“You sure about that?”
“You think I don’t know whether I have a boyfriend or not?”
“Well, I don’t know. I don’t understand anything you’re doing anymore. But I must say, a small town veterinarian is hardly who I would have picked out for you.”
“Pick someone out for me? He’s not an outfit, Mother,” I snapped, lifting my head up and staring at her. She was totally unaware of how she sounded, how she was affecting everyone and everything. “And if he were my boyfriend, which he is not, I would be incredibly lucky. And what the hell’s wrong with a veterinarian? If he were a gas station attendant, he’d still be an amazing man who makes me laugh and makes me giddy and makes me happy, for god’s sake! Why would that make you so unhappy?”
“I just wanted so much more for you, Chloe. How happy would you be, living here in this tiny town? And while it’s certainly an admirable profession, will a veterinarian be able to provide the kind of life for you that Charles would have?” she asked, clearly still not listening to me.
“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, I don’t even know where to start! First of all—and I need you to hear these words—I am not dating Lucas. Not even a little bit. But even more concerning to me is that you somehow think he’s not good enough for me. Do you even hear some of the things you say? Because you sure as hell don’t hear me.” I was on the move now, hands on hips and practically in her face.
“Don’t you raise your voice to me—”
“I am not finished! Most parents would be thrilled that their daughter was dating someone like Lucas, even just focusing on his profession, which you seem to be. He works for a family business that’s been around for almost fifty years—talk about job security. But that’s not glamorous enough for you. It’s not as flashy as having a surgeon as a son-in-law, or a congressman or an attorney. Shouldn’t the man be more important than the job? The social accolades? The benefits?”
“You say those things like they’re mutually exclusive, but there’s no reason you can’t find everything you’re looking for in one man. That’s what Charles could have been,” she said pointedly.
“Charles was never going to be that. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. I. Didn’t. Love. Charles. Nice guy, great provider, okay sex—”
“Chloe, really—”
“But I didn’t love him. Why in the world is that not enough for you?” I asked, my voice quiet now.
I stared at my mother, who was still perched on the edge of her bar stool, sitting just as tall as can be, makeup still perfect, clothes still wrinkle free though she’d been at a picnic all day, hair flawlessly swept back in her usual chignon. And blinking back at me, truly surprised that I don’t seem to understand where she’s coming from. Neither of us had a clue what the other one was thinking, was feeling. So where did we go from here?
I started back toward the guest room, almost blindly.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“I’m going to make sure you’ve got clean sheets on the bed.” I felt the bite of tears and forced them back. “And put fresh towels in your bathroom.” She didn’t answer, and I continued down the hallway. Wiping away a tear that had escaped, I pulled some sheets and a comfortable blanket from the linen closet and carried them into the guest room, where my father had placed her bags earlier.
He’d arranged this. He’d made this happen. He thought that if the two of us could just spend some time together, we could talk it out and begin to knock down some of the wall that been growing since the wedding.
But that wall had started to go up a long time ago, and I didn’t know what it would take to bring it down. I yanked the bedspread off the bed, then angrily shook out the fitted sheet.
“Do you want some help with that?” My mother appeared in the doorway.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I said, quickly wiping away another tear that had escaped. I kept my back to her as I stretched the corners around and tried to tuck it in.
“Why don’t you let me do one side? Then you won’t have to keep running around the bed.” She tugged on the corner, and I let her. It was easier than arguing. It was easier than running around in circles.
“You know I only want what’s best for you, right?” she asked, her voice not acidic for a change.
I softened. I couldn’t help it. “I know you think you do—yes,” I said with a sigh.
Shaking out the top sheet, I fanned it up over the bed like a parachute. For a split second, I caught her eye underneath the canopy. She looked tired. By the time the sheet had settled, she looked composed, as usual. We pulled the sheet tight, hospital corners at the bottom. As I smoothed the sheet up toward the top, she tugged a little more on her side, pulling the sheet over just a bit. I tugged it back over to my side, making it the same on both: even.