Page 99 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
“Popcorn first. Pants later.”
She left the room, humming something from theEncantosoundtrack under her breath. Ella stared at the ceiling for a long beat, the weight of the blanket oddly comforting. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do about Max—about any of it. But maybe, for today, popcorn and honesty with a friend were enough.
She wasn’t ready to move on. But maybe,maybe,she was ready to stop hiding.
The house wasdark and quiet when Max arrived for a short visit with her parents after work. That was strange. Her mother’s car was in the driveway, and she had no appointments that Max knew of. It was uncharacteristic. “Anybody home?” she called, letting herself in through the garage door that fed into the kitchen. She looked around the dormant space. Had they even had dinner? The customary aromas that generally greeted her were also absent.
“In here,” she heard a meek voice call.
She followed the sound into the living room, which was also dark except for the glow of the television. She turned to her right, and tucked beneath a patchwork quilt on the couch sat her mother. “I was just watching a few of the old videos.” Her voice sounded wobbly.
Max wanted to see her face. “Can I turn on a lamp?”
“Of course,” her mother said, immediately sitting taller, in what seemed to be an attempt to pull herself together.
She chose the small lamp on the opposite end table, the one she knew would cast the least amount of light. With a click, the room was cast in a soft glow. Max turned and saw her mother, red-faced and tearstained. “Are you okay?” she asked, sitting next to her. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”
She was greeted with a laugh. “It’s ironic to realize my child thinks it’s an emergency when I cry. That shows me the precedent I’ve set.”
Max relaxed. “So, you’re okay. You’re just emotional?”
“For the past three hours, I’ve been watching my life literally pass before my eyes. Your father’s watching a football game at the bar with Chuck, and I decided to take a trip down memorylane.” She gestured to the screen. “Do you know I put you back on that bicycle four more times after you fell off and asked me if you could go inside?”
Max followed her gaze to the television where the home video she’d been watching had been placed on pause. She saw herself with a dark ponytail and purple shorts on top of a brand-new two-wheeler. She remembered the details of that afternoon as if it were yesterday, and it had been stressful. Lots of crying, falling, and getting back on the bike. But eventually she’d done it, skinned knees and all. She’d ridden all the way down their street without assistance.
She turned to her mother. “You wouldn’t let me give up.”
She closed her eyes from wariness or regret. It was hard to know which. “But I also wasn’t listening to you. You told me what you needed, and I continued to push.” She lay her head back on the couch, her cheek pressed to the cushion, as she gazed at Max thoughtfully. “All this recent time to myself has me seeing things quite differently.”
“Why do you think that is?”
She shook her head in awe. “I’ve told my patients for years that serious illness can change them in many ways, including up here.” She tapped her temple. “And now I know it’s true. I’m them. And I’m not sure how to be right now.” She folded her hands in her lap.
Vulnerability was not in her mother’s repertoire. Max blinked, not quite believing the conversation they seemed to be having. She decided to listen instead of saying too much, sensing somehow that it was for the best and what her mother needed.
They were both quiet, letting the moment exhale and have itself. Emotions swirled, the room thick with them like clouds before a downpour. Max understood, unequivocally, that this was an important conversation in their relationship and that the words spoken would shape the future in front of them.
“I was too hard on you,” her mother said finally, meeting Max’s eyes with sorrowful ones. “It was all I knew. My mother was hard on me, and hers was the same.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed beneath her nose. “We weren’t permitted to make mistakes, and I saw the benefit in that through achievement. But there’s a price to pay, too.”
Max nodded, knowing all too well. For the first time, however, she saw herself in her mother. She saw the daughter who watched her own hopes and dreams get pushed to the side, extinguished. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to be a doctor. Maybe Max’s mother dreamt of one day being a zoologist. Who knew? Max realized that she’d never really asked. A mistake that now ushered in a swarm of regret.
It would be simple to correct her mother and let her off the hook. Tell her she’d given Max a fully loving childhood, and they had nothing to talk through. Max couldn’t do that. She’d lost too much. Something had to change, and she had to make it happen.
“I’m sorry you had a difficult time when you were young,” Max said. “And I’m also sorry that you carried it with you into motherhood. You did a lot of things right with me, but your expectations were a difficult hurdle to leap.” She turned her palms upward and studied them as if they contained the perfect set of words to communicate her feelings. “But I can’t leap any more hurdles.”
“You fell in love,” her mother said softly.
“I did.” Max shook her head, finding power in sharing that information out loud. A painful lump lodged itself in her throat. “She’s afraid of me now. I made her feel small, and I hate every second of that knowledge. She shines brighter than any person I’ve ever met.”
Her mother nodded, thoughtful. “Then you make sure she knows that.” She pressed down on the couch cushion with one finger. “You correct the mistake. If she matters to you as muchas you say, you run toward her with all you have, not away. You lead with honesty and you make yourself vulnerable.”
It was the first piece of usable romantic advice her mother had ever offered her. It was also the first time she’d ever encouraged her to find love with a woman. Max sat with the understanding, reeling from the unexpected twist. Today, the milestones were raining down like sprinkles on a cupcake. Max wanted to be sure she didn’t miss any.
“Vulnerable has never been my strong suit,” Max admitted.
“That might also be my doing,” she said. Her eyes held apology, which released a heavy dose of truth right in the center of Max’s already swirling emotions.
“I just wanted you to love me,” Max said, her voice a strangled whisper. “I used to lie in bed at night and pray for it.”
