“Hello.”
“Hillary, its Ma Michaels. I wanted to talk to Jameson about his birthday plans,” she tells me.
“Oh, well he’s sleeping but we were just talking about it yesterday, actually. He said he wasn’t doing anything, it’s on a workday, not a big number. He just wanted to sleep before work, have dinner with me and that was all,” I relay to her.
“Well, I’m his mother and he deserves to see me on his birthday,” she barks at me.
You have got to be fucking kidding me. He’s turning twenty-five years old. Can I tell her he couldn’t give two fucks if he saw her or not, or is that wrong? I would love to tell her.
“Well you can take that up with him but for right now those are his plans but I’ll be sure to tell him you called, Marcie. I’m sorry to cut you short but I’m in the middle of cooking dinner, so I gotta go.”
“Good enough,” she says and hangs up.
I WAIT UNTIL JAMESON HAS BEEN up for a few minutes and had a cup of coffee before I tell him about the phone call from Marcie.
I figure I better tell him about his mom calling before she calls again. Usually on the weekends she’ll call the house, and if we don’t answer she’ll call his cell phone. If he doesn’t answer she’ll start all over again, between twenty and thirty minutes and repeat until he answers or calls her back. It’s ridiculous!
“So, your mom called while you were sleeping…” I start to tell him until he cuts me off.
“Aw Christ,” he says in an exhausted tone. I can’t help but chuckle because that’s exactly how I felt when I saw her name on the caller ID.
“She wanted to talk to you about your birthday. I told her what we talked about and she said that she’s your mom and you deserve to see her on your birthday.” I tell him all the while trying to not laugh hysterically.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I deserve to see her on my birthday? It’s in the middle of the week. I’m gonna be sleeping most of the day. I’m going to be twenty-five, not five—”
“I know, I know, I know. I told her what we discussed and not that it’s a big surprise but she doesn’t fucking care, so just call her before the house phone starts ringing off the hook, please.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. I feel bad for him. He shouldn’t have to feel this frustrated when it comes to his birthday. “Alright, but not until I have another cup of coffee.”
Twenty minutes later I’m cleaning up in the kitchen, and Jameson comes in and plants a kiss on my cheek, grabs the phone and tells me he’s going to call his mother back. I see him take a seat on the front steps and light up a cigarette. It’s a perfect almost fall New England night so I don’t blame him for wanting to enjoy the weather for a bit. I’ve had the windows open all day even while at work. Who doesn’t love fresh air?
Leaning over the sink I can hear tidbits of Jameson’s conversation with his mom, and I can see where it’s headed. The same place he knew it was headed, Manipulation Island as he calls it, and Marcie is the tribe leader.
“Ma, I don’t want to do anything. I just want to sleep, eat, spend time with Hillary, and go to work.”
“Ma, it’s just another day.”
“Ma, I’ll stop by over the weekend.”
Shaking my head, laughing to myself listening to my future husband still having to fight for his independence as a grown adult.
“When? Where? Down the road from us?” I hear Jameson say.
Wait. What is happening? Please don’t let my biggest fear be coming true. Please God do not let her buy a house down the road from us.
I’m trying to internally calm myself down. I only heard one side of the conversation. There is no sense in panicking until absolutely necessary. I control my breathing while I finish up the last few dishes and wait until Jameson comes back inside. I repeat to myself over and over ‘in through the nose, out through the mouth.’
I hear the front door close, hear Jameson toss the phone on the dining room table, then let out a very long sigh. I silently say, “Oh Fuck,” to myself. I hear his footsteps coming closer towards me in the kitchen. He pushes my hair to one side, wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my neck. The out of the blue gesture gives me butterflies as if we were still newly dating.
“That was a pretty big sigh. Conversation go that well?” I ask him.
“Yeah, something like that. She’s looking at a house on Sunday a mile or two from us.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth the truth hits me full blast I drop the plate in my hand I was drying.
“Shit!” I burst out with a combination of anger and frustration. Why? Why me? What did I do in a past life to deserve this torture?