Page 42 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

“That’s fine. I’m glad they’re all starting to find the thing that makes them happy. Mom, I have—”

“It’s so fun watching them become their own little people.”

I finally got it out. “Mom, I have company. I need to go in a moment, okay?”

“I’ll be quick then. It’s your father’s birthday this Saturday. You are coming home, right?”

“Just a sec.” I was sure I couldn’t, but I flipped to the calendar on my phone just in case I was forgetting a holiday or something. “I can’t. I’m teaching.”

“But you came last year.”

“It coincided with fall break last year.”

“Can’t you cancel class? Or find someone to substitute?”

“Mom, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Well, sure it does. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s my job, Mom. It is a big deal. My Friday and Saturday classes only meet once a week.”

“Samantha.” Mom’s tone told me I was being silly. “It’s not like it’s real college anyway. People can miss a class.”

Anger flared in my chest. “It most certainly is a real college and these classes are important to the students.”

Silence.

I sighed and eyed the dining room. Lisa had poured herself more wine and was sipping at it and scrolling through her phone. “Mom.”

“You know that your father will be disappointed.”

“Dad doesn’t care.” He had been shocked when I showed up last year and probably told me twelve times that I shouldn’t have taken time out of my schedule.

“Of course he does! John, tell Samantha you want her to be here for your birthday.”

I heard a grunting noise in the background, then my father’s voice. “It’s just another day, Helen.”

“I’ll be home for your anniversary party,” I reminded her. “Okay?”

Mom was not happy. “Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

A click on the other end, then silence. I suppose it didn’t count as hanging up on me if I’d initiated the goodbye process, but I knew that was what she’d intended. I whispered a few choice words, then gathered myself and came back into the dining room.

I smiled at Lisa. “My mother is a piece of work.”

“Sounds that way. What did she want you to do?”

“Come home for my dad’s birthday. He doesn’t care. She just lives for guilt trips.”

“When’s his birthday?”

“Saturday. I went home last year because it was the week of fall break. I never should have, because now she thinks I can just drop everything…”

Lisa refilled my wine without asking. “She thinks what you do isn’t important.”

“That just about sums everything up, yes.”