, of course – four grandchildren was plenty, but mom wanted at least one from each of the three bodies that had sprung from her own loins. My brother and sister were smug about it as well; mom heaped praise on them and largely ignored me, something I enjoyed but they seemed to think would get under my skin.

The truth was simple, but something I could never say; I loved my family thanks to biology. I didn't like them thanks to life.

I got two more calls from mom in the next two days, ostensibly to “check up” on various small aspects of my life. After the second hour-long listening marathon, Julia threw up her hands.

“Tell her you'll go, Dennis, and she'll stop calling. I'm not coming with you, but at least I can have you to myself for a few days before you go.”

If Julia wanted it, I'd do my best to provide, so I told mom “yes” and hung up the phone.

“What the hell is wrong with her?” I asked out loud. I'd never found the answer; friends had told me similar stories about their own mothers, about repeated phone calls and endless cycles of subtle guilt, but I'd never understood the point. How could she enjoy knowing I was there only because she wouldn't leave me alone? Wouldn't that ruin the moment?

“She loves you, honey,” Julia supplied, “but has a strange way of showing it. You're her favorite, I think, even if she doesn't act like you are, and she's hurt when you're not there.” She smiled. “Of course, she's also hurt that I took you away from her – I don't think she'll ever let that one go.”

I leaned over for a hug. She was right about that – if my father had still been alive when Julia and I married it might have been different, but mom was alone and I had always been the most pragmatic of my siblings – another part of the reason mom simply couldn't fathom what I was doing now.

The airport was crowded and hot, even for November, but the flight left on time. I lucked out and only had one other guy in my row, and from the look on his face he was also headed somewhere he didn't want to be for the holiday. I didn't ask him; I wouldn't have wanted anyone to ask me, and the flight slipped by in relative calm.

A child emergency – dime up a nose, I later learned – prevented anyone from picking me up when I landed, so I grabbed a cab and suffered through a terrible smell and bad driving for an hour. Pulling up to my sister's house, I saw that she had added a new addition since the last time I'd come by, making her house the biggest on the street by far, and close to being larger than city hall.

Stumping up to the door, suitcase catching on ruts in the snow, I rang the bell and waited.

Mom answered, ill-fitting holiday sweater on and smile blazing. “Dennis!” She said brightly, reaching up to give me a hug. “Where's Julia?”

I shook my head. “She couldn't make it, mom. Too expensive.”

Mom stepped back, eyes dimming. “You didn't bring her?” Her voice was disapproving.

- D