Bound Hearts (16 page)

Just once, she would have loved to suggest some barbeque joint. A little pulled pork. Or a big slab of ribs. Or maybe a place that specialized in southern cooking, complete with buttermilk fried chicken, collard greens, and peach cobbler for dessert. Of course, the only such restaurants she ever visited were those she read about. The place her mother had referred to didn’t exactly fit the bill, either.

“Noble Rot? Is that the one? That’ll be fine, Mother. Seven?”

“Yes. See you then.”

That night, she mentally braced herself as she breezed through the entryway of the restaurant. Located on the top floor of a newly modern building, Noble Rot was flush with patrons eager to sample stylish local fare in a “casually sophisticated setting,” as one of the city’s resident food bloggers referred to it. Finding Lauren’s matching blonde head nestled in a corner booth with a western view of downtown framed by the sunset, she briskly ambled to her mother, already desperately eager for her first drop of alcohol.

“I was beginning to wonder if I was being stood up,” Lauren murmured as she kissed her perfectly rouged cheek, smelling the Chanel No. 5 that had been her mother’s signature fragrance for as long as she could recognize the smell of perfume.

“Oh, please. According to my cell phone, it’s exactly 7:02. Not bad considering it’s a Saturday night at the height of dinner hour and parking is about as much fun as a root canal over here,” she responded, scooting in, removing her jacket, and simultaneously trying to capture the attention of their waiter, or any waiter, who could take their drink orders pronto.

“Saturday night and you have no date. How is it you are my daughter?”

“Where’s your date, Mother? Have you already sent Gerald screaming for the warm, comforting arms of the retirees in Arizona?” she challenged. Gerald was the latest in a long-line of not-quites. Men who, according to Lauren, were not quite right. They were not quite smart enough. Or not quite charming enough. Or not quite rich enough. Or not quite enamored with Lauren enough. There was always something not quite perfect about them.

The fact that they figured Lauren out in time before she manipulated them down the aisle meant they were perfectly quite right in the most important way that mattered.

Their sane, rational minds.

“Since you asked, Gerald is at the North American Conference of Plumbers’ Annual meeting in Minnesota.”

“Fascinating. Tell me. Do you ask him about the worst stuffed-up toilet he’s ever had the pleasure of declogging? Or really, whether too much Metamucil can cause backups that no bathroom can ever fairly recover from? Or what about the kind of plumbing fixtures that turn him on? Does he see a customer’s plumbing fixtures and become unbelievably excited?”

Lauren rolled her eyes and drank her water. “Really, Calleigh. This is why you will never find a man. Because you judge them before you have a chance to really know them. Know and understand who they are as a person.”

Patrons’ laughter twinkled around them as she wished that for only one occasion, she and her mother could enjoy a simple meal together without Lauren interrogating her about her lack of a love life or serious, committed relationship and Calleigh could get through the first course without jumping across the table and strangling her mother. Was it really so much to ask?

Their waitress appeared and took their orders before hustling away.

“Besides, Gerald is a very nice man. He has a solid pension fund from his prior employer and is well-suited to retire soon,” Lauren continued as her perfectly manicured red nails clicked away on the table top.

“How is it that you know so much about his retirement plans? Snoop through his mail?”

“Really, Calleigh. What kind of woman do you think I am?”

She allowed her raised eyebrow to speak for herself.

Lauren sniffed before continuing. “If you have to know, once you reach my age, these are the types of conversations you have. At your age, if you were dating, you would be discussing topics such as the number of children you want to have, where the kids should go to school, whether you’ll work when you have them. Religion. Life planning.
Those
are the kinds of conversations women your age are having with their gentlemen friends. However, at my age, I need to know how many, if any, elective and nonelective surgeries they’ve had, the status of their savings, 401K, IRAs, and any alimony obligations.”

“Geez, Mother. Wouldn’t it be easier if you performed the rectal exam with a little Preparation H?”

“Shh, Calleigh!” Lauren’s mortification heightened her already agitated voice, causing heads around them to openly stare.

“You’re the one who wanted to discuss dating elderly men. I was asking what I believed to be pertinent questions.”

“Impertinent, rather, as you always have been.”

“And I’m all yours, Mother. Let’s change gears. What else is new? How’s tennis?”

Lauren was as eager as she was to switch topics and promptly launched into a recital about her upcoming tournament at the MAC – the Multnomah Athletic Club where she was entered both in the “fifty plus ladies individual” bracket and ladies doubles with Mary Jo Davidson.

If past was prologue, Calleigh anticipated aging well. Her mother was exceptionally well-preserved and could have easily passed for a woman in her early forties. Short, beautifully coiffed blonde locks that only needed a slight adjustment every six weeks or so. Bright blue eyes with a few lines that suggested at one time laughter had come easily to Lauren and left its imprint. Gorgeous skin kissed by natural sun from being outside pretty much all year round. A firm neck that neither sagged nor showed excessive skin. A figure Calleigh herself still strived for every day.

“That’s great, Mother. I thought Mary Jo planned on retiring her tennis racket last year after twisting her knee in that tournament down in Bend,” she offered, attempting to make peace the best way she knew how as she sipped her pinot noir and offered up a silent prayer to the kitchen gods that their entrees would be forthcoming.

“After rehabbing her knee, she had a change of heart. Really, what else is that woman going to do with all her time? She practically shops Ralph out of house and home. I’m sure he encouraged her to return to the court if only to give his poor AMEX a break.”

Silence descended on their table as the clinks of glass celebrated cheers, couples checked in with each other after a long week, and the wait staff ensured every table was well-watered and well-fed. This was the rub. Over thirty years together as mother and child and they still felt their way along their relationship with frequent, lengthy silences tightening up their respective vocal cords, strangling their expression with one another. She had never been able to be completely open, completely vulnerable with the woman responsible for her entry into the world. Her mother’s disappointment demonstrated itself both explicitly and in more subtle, nuanced ways. Quick to point out to her friends how noble it was that her daughter elected to pursue a career teaching in a public school, privately she chided Calliegh for that choice, reminding her that unless her husband was rich, she would never be able to retire or enjoy her retirement. Or vacation somewhere outside of the continental United States.

“The halibut for you, and the roasted chicken for you. Enjoy,” their waitress said as she dropped off their plates and hurried off.

“Halibut is an excellent choice, Calleigh. Full of protein and very lean.”

She spritzed the fish with her wedge of lemon and considered whether engaging Lauren in yet another epic battle of food vs. weight before deciding she lacked the temperament and the heart for the debate tonight.

“I love halibut. I cook it frequently at home, usually in the oven with a hint of olive oil and diced tomatoes.”

Lauren’s eyes flashed at hers across the table. “Olive oil? Do you know how much fat is in olive oil?”

“Yes, I do. Which is why I use barely one teaspoon, which amounts to enough to moisten it so it doesn’t completely dry out in the oven.”

“Oh. Well, good for you.”

“I know you find this hard to believe because in your mind, I’m a hippo, but I know how to cook, Mother. I know exactly how to make nutritious meals for myself.”

Lauren coughed and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I don’t think you’re a hippo, Calleigh. Not at all. What are you now? An eight?”

“Some days. Some days I’m a six. While others, I balloon up to a ten, all part of a normal healthy range, according to my doctor.”

“Hmmm. Doctors are dealing with the obesity epidemic in this country. They think a size twelve is average, and a size fourteen is acceptable. It’s no wonder women are so large now,” Lauren said as she shook her head and pushed her half-eaten dinner towards the end of the table awaiting a pickup. “It’s really quite sickening.”

“Obesity isn’t limited to the fairer sex, Mother. Men are heavy, too. In fact, last time I saw Gerald, he looked as though he could afford to lose the cheeseburgers and pick up the vegetables.” Calleigh knew she was turning the knife, but it felt oh so good. As always, men were exempt from the Rules According to Lauren. “Have you said something to him about his diet? Maybe suggested one of the classes you’re always trying to push on me?” she asked.

“We’re not discussing Gerald, we’re discussing you.”

“Actually, we weren’t discussing me. We were discussing what you termed the ‘obesity epidemic’ in this country, which apparently only affects women.”

“It’s affecting children, too.”

“Half of which are presumably male, Mother. Really, why is it that you’re only concerned with overweight women?”

“Honestly, Calleigh, why aren’t you more concerned with it? Overweight women don’t stand a chance. They can’t find a good husband, they aren’t promoted in their careers, and they’re not taken seriously by people in a position to make things happen.”

“Who would that be? The people who make things happen?”

“Everyone. The women who set up their friends with eligible bachelors. The people in human resources who screen all candidates. A woman who is overweight is telling the world she lacks self-control over one of the most basic necessities of life – eating. If she can’t control what she puts in her mouth, how can she control anything else? Really. It’s a metaphor for being a complete failure at pretty much anything and everything.”

In that one moment, she knew it was now or never. All of the years of being subjected to her mother’s neurosis about weight and food and diets and workouts and she had always kept her mouth quiet, never challenging her because it was easier to ignore and move on rather than throw down the proverbial gauntlet.

No more. Done and done.

“Actually, Mother, that’s about the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life. Which is saying a lot since I work with teenagers for a living who come up with colorful and creative lies every day to justify their lack of homework or arriving late to class.”

“Watch your language, young lady. I don’t appreciate being spoken to in that tone of voice.”

“Tough shit.” The look on her mother’s face was priceless. Her head tilted towards the side, studying her only child. Her mouth opened in a full “o” but no words came out. Her facial expression froze mid-outrage.

“You know, Mother, if you ever took the time to actually learn anything about health and weight and diets, you would know that heredity plays a significant role in a woman’s body shape and her ultimate weight. You would know that someone can limit themselves to a thousand calories a day and still be a size ten, when on such a limited amount, they should barely be a size two. For some, they can exercise until their legs collapse and they suffer a heart attack, but that doesn’t guarantee they’ll be your perfect size zero. You would also know that my weight, even with its fluctuations, is completely in line with medical standards. You hear that, Mommy Dearest? My own doctor says my weight is fine and well within acceptable levels.”

“Oh please – ”

She interrupted the woman responsible for so many good and not so good events in her life and continued. “No. Let me speak. For years, I’ve listened to you rant and rave about my weight, your weight, and every other woman’s weight who we know. You are obsessed, even though I didn’t realize it for a long time. I’ve listened to you repeat, ‘a minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,’ until I thought it would be imprinted on my tombstone. I should probably make sure it’s on yours since it’s likely what most people will remember you for.

“I’ve watched you deprive yourself of some of life’s most basic pleasures because you’re petrified of gaining a pound. I’ve seen you miss out on the joys of enjoying delicious, amazing food on holidays devoted to food and barbeques because you’re a frickin’ nut job. No more.”

Finding her wallet in her purse, she quickly extracted two twenties and stood up to leave.

“Some day, I hope you realize the damage you’ve done not only to me, but to yourself. On that note, I’m going to leave and pick myself up a big carton of Ben and Jerry’s on the way home. I suggest you do the same.”

Without a backward glance, she exited the restaurant.

§ § §

Reading John Sandford’s latest in bed that night, both elation and anxiety coursed through her veins hours after her confrontation. For years, she’d dreamed about telling her mother exactly what she thought about so many of the ridiculous statements she’d uttered. Then, feeling like a hypocrite because in so many ways she actually attempted to follow her mother’s mantras, she’d always remind herself that the fight would undoubtedly end up nowhere beneficial for either of them. Her mother would be pissed, she’d be embarrassed and maybe upset and would ultimately apologize anyway, so what was the point? Even on her way home, she’d contemplated calling her mother and apologizing for the way she’d delivered her opinions, even though she harbored no intention of retracting her statements.

Her phone buzzed and she picked up before checking the caller.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Beautiful. Miss me?” David’s deep tones carried through the phone lines and enfolded her in their warmth, temporarily abating her concern about Lauren.