My mother is at her chair, waiting for my dad to pull hers out in the same gentlemanly way Klaus did for me. “You’re hosting the rehearsal dinner? Here? What the hell for?”
They’d said something about it earlier, but it must not have registered they are hosting.
My voice is rising, earning an irritated scowl from my mom.
Placing the napkin on her lap, she smoothes it out. “Really, Jillian. You should watch your language. That’s no way a lady speaks.”
She takes a sip of her white wine. I begin to think she’s going to ignore my entire question but instead, she simply says yes. “He’s family and so are Teresa and Norman. We’ve offered to help them while they’re dealing with some things, and we’re closer to the church, so it makes sense.”
“No. It doesn’t. And he’s not family.” Screw politeness. I might not want to marry Roman, but doesn’t she have any sense as to why this is not only a good idea, but humiliating her own daughter? “He’s the son of a business associate and my ex-fiancé. Can’t you see at all how inappropriate and frankly, unkind that is to me?”
Your daughter. Her ability to hurt me with her lack of care or thought of me will never cease to surprise me.
At my side, Klaus covers his hand with mine. Prying my fingers off of his thigh, he rubs my hand between both of us. It’s soothing and warming.
Too bad I’m a volcano ready to blow.
I turn back to Roman. “For a long time, I figured you were a selfish jerk who only thought of himself, but this is low. Even for you. Why would you even want to throw this continually in my face?”
“You tell him!” Nana cheers, complete with a fist pumped into the air. “All a’this is nonsense. Utter nonsense.” She turns to Mom, whose cheeks are growing redder by the second. “And I raised you better than this, Clarabella. You might think you’re something better than me, but when you changed all a’you to become someone new and rich, I’ll gosh darn just say you forgot to bring along the best parts of everything I taught ya.”
“What? How to be poor?”
“No. How to be kind, Clarabella.”
My mother takes the verbal slap with a flinch. With a grip so tight on the stem of her wine glass it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap in two, she takes a sip, sucks it in between her teeth, leaving not a hint of her pale pink lipstick on the crystal rim and seethes, “My name, mother, is Claire. As I’ve repeatedly requested. And you never taught me to be kind. You were hardly ever around to teach me anything.”
What? My spine snaps straight at the accusation. I’ve never once heard my mom talk like this about Nana.
“The hell it is. The Good Lord gave me to you and the right to name you and I had those nurses scribble down in that tiny box the name I wanted you to have, which is Clarabella. You can change it all you want, but I gave you that name and I got the right to call you anything I want. You should be happy all I’m calling you is your birth name ‘cuz you might think you’re better than where you came from, but you sure ain’t actin’ like it tonight.”
She sits back in a huff, her heavy bosom heaving from her anger with her daughter. I watch both of them like it’s the most fascinating pingpong match and when Nana meets my gaze, she winks.
As if winking at me will make things better.
I grin down at my lap as Klaus’s hand rubs my shoulder.
“You might think very little of me, Mother, but don’t be bitter because I had goals for my life and worked my behind off to accomplish them. I will not apologize for that and I will remind you I did it all with very little support or encouragement from you. However, in this instance, I am being the woman you raised. We’re helping out friends.” She slides her narrowed, angry glare toward me, and I almost believe there’s a hint of regret in it before she faces my nana again. “Business associates, maybe, but they’re still family. And Norman is ill. Teresa is taking care of him and wants their house quiet and peaceful. She asked for my help, knowing the situation it puts me in, but I will not say no to the oldest and dearest friends we have here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Claire,” my dad calls. He’s been so silent I forgot he was still here. “Take a moment. Return. I believe this family has a lot to discuss.”
“We are not one of your business arrangements, Stetson. I believe we’ve said all we need to tonight.”
She squeezes his shoulder as she passes, kisses his temple, easing the sting of her words. My jaw is still scraping the wood floor when she disappears.
So much for my mother and I not having anything in common. An unsupportive mother? I know what that’s like. Wanting to do something right, even when it’s hard? I didn’t know she was capable of such a thing.
I turn to Roman, the shock of Mom and Nana’s fighting still a living, breathing, thing, but my mother’s comments becoming clearer. “What’s wrong with your dad?”
One of the hardest things about leaving Roman was saying goodbye to Teresa. I often wondered how she could have such a genuine relationship with my mom. Teresa is the complete opposite. She treated me as if I was her own daughter for as long as I can remember. I’ve known them my entire life, and while Norman is often as gruff as my own dad, he’s always shown me much more affection than my own and together, they’ve always been a light presence. Teresa is kind and gentle with a sweet sense of humor.
Across from me, Roman has paled, lips thinned. “Pancreatic cancer. He has at most three months.”
Which means in three months, if he isn’t already, Roman will be taking his spot next to my dad as the co-owner of their business. Norman is dying.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” My chin quivers and I turn to my dad. He’s looking into his whiskey glass, frown marring his typical stoic features. “I’m sorry for you too, Dad.”
“He’s a good man,” he says and takes a large swig of his drink. “And as for your mother, she’s done the best she can with you, given how she was raised.”
He spears Nana with a contemptuous glare and pushes his chair back from the table. “Excuse me while I go check on my wife.”
Once he’s gone, it’s Nana who speaks next. “Well, that escalated quickly.”
Truer words have never been spoken, and all those words have left me questioning everything.
Especially my own relationship with my mom.
I find her in the library, sitting in a chair that faces the backyard patio. My father is sitting next to her, hand holding hers. Their heads are bent close while he whispers something in her ear.
It’s the most intimate I’ve ever seen my parents look, and when my mom brushes her finger under her eyes and sniffs, it’s almost my undoing.
My mother? Crying? I never knew such a thing is possible.
I clear my throat and step into the room, unapologetic for breaking their moment or for watching them for far too long.
Dad stands and pats her hand and comes toward me, arms loose at his side. “Take it easy on her, kiddo.”
He kisses my cheek and saunters out.
It’s possible stepping into their home this weekend swept me into an alternate dimension. One where my dad calls me names like kiddo and my mom cries and Klaus wants to live us being in love and not pretending.