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Mom’s voice returns to the phone. “I’ve been thinking a lot since we said goodbye.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think I made it clear just how happy I am that you finally made the decision to tell me about your marriage. I understand why you were hesitant. It’s not like I’ve ever spoken positively about marriage.”
I run my fingers along the marbling on the kitchen counter. “No, nor about secrecy, New York’s corporate scene, rich people, men in suits, inheritances in general…”
“Hey now,” she says. “I’ve always said that suits have a certain appeal. They’re just an outdated custom.”
“Not to mention you think they kill originality.”
“No man was blessed with life only to dress forever in gray or black,” she says. “But honey, that wasn’t the point. I wanted you to know that I appreciated your honesty. Your path and my path aren’t the same, but they are perpendicular, for as long as I’m treading mine. And I’m so grateful I get to see the beautiful, strong, ambitious woman you’ve become.”
My throat feels tight. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Victor was… interesting. He has the conflicted power of a man who knows himself and his abilities well, but hasn’t fully incorporated his shadow self. He still fights his weaknesses, when he should be embracing them.”
“He won’t let me heal his chakras,” I say, half-joking, half-serious. “I tried once.”
Mom hmms in thought on the other end. “A man like him wouldn’t. But there’s healing to be done in other ways, sweetie. He’ll find it in time, and you can’t do it for him. Just remember to keep your channels of communication open.”
I sigh. “Yes. I will.”
Mom once drew a chart of the channels she considered a part of communication, and you’d be surprised how many non-verbal ones she included. This week, we haven’t been using much of any channel, Victor and I.
“I love you,” I say. “You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for giving me a childhood unlike any of my friends’. I know I wasn’t always grateful when I was younger. But I am, Mom. We were a team, you and I, and we saw so many things, and did them all together. You were always there for me.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence on the other end, and then Mom sniffles. Her voice is warm. “Honey, I love you too. I know the life we lived wasn’t always easy for you. You’re cut more from your grandparents’ cloth than mine, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But the years I raised you were the best ones in my life. Always.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. I’m going to cry if we don’t end this. Perhaps she thinks the same, because she gives a strangled half-laugh, and I join in.
“Well. Aren’t we a pair of criers today?” she says.
The conversation stays with me as I cook my lunch and eat it in silence. She had always been there. No boarding schools, no cold silences. Listening to every thought I had.
My phone chimes again. I’m expecting a picture of bohemian flower arrangements, and knowing Aiyana, perhaps with white lotuses in the center to represent the female sex. That’s not what I get.
Nadine has sent me a selfie. Her braids are a mess and her eyes are smudgy with mascara. Her smile is also huge, a comforter pulled up to her neck. She’s in bed.
She’s written five words.So I did a thing.
I type back.
Cecilia:Did you just wake up? I’m so jealous of the life of artists.
Nadine:I did. And think, Cece. Is this my comforter???
Cecilia:Oh my god. You’re at Jake’s!!! You’re in his bed!
Nadine:Yeeees.
Cecilia:What! Judging from your smile I should say congrats, so congrats! How was it?
Nadine:Unreal. Can we have brunch next week, please please please? I have so much to tell you.
