Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 31

After the draining mediation, I wasn t ready for a come-to-Jesus meeting with Paloma Carter. She never raised her voice, but she made it as clear as a New York City boutique hotel chandelier that I needed to be open with her in the future. If I were to withhold important information from her again, she would cease to represent me.

Normally, such an upbraiding would ve had me in tears, but I d learned that tears didn t do anything for me. All I could think was, Mom s going to get a kick out of being right about this.

On the good-news front, I stopped on the way home to talk to my favorite Target manager, Joe, and he seemed to think he would be able to hire me on as a seasonal worker. From there, I could possibly move on to a full-time position. I had an interview scheduled for November 6.

Thank goodness red was my favorite color.

I was excited to tell Mom about the job news and the lawyer news, but she was nowhere to be found. Truth be told, I missed her.

For a good five minutes I considered cooking. In the end I made a sandwich of peanut butter, jelly, and resignation. I d consider the urge to cook a small victory. Could I be blamed for not wanting to act on that urge after everything that had happened the past few days?

As I was putting my plate in the sink, I heard the door open. I froze. Was it Mitch or Mom? Shouldn t be Dylan since he was supposed to be at school.

Well, Connie, I m here. I ll have to call you later.

That voice belonged to my mom. As I walked to the front door to greet her, she paused halfway in the entrance trying to end the call on her phone. Lucky ran between her legs and out into the night.

Mom! I shouted. My tone came out angrier than I d intended because I didn t want to have to fetch the cat out of the shrubs after dark, and she knew Lucky was a darter.

What?

Could you move, please? Irritation and accusation bled into my tone.

Unfazed, she shuffled into the foyer, still trying to end the call. I finally brushed past her just in time to see Lucky disappearing around the corner of the house. Lucky! You get back here!

I fumbled with my phone s flashlight and picked my way around the front landscaping to get to the side of the house.

No cat.

I shivered in the night air, my flip-flopped feet less than enthused about the chilly, damp weather. Seriously, cat.

Something rustled in the brush behind the house, and I headed that way. The phone s flashlight did little to illuminate the backyard. I couldn t even seem to catch Lucky s one green eye.

Lucky?

Panic caught in my chest. Here I was looking for a black cat on a black night in the middle of a bunch of blackberry bushes that I should ve cleared out a long time ago. I d figured that lawn work was the least Mitch could do since I handled all the household tasks. Little did I know that he could, in fact, do even less.

Wait. Halloween was in just two days. Awful things sometimes happened to black cats on Halloween.

This time the chill that ran through me had nothing to do with the October weather and everything to do with the seriousness of the situation.

Kitty kitty? The second word came out on a sob. Why was I bothering? Lucky had never once considered herself a kitty, nor did she come when called.

This isn t funny, I said as I tried to push my way into the brambles to get a better look. Come on back to the house now, Lucky. I ll give you all the treats.

Treats!

I ran back into the house for both a bag of treats and an actual flashlight. Back in the yard, I shook the bag and called for Lucky until my voice started to crack. Even with a wider range, the flashlight still didn t reveal my cat.

I tamped down my feelings, trying to shove them into my mental chest of drawers. That bad boy was getting awfully full. After what felt like an hour of walking around the house and searching through the brambles as though my life depended on it, I finally gave up. I sank down on my back patio, concentrating on keeping my tears at bay.

Not my Lucky. Losing her would be a bridge too far.

A few hot tears escaped.

Lucky! I called out one more time.

Nothing.

Just the sound of cars on the highway across the backyard and the rustle of a breeze in the trees and bushes. I closed my eyes against the idea of Lucky wandering out onto the highway. They wouldn t be able to see her and-

Don t think about it.

And where was my mother during all this? Why hadn t she come to help?

I swiped at my eyes and my nose. Here she d been gone all day to who knows where after leaving unexpectedly while I was on my trip. She d let the cat out and then couldn t be bothered to help me find her?

Anger coursed through me, and all the things I d been shoving down came bubbling up at once. I stomped to the front of the house.

Goddammit, Mom, I bellowed as I came through the door. The loudness of my voice felt like a pressure valve releasing. Now I can t find Lucky anywhere. You know she runs out the door any chance she gets. How could you forget? That was such a stupid thing to do.

Mom looked surprised, then just . . . worn.

My anger felt misplaced, but I couldn t stop it. My mouth kept going even as my brain told it to stop. And where the hell were you anyway? You re never around when I really need you.

And just like that I knew I d gone too far. Her chin jutted up with determination. Maybe I m never around because I m always at arm s length, where you keep me.

I took a step backward as she stared me down and then looked away as if trying to communicate something important that just couldn t be put into words. Disappointment, frustration, sadness-all those feelings hung between us. Then she shook her head, seeming to give up trying to express in words what she was feeling, and turned on her heel and walked with purpose into the primary bedroom.

I followed her. Mom, what are you doing?

Vivian, I m tired.

Her words reminded me of Mitch, and I tasted panic and bile.

Without waiting for a response, she drew her suitcase out from under the bed and slammed it on the mattress. Then she went to the chest of drawers and started taking out her clothes.

That reminded me of Mitch, too.

The insecurities I d felt when he left bubbled to the top again; I couldn t seem to tamp them back down. Tired of what exactly? I tried to keep my voice even, but it was impossible.

Trying to help you when you won t help yourself. She marched to the bathroom and started shoving toiletries into a gallon Ziploc bag.

Mom! I sounded like a teenager and hated myself for it. Those were years I never wanted to think about again, much less revisit.

Her eyes met mine. I couldn t tell if her sympathy made things better or worse. I want to fix everything for you, but I can t. Believe me, I d take your hurts for you in a heartbeat if I could. But, Vivian, when are you going to realize that you ve been hurting me, too?

Her question came like a gut punch, and I sat on my edge of the bed. I couldn t have answered if I wanted to because . . . she was my mother. Did mothers hurt? Of course they did, and I would know because I was a mother, too.

Shoulders slumped, she returned to the bedroom and tossed the bag into the suitcase.

So you re just going to leave?

Yep, she finally answered, the word a knife to my heart.

She couldn t leave. If she left, I would have no one. First Mitch. Then my friends. Then Parker. Even my cat had fled. Now my mother was going to leave me, too? So I d yelled a bit when I came through the door. My cat could be gone forever or even . . . dead. Didn t I have a right to be upset? What did she do when she was getting a divorce? Hadn t she yelled? I thought back, way back. They were all so long ago now.

I tried to remember a time-just one measly time-when she d taken her frustration out on me. But she hadn t. The only time I could remember her yelling was when she was on the phone with my father.

But why? Now I just sounded pathetic. And desperate.

I made myself a promise long ago to never let another husband talk to me that way, and I m not going to let you talk to me like that, either. Especially not over an accident.

That was such a stupid thing to do.

You re never around when I really need you.

When I heard the words again in my memory, they were sneers, awful sneers. They were also things Mitch had said to me at one time or another, and I hated myself for having said them. The last person I wanted to turn into was my asshole husband.

Mom slapped the suitcase closed, causing me to flinch. Then she zipped it with vigor.

Mom, let s talk about this, I said, all my feelings and realizations mutating into a desperation clawing its way up my throat.

I need you.

She paused, that weariness haunting her eyes again. Look, Vivian, I m not mad at you. Okay, I am mad at you, but I m mainly disappointed. And hurt. I didn t raise you to cuss at your mama or to take the Lord s name in vain. Or treat anyone with such disrespect. I know there s a lot on your plate right now, but it s nothing you can t handle.

Yes, because you ve been here helping me.

Am I? It feels like I ve mainly been a convenient punching bag, especially tonight.

My heart beat against my rib cage as if it wanted desperately to escape and go with her. Punching bag?

She half sighed and half huffed, that universal language of a mom who could take no more. Think about it, Viv. The things you ve said on your videos and on television. Then tonight . . . I m sorry about Lucky, really I am, but it was an accident. Maybe I have something on my mind, too, you know.

What? I could feel the scowl twisting my face when I said it. What could she possibly be going through that was as bad as my past month?

Her shoulders slumped. Carl had a heart attack a few hours ago. I m a . . . widow.

She said the word as though trying it out. It sounded odd to me, so I could only imagine how it felt to say it.

If Carl had died before she could get a divorce, that meant she, as the wife, would be in charge of his affairs. How?

Oh, while you were in New York, his kids and I had to move him to hospice, but we thought he had a few months at least.

Why didn t you tell me?

Because you were busy in New York, and I didn t want to bother you. Especially not after you didn t respond to my message.

Didn t want to bother me? Was I such a bad daughter that she thought I wouldn t cut my trip short to come help her? I m sorry. I should ve been there.

Maybe. But Connie was there, and she helped me. Thank God.

Who s Connie?

She s my . . . Mom stood up straighter and leveled her chin at me as if daring me to disagree with what she said next. She s my girlfriend.

Okay, then. A girlfriend. Huh. So she was serious about not liking men. A lot of things started making sense.

Why didn t you tell me this ?

Because I wanted you to care enough to ask me more the other night. You know, when I was hinting that I might prefer women.

I was supposed to say something to that, but heaven knew I didn t know what.

When I didn t say anything, she headed for the foyer with purpose. I trotted after her like a lost puppy.

I m going to say a prayer that Lucky comes home. I believe she will when she gets hungry enough. Really, I do. And you need to get a job, a real job, not just this pie-in-the-sky YouTube thing that gives you the illusion of success. She put a hand on each of my shoulders and looked deeply into my eyes, just the way she always had when she was about to give me a dose of encouragement and tough love all rolled into one. These days I looked down at her instead of the other way around, a reminder that I wouldn t have her around forever. Sweetheart, I need you to get your shit together.

I opened my mouth to tell her I almost had a job, but somehow I didn t think she d be that impressed with seasonal retail clerk. Not when she d always wanted me to be more, only to have me hamstring myself by not finishing school.

She took in a deep breath, as if to fortify herself. I know exactly how you feel right now-

No. No, you don t! You ve never been married this long. You don t know what it s like at all!

Her eyebrow arched, and she took the comfort of her hands away. Vivian Loraine, I love you with all my heart, but I don t like you very much right now. We need a little space in our togetherness.

A slap would ve hurt less.

Pain bloomed at each temple, and I massaged each spot with my middle fingers. Okay, that wasn t cool. Look, I m going through a lot, and I just need-

What do you need?

Hurt boiled up again, and I lashed out. I don t know!

Her eyebrow arched even higher. I would swear it was about to touch her hairline.

I m sorry. I won t yell again.

Yes, yes you will. Welcome to the anger stage. It s going to get worse before it gets better.

But you didn t . . . you rarely if ever . . .

She looked as though she might reach out and pat my cheek, but she just smiled. Where do you think you learned about screaming into pillows?

I tried a different tactic because I couldn t stand to have one more person or animal leave me. Mom, you know you can t see well at night. At least wait until morning.

She smiled as if she d heard that line before, probably from one of her exes. I won t go too far tonight.

Mama, please . The two words scraped past the lump in my throat. I hadn t called her Mama since I was a young girl. In fact, the last time I d called her Mama was back when I thought she could fix anything, before any of her divorces and long before mine.

She paused at the door. How many people found out about your divorce before I did, Vivian?

I . . . I don t know. But I did. At least I think I did. I could think of three off the top of my head, which seemed like a shameful number, so I kept it to myself.

But I wasn t the first person you called, was I?

No. It felt like the wrong answer, but it was the only one I had.

She sighed, and the sheer longing in the sound made tears prick my eyes. Once, just once, I would like to be the first person you call and not the last. I d certainly like to find out before you announce it to the nation.

Oh.

I d been so worried about how Mom would say I told you so that I hadn t thought about how she might feel about my news.

You watch my videos?

Of course! You re my daughter. I keep up with everything you do, and that s why I can tell you how many people found out about your divorce before your own mother.

I couldn t answer. My voice box refused to work.

I saw your video an hour before you called. Three hundred fifty-two thousand four hundred and fifty-three people found out about your divorce before I did. And I felt so very small when I realized that. What did I do wrong?

Mom, I-

She held out a hand to stop me.

What kind of mother have I been? She was talking to herself now. I know I raised a capable woman, a kind and smart woman. I know she is a good mother because my grandson is perfect in every way. But what kind of mother am I? A bad one, I guess.

Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door behind her and disappeared.

Like Mitch.

Like Rachel.

Like Lucky.

My mental chest of drawers teetered on the edge and finally, finally tipped over, emptying all those drawers of the feelings I d wanted to examine later and strewing them all over my oppressively quiet home.

Rationally, I knew she wasn t saying a forever goodbye, but it felt like it.

In fact, it felt very much like we were about to lose something we d worked so hard to gain. I thought of how we d watched Jeopardy while she lounged in her underwear, how we d suffered through kraut and wieners together, how she d joined my friends in the cul-de-sac seamlessly.

I dropped to the floor, realization and regret swirling in the pit of my stomach.

Think about it, babe. The things you said in your videos and on television.

What kind of mother was she? More like, what kind of daughter was I?

Then there was the time Alavita Hodges asked me if Mom had taught me about life hacks or self-esteem. What had I said?

She didn t have time to teach me those things.

The look in her eyes when she d walked out haunted me.

Determination and hurt.

She d just given me one heckuva lesson about self-esteem when she walked out the door because her only daughter hadn t respected her.

All these years I d blamed her for my father leaving; I d wanted to be nothing like her. All the while, she d been teaching me how to drive stick shift in a car she couldn t really afford to insure and shuffling me to drama practice-even offering a shoulder to cry on when I couldn t overcome my stage fright enough to take the lead role. She d been there at every performance, every test, every milestone. She d tried to talk some sense into Mitch and make him promise that I d finish my degree. When that failed, she made sure I had the house in my name and money of my own because she knew.

She. Knew.

And what was her reward? Putting up with a thousand barbs about how I was a better wife because I wasn t like her .

Now I wanted nothing more than to be like her.

But I d screwed up.

I d screwed up in so many ways.

I reached for Lucky, but she was gone, too.

I trudged to the backyard, desperate to catch a glimpse of her one green eye. I flashed the light into all the bushes I hadn t trimmed because I was waiting-hoping-someone else would do it. When Lucky still didn t appear no matter how much I willed her to, prayed for her to, I dragged myself around the house and back to my lonely bedroom.

Then I raged and cried and screamed into my pillow the way my mother had taught me to.

The next morning, I d have to get up and put one foot in front of the other.

Mom had taught me that, too.