Page 48 of Roommating

I squeeze back out of reflex, not because I think the support is justified. “She didn’t deserve it. She loved me so much. I never stopped loving her either, but I…” My throat chokes up again. “It was like I had no control over my anger.” And then Mom called me at college to tell me she was gone and I immediately regretted everything. But it was too late.

Mom’s features soften as she steadies her gaze on me. “Lena wasn’t clueless about her son’s behavior. She wrongly blamed herself for not being able to rein him in, and she was a willing punching bag if it meant you had somewhere to direct your feelings of abandonment.”

Adam said something similar, but I don’t mention it out of reluctance to bring him up in conversation. I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all. Except not thinking about a crush you liveandwork with is not an easy feat. I try to keep my distance at the library and in the apartment. When I can’t, I force my brain to turn off the memory of kissing him and the feel of his hands on my ass. Was it naïve of me to hope for an “out of sight, out of mind” weekend?

“I should have sent you girls to a therapist, but I naïvely thought you were doing fine… that you didn’t need a father because you had me, Nana, and each other. But there’s no substitute for a father’s love.” She mutters “asshole” under her breath. “It was his loss. I hope you know that. But while we’re being open and honest, I carry a lot of guilt myself.”

Audrina and I look at our mom with matching expressions of confusion.

She tosses her napkin over the liquid remains of her ice cream cake. “Your grandparents rescued me when your father disappeared, and I let her practically raise you girls from preschool through high school while I worked all the time.”

“She wanted to help!” I argue.

“She was so proud of how hard you worked,” Audrina insists.

“Audrina’s right. She bragged about you all the time.”

“I just wish I thanked her more,” Mom says.

It never occurred to me that my mom also struggled with feelings of guilt over Nana’s death. I hate this for her. “She knew you appreciated her. You thanked her by killing it at work. All those promotions proved it wasn’t all for nothing.” My mother had a reason for not being able to attend our parent–teacher conferences or chaperone school trips and leaving us in the care of Nana. The best reason of all—making sure we had a roof over our heads and food on the table. Shewouldhave shared this responsibility with our dad if he weren’t a garbage human who eschewed his parental obligations at every turn.

“With my own parents already gone since before we were married, I needed her desperately at the beginning. She and your grandpa paid off the mortgage on this home. I’m just glad by the time she died, it was me taking care of her financially rather than the other way around. But I’m grateful she was there when I needed her.”

I study my mom. Her given name is “Dina,” which comically and, believe-it-or-not, coincidentally, rhymes with Audrina and Sabrina. Tall and larger boned with jet black hair (now dyed to cover the gray), she looks nothing like Audrina or me, who take after the human trash can, at least physically. She’s deservedly proud of howfar she’s come while acknowledging she couldn’t have done it without the financial support of my father’s parents, at least initially. Maybe she’d be willing…happy… to pay it forward to me with a small financial cushion.

She walks her dishes to the sink. “In her day, women relied on their husbands for everything. I didn’t have that luxury.”

“Neither do I. Not anymore, anyway.” Audrina covers her mouth with her hand, but not quickly enough to hide the beginning of a tremble.

“Single here too!” I say.

“Not forever, unless it’s what you want. In the meantime, you must be able to take care of yourself, partnered or not. And don’t think of it as a burden. Be independent and proud.” She sits back down and glances between us, her expression businesslike. “I hope I’ve taught you at least that much.”

Has she ever.I decide not to ask for that cushion.

“How about tomorrow, we visit Nana’s grave and then celebrate her life over dinner at Fleming’s?”

I love this idea. The steak house was Nana’s favorite.

“Can we watchThat’s Entertainment!after?”

I smile at my sister. Nana looked out forThat’s Entertainment!on TCM and other cable networks every year and would have delighted in knowing it was available for streaming at our whim now. I’m choosing to believe we’d watch it together, cuddled in her bed, if she were alive. There’s even a trace of her signature scent—coconut oil and cocoa butter, like she bathed in suntan lotion—in the air right now, as if she’s here with us in spirit. The guilt hasn’t disappeared completely, but it’s muted thanks to talking it through with my family and discovering I’m not alone.

The next day is all about Nana. We visit her and Grandpa Lou at a Jewish cemetery not too far away and leave rocks on their graves, as per Jewish custom. We give each other space to talk to them in private.

When it’s my turn, I kneel on the grass by Nana’s grave and tell her I love and miss her. I apologize for taking my dad’s behavior out on her. I promise if I had the chance to go back in time, I’d spend so much more of it with her—reading all the books, eating all her home-cooked food, and hugging her with everything I had the day I left for college, simply making sure she knew how much I loved her. I acknowledge that it wasn’t only me who lost a father when he bailed, but her who lost a son, and that she deserved better. I also tell her I understand why she never stopped loving him despite everything. I cry. A lot. But rather than forcing myself to get it together or hiding it like I usually do, I let the tears fall down my cheeks with abandon until her granite headstone is a blur. Then I hug it out with my mom and sister. It’s a release I desperately need.

After dinner, we watchThat’s Entertainment!on Apple TV, all three of us huddled on the couch under a giant lavender-and-pink knit blanket, a Nana Lena original. Then Mom announces the conclusion of Nana Lena Remembrance Day and goes to bed. I’m about ready to head to my childhood bedroom too.

Audrina catches me mid–yawn and stretch. “Not you too! Please stay up a little longer.”

I haven’t slept well since before Marcia’s date, but after spending the last thirty-six hours lamenting taking Nana for granted, I can’t say no to hanging out with my big sister a little longer. Theopportunities lately are few and far between. “Okay. I need a drink to stay up though.”

“Hold that thought!” She bounds from the couch with the energy of a five-year-old on Christmas morning and returns a minute later with two glasses of chilled white wine.

We arrange ourselves so we’re both stretched out on either side of the couch with the blanket covering our legs. We say a collective cheers and lean forward to clink glasses.

“So what’s it like living here again? And with Mom?”

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