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“I know,” agreed Daphne. “Another two weeks at least. They’re talking about keeping the state closed through most of the month.”
“Wow, that’s too long, I think.”
“There’s a big fight about it on the news,” Daphne relayed. “I don’t follow it all very closely, but it sounds like politics is getting in the way.”
“Doesn’t it always?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Look, Tracianne, this might be uncomfortable to talk about, but I’m going to breach the subject.”
Oh, no. Where is this going?
“Okay,” I said, stupidly following her into what sounded like it was going to be a very cringe moment.
“I mean, since you mentioned not hooking up with any guys, if you need it, there are plenty of sites where you can order a vibrator,” she offered.
Woah. Shit. Now I was back to thinking she was just plain nuts.
“Daphne, I don’t think we’re at the stage in our relationship yet where I can discuss vibrators with you,” I confessed, after a pause. “Please don’t pursue this.”
“All right, but if you need any advice…”
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to move past it.
“Okay, but we can talk about these things. We’re both women.”
“Yeah, but I’m not comfortable, okay?”
“I get it, but—”
“Really not comfortable,” I insisted.
“Okay, I guess, if you don’t want to hear about this new position I heard about,” she tempted.
“What? No!” I exclaimed. “Daphne, this is too personal for me. And you said you wanted to mother me. Go ahead, but don’t mention the V word again, please.”
“But it’s important for your health.”
“So is broccoli, but I don’t buy it every day.”
“Dildos are an option.”
“Oh, my God! Stop. Please,” I begged her. “You’re making this so uncomfortable. We were having a nice chat in the pantry.”
“I just want you to know that you can talk about anything with me,” she kept insisting. “I’m here for you.”
“Yes, I get it, but just— baby steps, Daphne. Remember? Baby steps,” I urged. “And in all honestly, there are some things I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable talking about with anyone else, mother figure or not. Don’t take it personally. It’s just a ‘me’ thing.”
“Okay. I understand. Can I get a hug at least?”
She put out her arms. I gave her a hug because I could tell she was just trying to connect with me, in her totally oddball way. But I really wanted to get out of the pantry and go anywhere else now.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Let’s get out of here,” I offered. “Let’s have a snack to celebrate our new understanding.”
“Ice cream?”
Anything to end this conversation.
“Yes, sounds great,” I replied.
“I think Phil and I were going to play a game of Scrabble to pass the quarantine time,” she said. “Would you be interested in joining us?”
“Oh, no thank you,” I said, the name “Phil” making the hair on my arms stand up. “Dad said he needed my help with technology, so I’m going to head over there and see what I can do, as soon as we have our celebratory snack.”
“Okay,” she pouted. “But one of these days, you’ll have to bond with us over board games.”
“Sure, one of these days,” I lied, hoping that day would never come to pass.Chapter Eleven - PhilPlaying Scrabble with Mom was a bit of a challenge. We had both gotten really good at the game since we played Words with Friends on our phones all the time.
Tracianne and Richard were in the study. Richard needed her to set up his computer for a Zoom meeting or something.
Sometime around the third game, the topic came up as it always did. I think the wooden letters she put down on the board spelled out the word “abandon.” I guess I must have made a face.
“What? That’s spelled right. Are you challenging?” she asked.
“No, just that word. Makes me think of you and Dad,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, realizing we were about to have the same conversation. “If you want to talk, Phil, you can talk to me. Ask me anything.”
“Why’d you leave Dad?” I asked. “Don’t give me the kid reason. Give me the grown-up reason. The real reason.”
I kept my voice low. The last thing I wanted was for this conversation to be overheard by Tracianne and Richard on the other side of the house.
“Oh, Phil,” she said, looking down. “There were things that, well, you were too young and you wouldn’t see them.”
“Like what?”
“Your dad was a trucker, as you know, and I was alone with you,” she explained. “It was tough raising a kid all the time by myself. And that’s the way I felt. I felt like a single mother with no support.”
“But Dad was working,” I countered. “He was working for us. To provide a good home and support. He called from the road all the time.”
“It’s not enough, Phil,” she said, looking down again. “It was mental torture for me, always waiting for your father to come back home. I was married and I felt alone. And even when he was home, he was emotionally unavailable.”
