her well in this life, certainly not around me. And soon, she’s going to need to be strong: she’s about to enter the cold, hard real world.
I’m not sure how to respond to her silence, so I stare at her and shrug. “I’ve had a long day.”
“Sure you have.” She chuckles again. I know she thinks I do nothing but mope around in our home all day. I guess that is all she sees of me.
I glance at the door across from where I stand. It leads to the back patio. Both girls’ rooms have exterior doors and an external stairway leads to the front, outside courtyard. This is how Betsy comes and goes as she pleases. I should have turned the doors into windows before the teenage years. It’s too late now.
“Mom, anything else?” She’s watching me as I stare at myself in the full-length mirror in the corner of her room. I know she wishes she had my sexy figure, thin build. She has David’s big bones, poor girl. I turn my head, check out my backside looking over my right shoulder. Not bad for forty-two years old.
I remember a question I’d been meaning to ask her, my memory finally coming through. “I haven’t seen Josh lately. Why don’t you invite him over for dinner this week to celebrate graduation?” I haven’t seen him at all, come to think of it. Why didn’t I keep up with them, invite him to dinner? I know they’ve been texting this school year and Betsy is very sweet with him. I just haven’t seen him. I’ve been focused on other things, and healing, of course. It’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t been through this how debilitating the loss of a child can be. It makes it so hard to keep track of the other people in your life because you’re so consumed with the one who has gone. But I must. I’m the mother. That’s why I have my handy app. And Betsy has used the love word with him in texts. I need to monitor that kind of language.
“We broke up a couple weeks ago. I meant to tell you.” Her eyes focus on a stain on her bedspread. She picks at it with her fingernail.
“What? Really? Oh, I’m sorry, honey.” I blink and stare at Betsy. She seems unfazed.
“It’s not a big deal. I still love him, as a friend. We’ve always been more friends than anything.” She finally stops picking at the bedspread and smiles at me. “The passion was gone. You know the feeling?”
I don’t want to know, no. I swallow. “I always thought you could do better anyway.” Josh seemed perpetually barefoot, smelled vaguely of weed and needed a bath. Even when he was wearing tennis clothes he seemed, well, dingy. I care about Betsy, and who she dates. It’s a reflection on me, everything she does, everything she will do. “So is there anybody new I should know about?”
She meets my eyes. “No.”
“Well, that’s good. You should focus on your studies. Spend time with me. And Dad. You’ll be graduating so soon.”
“Thank God. And I know what you think, Mom.” She’s staring at the ceiling. Telling herself to be patient with me, perhaps? Her frustration zings through the air, hits me in the gut. Nothing I haven’t handled before.
She should watch herself tonight. I’ve already been so disappointed by her dad this evening.
“I love you.” I walk to her bedside, touch her soft, shoulder-length blond hair with my hand. I lean forward and kiss her cheek and try not to react to the diamond stud sparkling from the side of her nose. I can’t remember if we shopped for a dress for graduation. Did we?
“What are you wearing for graduation?” The look on her face tells me that I should know the answer. One of the aftereffects of strong emotion is memory loss. My memory also is hazy because of the free-flowing pharmaceuticals prescribed by Dr. Rosenthal. But I stopped most of those. I need to focus. Even without the drugs, I can’t seem to hold on to things like before.
“The purple Free People dress. Remember?” Betsy shakes her head.
I don’t remember. “Of course. Now I remember. You’ll be beautiful.”
Betsy smiles, and it’s hollow. I don’t think she believes me, but maybe she just doesn’t care. “I’m wearing the silver one to the ceremony tomorrow.” She looks down at her hands, her fingernails bitten to the quick, another result of the tragic accident we’ll commemorate tomorrow. She curls her hands into fists, hiding the carnage of her fingernails. “Are you sure it was a good idea to invite the whole world to this funeral celebration thing?”
“I’m not sure. Your dad handled it all.”
“Woo-hoo! Come grab a drink. My sister’s dead.” Betsy hops off her bed, takes a step toward her bathroom and stops. Her hands are in fists but her blue eyes have a glassy sheen, as if she’s about to cry. She crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“Oh, honey, you know it’s to remember her, not to celebrate her death. Your dad always likes to go over the top where Mary’s concerned. He always spoiled her. She was his favorite. They had all those secrets. Those inside jokes. That’s why it’s you and me against the world.” I smile at my pot stirring. I dropped some of my best refrains there.
“Mom.” She shakes her head no, but she knows I’m right. “Time for you to go.”
I reach out to her, pull her into a hug. She’s stiff, but she doesn’t push away. I’m glad she trusts me, at least a little. We stand for a moment, locked in a comforting embrace. She’s a good girl at heart.
She breaks the hug, but I slip my hand around her wrist. Holding her tight. Just a little reminder of who is boss. Then I notice a new tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, her Mary tattoo is on her right. I smile and grab her left hand, holding it in the air.
“What’s that? On your wrist?” My tone is too sharp. I force a smile.
Betsy shakes free, steps back from me, recovering her composure, pulling her sleeve down, covering her hand. “It’s an infinity symbol. You know, eternity, empowerment, everlasting love.”
“You didn’t have my permission to mark yourself again.” This is totally unacceptable. The next thing you know, she’ll be covered in those awful things.
“It’s tiny. I’ve had it for months and you didn’t even know. So chillax.” She stares into my eyes until I look away.
Defiant daughters are the worst. “You’ll be sorry, later. When you’re old and saggy.”
She arches her eyebrows. I know she’s thinking about adding, “Like you, Mom.” But I’m neither. So she smiles instead and says, “FYI, I’m meeting some friends after the lame ceremony tomorrow night. We’re planning a few surprises for senior day, and graduation night. I’ll be home late.” Betsy arches an eyebrow. “No need to stalk me.” A challenge.
I meet her eyes and she laughs. She’s teasing me, of course, not laughing at me. She’s eighteen years old. I can’t stop her from doing what she wants and I have other people to stalk right now. “Just be smart.”
“I am smart, Mom, even if you don’t think so.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. I love you.” I’m a master at dodging her, you see. I try hard not to compare her to Mary, but it’s not easy. Mary was brilliant. Beautiful. Oh well. I walk out of the room in silence, pull her door closed behind me and make my way to the stairs. My heart thumps from the tension between us, a tension that only develops when two
