Page 56 of Ten Years and Then…
No, that wasn’t fair. Or, even if it was, it didn’t matter. There was no way to change the past, but Mom was trying here and now. She had been given exactly what she asked for, and it would be the most ungrateful thing imaginable to turn her back on it.
She argued with herself until the wine was served, and she drank her whole glass before she felt like she could safely speak. “I love you, too, Mom. I always have. I just—you’re right. I wanted to talk. I hate how things have been with us all this time.” She hesitated, debating whether to say anything more, but the words poured out of their own volition. “And I—I need you. I need somebody, because I miss him so damn much. It’s been almost a year, and I think about him all the time still, and it’s hell. I don’t know what to do.” She fought back tears, but she heard herself make a choked, sobbing sort of sound, and she felt her mother’s hand squeezing hers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that. “I need you—I need you to be the kind of Mom who fixes everything, because I can’t fix anything myself.”
Nora, that evening
They had talked—really talked, properly talked—all through lunch, and the drive home, and for several hours after that. Nora had never said so much to her mother. Not even before the divorce, when her parents were still trying to coexist and pretend to her that everything was normal.
She’d told Mom all about Daniel, everything except the most intimate details, and she’d probably said enough that her mother knew all about them, too.
They were in the living room. Mom had made margaritas for both of them—another sign that she’d seen far more than Nora ever thought she had.
“Mom—can I ask you—what really happened with you and Dad? Why didn’t it work?”
Her mother considered the question for a while, then downed half her drink before she answered. “We didn’t really—I’ll speak for him too, because I think it was the same story for both of us. We didn’t know how to be in a relationship. Your grandparents, they weren’t the most talkative people. It was how they grew up. They were kids during the Great Depression, my father fought in World War II, and then after the war, they had me. And—neither one of them was emotional. No, that’s not fair. They felt everything, they just made sure never to show it, because you didn’t back then.”
That made sense. It fit with everything Nora knew about that era, and with the little she remembered of her grandparents as a kid. “And then you grew up with Elvis and the Beatles and then—oh, God, I can’t believe I’m saying this to my Mom—the pill and free love and all that stuff. Right?”
Her mother laughed, and finished the rest of her drink. “Pretty much. They didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t know what to do with me. None of us did. The world was changing and all the rules my parents knew were out the window, and nobody knew what the new rules were. So I never learned how to be a girlfriend, a real, loving, proper girlfriend. Or a wife.” She hesitated, then cursed under her breath. “So we made each other miserable, we learned to hate each other. And with all that, how could we ever teach you to do any better?”
Nora couldn’t think of anything to say to that. They were both silent for a moment, then her mother went on. “Well, you did better in one way. At least you didn’t get yourself pregnant and have a child to disappoint for the next nineteen years.”
How many times had Nora felt disappointed by her parents? How many bitter and ugly thoughts had she had about them? How many times had she told herself she hated the both of them?
It was all still there. Every bad memory, every moment of pain, every time she burned inside because she’d needed them and they weren’t there—none of it went away.
But right here, right now none of it mattered.
She went over to her mother, hugged her tightly, and they both cried until they didn’t have any tears left.
Nora, March 16
She’d gotten her miracle, and more. Nora had gotten her mother back this week.
It wasn’t perfect; Mom had lapsed back into her old self at times, and there’d been the incredibly awkward dinner last night with her latest boyfriend. But despite that, things were infinitely better between them than they’d been since—well, ever.
Mom even drove her to the train station.
“Before you go, there’s one more thing I’ll tell you. This may not help—it might make you feel worse about that boy.” Mom had not referred to Daniel by his name once all week. “But I think you should know it.”
Nora couldn’t begin to guess what was coming. “Mom, if it’s that bad, maybe you don’t need to tell me.”
Her mother gave her a sad smile. “It’s not so much bad as it is history repeating. You’re my daughter, you can’t get away from it, so the least I can do is tell you what to expect.” A pause, and Nora imagined her mother wished she had a drink in hand to steady her nerves. “I never did get over your father. Not really.”
“What?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Nora. I don’t want him back. That will never happen. It never has, since we divorced. But there’s part of me that will always love him. Part of his heart I’ll always hold, no matter how much we hurt each other. And I’m afraid it’ll be the same for you and that boy. It doesn’t mean you won’t find another love—I hope you will—but you will never be totally free of him. I’m sorry, but it’s just who you are. You’re your mother’s daughter.” She took a deep breath before she finished. “And your father’s. If you could ever get him to be honest, he would tell you the exact same thing.”
She’d never get over Daniel? She’d always feel this way about him, even ten years from now? That’s what she had to look forward to?
“Mom—I wish you hadn’t said that. But … thank you anyway.”
“I love you, Nora. I’ll try to always tell you the truth from here on. Even if it’s something you don’t want to hear.”
She kissed her mother, said her goodbyes, and then she spent the next few hours on the train praying that her mother was wrong about her.
Chapter 18
September—October 1990—Albion College
