Love, Mom
Cece finishes the email and slides her phone into her pocket and stands up from her seat at the picnic table. Semitrucks rumble by, kicking up dust and grime. From the welcome center, a steady stream of weary travelers sated by McDonald’s and Starbucks. Only Bernard’s impatient yaps bring her back to the moment. In so many ways, her mother is right, which only makes Cece angrier, mostly with herself. Of course, she should have rebuffed Kim’s connections and help, but that would have required honesty and forthrightness, two qualities Cece is woefully in short supply of.
The tears come fast and hard before Cece can stop them. How absurd and juvenile, she thinks, running the back of her hand under her nose. Crying! Why is she so upset? Hadn’t she suspected something was going on? Even so, Cece finds herself overcome with the keen sense that something is ending, not a perfect union, but a union, nonetheless. Her parents’ marriage had lasted nearly four decades—a not-so-insignificant amount of time. Cece wonders how long her parents might have lasted if not for her and Wynonna. She wonders what makes a strong marriage, a good marriage, one capable of weathering not just the small tragedies of life, but the inexhaustible whims of the human heart for change and reinvention. Except there was no changing with Barry—he’d very much preferred to stay the same—and now her parents were on the brink.
Cece doesn’t know how to hedge against such risks. Two months ago, safely ensconced in her job and relationship with Jonathan, right before the proposal, she’d have turned to the numbers, to probable outcomes. The best indicator of the future was the past, and the only way to guarantee success, inanything, was to analyze the risks and uncertainties and act quickly and decisively to account for them. But even then, Cece understands, cajoling the dog back into his crate, there are no guarantees.
Bernard sniffs aroundthe unfamiliar apartment. It feels strange to be back in the very place Cece absconded from, filled with conviction and malice. Had she failed? Run back to the friendly confines of her relationship with Jonathan, tail between her legs? It doesn’t feel like she’s given up, but somehow, she suspects she’s faltered somewhere.
Jonathan had sounded anxious on the phone when she’d asked if she could stop by, but now that she’s here, in the apartment, her old apartment, there’s no doubt he’s happy to see her. Bernard lends the place an air of domesticity, and Cece finds herself slipping into a reverie of their future together, a future filled with family gatherings and warm chandelier light, cooing infants, and the sumptuous ease of a full and busy life.
There’s time to kill. Even though it’s Saturday, Jonathan has work calls and meetings. The three massive computer monitors in his office tell a story in a foreign language, with greens and reds, jagged lines and blinking decimal points. After being cooped up in the car, Cece decides to take Bernard for a long walk to stretch his legs. Jonathan promises to text her once he finishes up, his voice already distant, his mind drifting from the present to his spreadsheets and inbox, tickers on repeat—an infinite loop of inscrutable data.
The South End is bustling with young professionals, techy-looking men in stretchy pants and half zips, skinny women in pastel-colored running shoes and tight ponytails. Bernard pauses outside a crowded brewery patio, and Cece is amazed by the number of families seated at the beer-hall-style benches and standing around cornhole boards. Fathers cradle swaddled infants to their chests, hoppy beer painting their upper lips. Mothers push luxury-looking strollers back and forth with idle feet. This portrait of parenthood feels less daunting to Cece, nearly attainable.
After Bernard’s tired himself out, Cece finds a bench in the shade along the water and checks her phone. Nothing from Morgan, and why would there be? Instead, an ominous-sounding text from Wynonna:Check your email. So, Kim had told her.
Cece,
Did you know about this? Mom just called me to say she’s leaving Dad. This doesn’t make sense. They’ve been together for almost forty years, are things really so bad? What did I miss? This can’t be the solution, Cece. Sure, they bicker, but what married couple doesn’t? A little tension is normal, don’t you think? What the hell is Mom thinking? She can’t just drop Dad and start a whole new life. She’s sixty-two! What does she actually think is out there?
I imagine you’re handling this much better than I am, but aren’t you angry with Mom? I hung up on her when she told me the news. Sure, she’s sacrificed a lot for Dad’s business, but that was her choice. No one forced her to do anything. I just don’t see how she can do this to him. I know he’s far fromperfect, and yes, he’s probably the most stubborn person I’ve ever known, but he doesn’t deserve this. What about the vows they took? When I told Mom I was marrying Devin, she couldn’t shut up about how a good and stable marriage was the best way for a woman to secure her future. And now look at what she’s done. I just keep thinking about Dad trying to make himself dinner every night. Maybe that was part of the problem, but it’s not his fault. Men of his generation just never learned how to do that sort of thing. Now what’s he going to do? Subsist on grilled cheese sandwiches? What are we going to do, Cece? Sooner or later, he’s going to need help. And no offense, but you’re still figuring things out, and Devin and I have our hands full. The boys just finished up summer camp, and it’s pure madness here. I can’t stand the idea of him being alone in that big house. He isn’t the perfect father, but whose father is? Whatever his shortcomings, they don’t justify Mom’s behavior.
I hope you’re taking all of this okay. I’ll call when I’ve calmed down. Maybe I shouldn’t be this angry, but I can’t help it. I feel like she’s been lying to us the entire time. I’m sure you have a much more enlightened perspective, but for now, I’m just angry.
Love, Wynonna
Cece wouldn’t call her reaction more enlightened.Realisticis probably the better word for how she sees the world lately. She understands how Wynonna feels. Kim had always heralded the virtues of marriage, the importance of finding a good match and worthy partner to propel you through life, someone who wouldstand by you when waters grew rough, and they always grew rough, she used to say. Maybe Wynonna feels the impending separation of their parents more acutely because she’s the only one of them who’s taken the plunge, followed through on their mother’s advice. For Wynonna, Kim’s departure is an admission that she was wrong—and what might this truth reveal about Wynonna, or the entire enterprise of marriage?
Betrayed…it’s not how Cece feels, exactly. And even while she worries about her father, she can’t help but be impressed by her mother’s fortitude and unrelenting optimism…or maybe it’s something closer to cold pragmatism. After all, isn’t she following the same advice she used to drill into her daughters all those years ago? Kim seems determined to deny her fate, stuck in a stale marriage with a man who has little interest in evolving or maintaining, even improving, their current financial state. It is a terrible thing, Cece thinks, growing to the age when you can see your parents for what they are: frail, imperfect creatures who once spoke with confidence and authority because that is what their children required.
On the television,Diane Lane is standing on a dock staring out to sea and looking exceptional in a worn flannel shirt. Cece finds her beauty distracting. She’s a fisherman’s wife, after all!
“You’re cool with this?” Jonathan asks from the kitchen.
The microwave whines, the pop of kernels fragrant and urgent. “With what?”
He emerges from behind the half wall, a questioning smirk onhis face. “Staying the night. I told you. I’m fine with easing back in. Taking our time.”
“Totally,” Cece says, louder than she means. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Great,” Jonathan says, over the beeping.
Jonathan had wanted to eat out, but Cece had convinced him to order in from their favorite Thai place. She’d made sure to eat light in anticipation of something happening. If she’d had any doubts about whether she was doing the right thing by trying to make this work with Jonathan, the implosion of her parents’ marriage has only reinforced her reasons for coming back. There’s always going to be risk, of course, but with Jonathan, the percentages are just better. Plus, Jonathan is a good man, a kind man. A man who forgave her, even if Cece never did come clean about everything. A small, unimportant detail, she thinks, while they settle into the couch. By the front door, Bernard eyes them with suspicion, and she wonders what he thinks about all this.
Cece doesn’t dare mention anything about her parents’ marital problems. Nothing ruins the mood like divorce and family dysfunction. Cece has plans. She resists shoveling popcorn in her mouth and drinking too much wine while the movie drags on, pondering the best way to initiate things. It’s odd—strategizing like this, like Jonathan’s a stranger, like they don’t know the rhythms of their bodies. The AC kicks on and Cece pulls a blanket over them. In the dark room, the television flickers: Bearded men in orange rubber waders. Green ocean spray. The boat’s heaving prow. Of all things, must they watch this? All she can think about is the grumble of Morgan’s pickup truck, his baseball cap pushed back on his pale forehead. It’s nothing, Cece thinks toherself. It’s a silly thing. It doesn’t matter. Soon they’ll retire to the bedroom, where Jonathan’s bed is the perfect height for him to stand and pull her to the edge, hands grasping her hips. She hopes the months apart have made him hungry and a little bit mad. She needs him to lose himself with her; otherwise, what’s the point?
Cece turns to kiss Jonathan only to find him asleep, snoring lightly. Disappointment and relief flood her chest, and she laughs silently to herself at the absurdity of it all before resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes, the movie playing out on mute. When they wake in the early hours of morning, they look at each other bashfully and pick stray popcorn from the folds of the blanket while an infomercial flashes electric blues across the walls. They shuffle to bed. Even with the lights off, Cece knows her way around the bathroom, the hand towel in its usual place, the toilet handle requiring an extended depression in order to flush fully.
Jonathan is half-awake when she comes to bed and slides in next to him, the smell of freshly laundered sheets nostalgic and familiar.
“I fell asleep,” he says to the room.
“You were tired.”
“Work’s been killer.”
Cece hears Bernard out in the kitchen, his anxious whine and slow walk to his foreign water bowl where he drinks noisily. Oh, to be an animal! A thoughtless beast! A sweat breaks out on her neck, lungs full, heart working hard, blood in her belly, blood in her toes. She can’t will herself to move, but she would, she will, ifonly he touches her first. That will do the trick! Jonathan rolls onto his back and rearranges the sheets. He clasps her hand in his. “It’s good to have you back.”
