I waited, the ice melting in my glass, numbing my fingers almost painfully in the gathering morning heat. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? That it was futile to continue to hold tight to a course of action once life had changed unexpectedly? Was she releasing me, without even knowing it, from my deathbed promise to her? A promise I’d been holding myself to for ten years. A promise I’d given up my entire life and first love for. Was she saying it was okay for me to let go of her dream for our family’s future and let life be what it was without her? As if sensing my internal question, she kept talking.
“When you told me you wanted to take over the diner, I let you,” she said with a sigh. “Selfishly, I wanted you to make a go of it, makethe dream I had for it real. And if that’s your dream too, I’ll support you till my last breath. But, honey, nothing is worth holding on to if it’s holding you back. It’s okay to let something go if it’s time to move on.”
And with her words something in me loosened, like the turn of a key, the click of a lock springing open. I’d been held under the burden of the promise I’d made to her for so long. It felt strange to think of being free of it now. Not free of Dad or Daphne or my responsibilities at the diner. Not free of the life I’d made in the ten years since her death, but released from the responsibility to keep everything as it was before her death, free from the burden of needing to stand in her shoes and carry out her vision for our lives. Free from the burden of her expectations, even from beyond the grave. I didn’t know what to say.
“Life will give you plenty of lemons, Lolly,” she said at last. “You know that as well as I do. I used to say when life gives you lemons you should make lemonade. I even had that sign up in the diner. Now I think you should take life’s lemons and do whatever you want with them, whatever brings you joy. Maybe you make lemonade if that’s your style. But maybe you get some gin and make yourself a strong double gin fizz. Choose what brings you life, my girl, and it will all come right in the end. Trust me on that.”
I picked up my English muffin and took a bite, considering her words. They didn’t fix everything. Didn’t fix anything, really. There was still the sticky dilemma of my duty versus my desire. There was still the life goals list completely unmet. There was still the tiny issue that I was in love with a man I’d broken up with seven years ago. None of those were insubstantial. But looking at my mother, I wondered if perhaps she was right. What would happen if I just let go?
For a minute we both watched the curl of surf breaking against the white sand. In the swell of the waves, just before they crested, I could see dozens of brilliantly hued yellow fish swimming in the aqua-bluewaves, backlit by sunlight. Yellow tangs, I remembered Dad telling me they were called.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“For what?” Mom asked.
“I can’t even say.”
She cocked her head and eyed me quizzically. “You’re welcome,” she said at last with a gentle smile. “A little hard-earned wisdom from your mother, who loves you dearly.” We sat for a few minutes in silence, watching the water.
“What do you want to do today?” Mom asked, sucking on a cube of ice from her mai tai.
“I don’t care. I just want to spend the day with you.”
Today was my last chance. I wanted this day to be all about time with Mom, every second, every breath soaking up the last day I would ever spend with her. I took the final sip of my mai tai, swallowing down loss and unexpected second chances, the sour and the sweet.
22
We settled ona drive down the coast, Mom at the wheel of an older model aqua-colored convertible Ford Thunderbird with a scarf tied over her hair à la Grace Kelly. Our family had never owned anything but old Volvo station wagons, and to see her in something so peppy and cute was both surprising and endearing. She put a CD of classic female country singers’ greatest hits on, turned it up loud, and we set off.
My hair whipped in my eyes as we took the curves of the Mamalahoa Highway a shade too fast for comfort, the sun shining on the crown of my head, the water far below us a sparkling blue, sharp and bright as cut glass. Over the speakers Tammy Wynette warbled about elusive dreams. With the wind whistling around us it was too loud to talk. That was okay. I was content just to be with her, in the warm sunshine, watching the tropical jungle of greenery slide by as we wound our way south. After twenty minutes or so of driving, Mom pulled off at the South Kona Fruit Stand.
“Let’s grab some fruit for breakfast tomorrow. Do you still like those little apple bananas? I remember you and Daphne used to love them.”
The small open-air stand was empty of customers but brimming with the tropical bounty of the island arranged in baskets on tiered wooden stands. I wandered around picking up various fruits, enjoying the laid-back island vibe.
“Speaking of Daphne, she called me a couple of days ago.” Mom leaned over and gently squeezed an enormous avocado almost the size of a football. She frowned and put it back.
“Oh? What’s she up to?” I paused, a bright, spiky fuchsia dragonfruit in hand. I’d almost forgotten that Daphne was part of the reason I wanted to see Mom. Maybe she would have some good advice about how to talk my sister into staying in school.
“She seems peachy. Says Bali is amazing. She’s talking about staying on after her training ends and leading yoga retreats over there.”
Bali. Daphne was in Indonesia? I thought back to Daphne’s and my disastrous, heated argument yesterday in the Bikram yoga session. Maybe this yoga training was not just a passing fancy of hers. But I still wanted her to finish school.
“Bali, huh?” I set the dragonfruit down next to a basket of limes. Dragonfruit is wildly beautiful to look at but disappointingly bland. “What do you think of her being there?”
“I think it’s exactly like Daphne.” Mom chuckled. “She was always our wild card, the child who jumped first and looked later.” Mom paused to gently press a large strawberry papaya, its yellow skin speckled with green, then tucked it in a reusable shopping bag she’d brought from the car. “Not like you. You were always... careful. Even as a child you’d calculate the risks and the odds of your success.” She smiled at the memory. “I always knew Daphne would be the one who flew away from us. It was just a matter of time.”
“Don’t you worry about her long-term career goals? It could be hard to build a solid career with just a yoga certification,” I argued.
Mom shrugged. “There are lots of ways to make a good life, Lolly.Focusing on a career path is one, but there are many others. Daphne’s making her own way. I think she’ll be fine.”
I frowned. “But wouldn’t it be so much better if she got a degree in something, if she had some other job experience and education?”
“Maybe,” Mom conceded. “But the thing you’ll learn if you ever have children is that each one is their own person. You can’t superimpose your own vision for their future on them. You have to let them find their own way.”
I turned away, disgruntled. I wanted to protect Daphne, to make her see reason. I wanted her to make sensible choices and plan wisely for the future. Mom’s advice was not helpful so far.
You want her to live your ideal version of her life, a little voice in my head whispered.And hasn’t there been enough of that in this family already?
