Fifteen

Rain. Certainly not for everyone, but I’m a big fan.

I like it for all its cliches.

Its staccato drops and tear streaked windows.

But mostly I like the grey. The cloudy overcast and depression.

I don’t know why, but it fascinates me. Or mesmerizes. That’s probably the better term, mesmerizes. I could, like I am now, stare out the window and watch it for hours. Could let myself get lost in it.

It’s good thinking weather.

Of course, thinking is probably something I could stand to do less of. Thinking is what got me into trouble in the first place.

Saying it like that makes what I did seem innocent. Harmless even. A victimless crime.

“You’re up early.”

Mom’s sudden presence knocked me out of my trance.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said, then added. “Coffee’s made.”

“I love how clean it smells,” she said, taking a seat beside me on the love seat.

“Everyone loves that.”

“I know, but I still love it.” She smiled at me.

“I like the sound,” I said, “when it hits the window or the pop when it hits something metal.”

“I love watching the raindrops hit the lake.” She paused and then said, almost to herself, “I’ll miss that.”

What the hell? Did she really just say that?

She stood up. “More coffee?”

I nodded.

After a moment she came back and handing me my mug said, “I got an interesting email yesterday.”

“About what?”

“You.”

That was interesting. And slightly confusing.

“Who was it from?” 

“Liz.”

Fuck. As much as I didn’t want to, I knew where this was going.

“She’s crazy,” I said, trying to stop this before it happened. “You know that, right?”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true,”

“Is it true,” she asked again.

“Mom.” I hoped my tone would end this ridiculous line of questioning. But when I turned to face her and saw the tears streak down her cheeks and the anger and pain seething below the surface, I realized I had a decision to make.

“Seriously, how could I what,” I asked, protesting my innocence in spite of my guilt.

But she couldn’t bring herself to answer and her silence was killing me.

“What the hell did she tell you?” Indignation was always a good defense. “She tell you I hit her? She tell you I quit my job?”

Mom composed herself and glared at me.

“You were always a terrible liar,” she said.

I snorted.

“You want to tell me about the bathroom? Or should I ask Liz to fill in the blanks?”

My laughter caught her off guard.

“Are you kidding? What, she tell you I tried killing myself or something?”

“And you didn’t?”

“Fuck no! Liz is just trying to freak you out. Trying to piss me off.”

The look she gave me said she wasn’t convinced.

“I was passed out, wasted. Liz was gone, I knew she was up to something. I was pissed so I got drunk.”

“But she said…”

“The woman’s a fucking lunatic. I went in to take some aspirin, accidentally grabbed the wrong bottle and took an OxyContin.  One goddamn Oxycontin. I freaked out, made myself puke and then passed out on the floor.” 

“Why did you have OxyContin?” 

“From when I broke my hand. Remember?”

“And it was nothing more,” she asked.

“Mom,” I said, looking her in the eye. “I may have been upset, but I’m not that fucking selfish.”

To look my mom in the face and so blatantly lie was not something I was proud of. In truth, I hated myself for doing it. I’m not that fucking selfish. The fuck I’m not. That I’m even attempting to defend myself is selfish, but I have to. And I think what I did was a good thing. She didn’t deserve that burden. She doesn’t need to know that all her hard work, all her sacrifices were for not. The illusion that she raised me well was one she deserved to keep.

But is it an illusion?

To say she didn’t raise me well is bullshit. I know that. But she wouldn’t. Not after learning that her son tried to kill himself. I knew the truth though. I knew that what I did was no ones doing but my own. It was my choice. My own incredibly selfish, cowardly, pathetic choice. And no matter what I’d say, no matter how hard I would communicate that point, she would do as moms always do. She would bear the burden. She would blame herself.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

I slid over to her side of the couch and gave her a hug. ”Don’t worry ma,” I said reassuringly, “you’re gonna have to put up with me for a long time.”

She hugged me back and we sat there, comforted by my lies, momentarily protected from the truth.

 *    *    *

As the day wore on the weather cleared up, so Jen and I decided to go kayaking. She’d never been and was nervous in that cute what-if-I-tip-over sort of way, but she got over it when I told her the lake was only 5 feet deep. Of course we packed beer.

“I know I’ve said it before,” she said as we floated in the middle of the lake, “but I really like your folks.”

“That’s odd,” I said, ”because they can’t stand you.”

“Nu uh,” she replied, just buzzed enough to think I was serious.

“Yeah, they think you’re a total bitch.”

“Ha ha.”

“And way too happy.”

She smacked her paddle against the water and sent a wave of water towards my face.

I laughed and put my hands up in mock defense. “Hey, they said it. Not me.”

“You’re such a dork,” she said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

“I know.” I leaned over to kiss her. “But that’s why you love me.”

And like a cheesy romantic comedy, just as our lips were about to meet, our kayaks tipped and we were sent splashing into the water.

*   *   *

Later that night Mom and I once again found ourselves alone. She was cleaning the kitchen again. It didn’t need it, but I think she liked the preoccupation. I think she enjoyed anything that displaced the thought of cancer. I was sitting at the breakfast bar.

“You guys certainly seem happy.”

“We are,” I said.

“I can tell. We both can tell.”

Mom stopped cleaning and poured herself a dixie cup of Chardonnay.

“I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

“It’s been a while,” I replied softly. “Too long.”

“You think you two have a future?”

Without looking at Mom, I knew instantly what she wanted to hear. Only this time I didn’t need to lie.

“I do.”

“She really likes you, you know. I can see how much she cares about you.”

“Weird, isn’t it,” I said. ”I think her mom drank when she was pregnant.”

Normally Mom would laugh at my self-deprecation. I think that’s why I was so good at it, why I used it so often. But this time she wasn’t laughing. I looked over to her and saw tears streak down her face.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

She dotted her eyes with a napkin. “Nothing.” She sniffed and sat up straight, composing herself. “I’m just happy.”

And I knew why. When she was diagnosed she came up with three goals. The first was to sell a painting. She did that a year ago. That she didn’t know how to paint when she made that goal should be noted. The second was to watch my brother graduate from college. She did that too. Just this last May.

But it was her third goal that was making her cry. Because for the first time, that goal was within reach.

She never pressured me to get married. Never held it over my head like so many other moms do. But I knew it was something she wanted.

“Hang on a sec,” she said as she got up and walked out of the room. She returned a few minutes later and as she took a seat, she placed a small pouch on the counter beside me.

“What’s this,” I asked.

“It was your great-grandmother’s.”

I opened the pouch and turned it upside down. A ring fell into my hand.

“It’s huge,” I said as I stared at the diamond.

“I want you to have it.”

I looked at her in disbelief. “Are you kidding?”

She smiled.  “Give it to her when you’re ready.”

I didn’t know what to say. Until that moment marriage was the furthest thing from my mind. Jen and I been together what, two months and already Mom was thinking we were going to get hitched.

“Why don’t you just hold onto it,” I said, handing Mom the ring.

But she didn’t take it back. She just stood up, gave me a half hug and a kiss good night and said, ”you did good, kiddo, you did good.”