“Nothing.” I consider steering the conversation to something trivial but decide against it. “Can you remember a time when I wanted children?” My voice cracks. Yup. I’m a mess again.
She sighs. “Of course I remember. Don’t you? You used to play with your dolls all the time as a little girl. Changing diapers and giving them bottles. You practically wore out the wheels on that red carriage.”
“Yes, I know that. But what about when I was older? You know, a teenager or a young woman.”
“No teenager wants to have children, Abby. And to be honest, after you moved to New York, I didn’t really know what you wanted anymore.” For once I don’t hear a martyr in her voice. I hear my mother, who lost me a long time ago.
I gasp for air, and my exhale is loud.
“Are you crying, honey?”
I nod, then remember she can’t see me. “Yes,” I whisper.
I hear my dad’s voice in the background. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m talking to Abby. Go back to sleep.”
“Were you in bed already, Mom?”
“Yes, but I was reading. Just a second.” There is a long pause, then I hear her pick up the cordless phone in the kitchen. I hear her breathing as she walks back to her bedroom to hang up the phone in there. A few moments later, her recliner squeaks, and I can picture her settling herself into it, dressed in her fuzzy pink robe. “Abby, are you still there?”
“Yes.” My voice is a bit stronger now.
“We were really scared when you met Isaac. He was so much older and so sure of what he wanted in life, while you were just beginning to figure it out. I had a horrible feeling that you’d end up living a life suited to a middle-aged man and not a young woman.”
“I know, you’ve told me that before, but I thought it was just because you wanted me to move home and give you more grandkids to spoil.”
“I hate that you always put that on me, as though my reasons were purely selfish. It was never about that.” She sighs, then says, “Well, a little bit, maybe. But it’s natural for a mother to want to be near her children.” She seems to catch herself mid-lecture and stops. “Abigail, what a mother wants more than anything is to see her children live the fullest life possible. In your case, it may not have meant becoming a mother, but I never believed you explored that idea enough. When you married Isaac, I saw your future. And it made me so sad.” She’s crying now, and I hate that I’ve done this to her.
Sounds of sobs come from both sides of the continent, and I’m completely unaware of how long we stay like this. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you tried to tell me. I just wish I had understood.”
“Don’t be sorry. You were so young. There’s no way you could see it from my side.”
“But I should have trusted that you just wanted the best for me, instead of deciding you were trying to control me.”
“Oh, Abby, you did what young people do. You fell in love, you got caught up in it, and you set out to prove your parents wrong about everything. I did the same thing when I married your dad.”
“Because of the whole religion thing?”
“Yup. And look how we turned out. Only two kids. My father’s probably still rolling over in his grave about it.”
I laugh for the first time in over twenty-four hours, and it comes as such a relief.
“Come home, sweetie, even just for a while. Let me help you get through this.”
“Okay. I’ll come as soon as the work is done on the house.”
“Really?” Her tone suggests she doesn’t quite want to let herself believe it.
“Really. It should be ready sometime in October. I’ll come home then.”
* * *
In my dream, I’ve been waiting for Isaac in front of our favorite café overlooking the Central Park Zoo and when he finally shows up, he’s sauntering instead of running like he should be.
I start yelling as soon as I catch sight of him. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting here? Three days!” I scream at him, not caring that I’m humiliating us both in front of all these people. “Where were you?”
“I had to go to Spain for some vino de Jerez.”
