Page 124 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
“That’s nice,” my mom says. “What is your boss’s name?”
I swallow. “Dottie?”
Obviously, I know Dottie’s name and don’t have to phrase it like a question, but I just can’t believe my mom’s asking me questions about my life. I certainly complain about Herald’s sometimes and still fantasize about the day I can quit, but the truth is that it’s been a safe and wonderful place for me these past ten years.
It brought me my best friends.
It brought me Matt.
When I consider it that way, the only thing I feel when I think about Herald’s is pride.
“And your beau mentioned choreographing a holiday show. How is that going?” There’s a sadness clinging to her, just like that moment I clocked at her party, but she pushes through the emotion. “Perhaps I can come see it if you?—”
“It was two nights ago,” I say gently.
She stares down at the baby, hiding her gaze from me. “Of course it was. That makes sense. Schools are on break now and?—”
“Mom, what’s happening right now?” I ask.
She lifts her face, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “I left your father this morning.”
“Holy shit.” I turn to Banks. “Sorry. I shouldn’t curse in front of the baby.”
“Don’t worry about it, she’s fucking sleeping,” my sister says in a breathy tone, her eyes glued to our mother like she can’t believe what she’s hearing from her either.
We both sit in silence, waiting for her to say more.
“It was time.” She takes a deep breath. “Frankly, it was long overdue. But you both know that.”
“You can stay here,” Banks says quickly. “As long as you need.”
“You think I’m going to let that man keep the house?” She chuckles haughtily, and it’s surprisingly good to hear her laugh. “Absolutely not.” She clears her throat. “I, uh, I didn’t come here to ask anything of you girls. I came to apologize. To both of you.”
In all my thirty-two years, I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mother apologize.
This feels like a Christmas miracle.
“I didn’t set the best example for you. I was…” She searches for the words. “I think I was so caught up in your father—in keeping your father—that I– ”
She chokes on a sob.
“Take it slow, Mom,” I say. “Everything’s okay.”
She nods. “Thank you.“
The way she’s looking at me with such hopeful innocence, I suddenly feel like she’s the child and I’m the parent.
She continues, breathing a bit steadier now. “I thought that if I looked a certain way, if I could be a certain way… then he would be mine. Only mine. Clearly, that’s never really worked, but that didn’t keep me from passing all my nonsense onto you two.” She looks down at the baby again, then back at us. “I’m truly sorry, girls. There was never anything about you that needed to change.”
“Thanks, Mom. That means…God, that really means a lot to me.”
I slide onto the couch where she’s sitting, and for the first time in I-don’t-know-how-many years, I wrap my arms around her and hug my mother.
I whisper in her ear, “You know it’s possible that all this time, there was also never anything you needed to change about you.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” she harrumphs.
Seems that with my mother, progress will come in baby steps.
