“I’m nothing like Sloane,” I say.
“You’re not.”She turns back toward me, and her slow perusal is somehow the most insulting of all.“Where she was flashy and stunning, you are plain.Where she was fiercely Irish, you’re a washed-out American.Where she was fiery and young and full of life, you’re worn, tired, and dragging around quite a lot ofbaggage.”
“Your son has two children,” I say.“Our baggage is pretty similar.”
“My darling grandchildren don’t have substance abuse problems.”
I really wish Jack hadn’t shared that, especially since he knows how his mother is, apparently.“Trace is doing great here.Ireland has been so good for him.Jackhas been good for him.”
“I doubt many mothers are hoping their son will find a woman whose errant children their son will begood for,” she says, the distaste plain on her face.“But in this instance, that’s not even near the top of the list of my concerns.”She slowly sips her tea.
I want to say things, lots of things, but I just read an article on the power of silence, so I keep my mouth shut.If she has a list of concerns, she’ll have to go ahead and read it to me.I fold my arms, refusing to drink any more of my sugar water until she spits it out.
“At the top of that list is your age, as you must know.”She shakes her head, then sips her tea again.“Ten years older.”She clucks.
“Nine,” I say.“And women live longer than men, so from what I’ve seen, if he has no issues with it, why should you?”
Her nostrils flare.“Next up is the American sensibility.”
“What does that mean?”My eyes narrow.“Hard working?Scrappy?I thought those were things the Irish shared with us.”
“Flippant, outrageously rude, and willfully contentious.”
I breathe in and out, exercising the power of silence again.Then I half-smile, reminding myself something Sam told me.She’s the petitioner here.You’re her son’s girlfriend.She’s the one trying to change the status quo.
“You’re the kind of person who likes to care for those around you, at least—I can see that, even if you’re not capable of doing it properly.”
“What does that mean?”My hand trembles as I reach for my tea.
“Let’s take your son.Trace is struggling, has been for some time from what I hear, ever since your husband died.You can’t fill the role of father and mother, and your attempts were not enough.You want to help, but you lack the capacity.You’re letting your son down.”
“People have agency to make their own decisions, even teenagers.”I lift my chin, but her words hurt because she’s right.I have let him down.I’m not enough, not without Jason, and my son has suffered for what I can’t provide him with.
“Even teenagers have the right to choose their own path, it’s true, but it’s our job to make sure that they make good decisions, things that will bring them joy in the long run.You didn’t choose Jason’s death, though I hear he had a heart attack at a young age, and as the person who did most of the family’s cooking, I assume, his health problems are probably attributable to your decisions.”
That hits me like a dagger, but she doesn’t slow down.
“You didn’t intentionally choose your husband’s death or Trace’s poor decisions, but you are choosing to date a man who has already been through a lot.You’re dating a generous, giving man, who’s nearly ten years your junior, and you will drag him down as well.If you really care for him, you should walk away.”
“Jack doesn’t think I’m dragging him down.”
She slams her hand down and the silver spoons and china on the table rattle.“My son chose to marry a self-absorbed woman who wound up with a brain tumor.She ignored his existence for years, while keeping him and her abandoned children in Australia, far from their family and friends, isolated, and miserable.”She leans toward me.“He chooses people who will drag him down, and then he fights tooth and nail to keep his head above water.”
I stand up, then.“I won’t thank you for the tea, because I didn’t enjoy it, nor the food or the company.I may be older than Jack, and my children may struggle.What kids don’t?But I won’t accept your projected assault.I’m not dragging your son down.He and I are happy, and I care for him as much as he cares for me.”When I turn on my heel and walk out, I’m shaking.
I call Jack on my way home and tell him it didn’t go well, but I keep things vague, because I don’t want to burst into tears.But when I get back to Fortwilliam, he’s waiting there, dressed in slacks and a collared shirt with a tie.He clearly drove straight from work to my place.When I climb out of my car, he hugs me, and he presses a kiss to my forehead.“I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t have left work.”
“I’m good at my job, and it’ll be just fine,” he says.“But you matter so much more than any of that.”He smiles.
“You could have just come after work.I’m really fine.”As long as I keep gulping big old breaths so I don’t start crying.
“My dad, who’s not crazy by the way, is my boss, and he wouldn’t dare fire me.”He hugs me tightly again.“I told him Mum had tea with you and he sent me here himself.”
After that, we go inside and watch one of my favorite movies,Someone Like You.It’s old, but it’s one of my favorite romantic comedies.The kids come home and interrupt a few times, but it’s a really nice afternoon.We order pizza for dinner, and after Jack picks his kids up, he brings them back here, and we all watch Veggie Tales,Lord of the Beans.
It should’ve been an ideal night.
