Undertow (19 page)

Her mother bore a hopeful expression. “Hi sweetie. Are you feeling better now? Are you hungry at all?”

Momentarily pitying her mother, Marissa softened. “Yeah, I’m feeling okay. I guess. A little hungry.” She produced a slight smile.

“Well, come on out, then. I made us some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.” A magical maternal energy had wrapped itself around her mother, erasing the lines on her forehead and making her appear younger. “And I have a surprise for you.” She practically danced down the hall.

In the kitchen, her mother placed a steaming bowl of soup on the counter in front of her. At least she hadn’t made her famous mock chicken noodle soup.
‘
Faux Fowl
,’ Marissa named it the first time it appeared. When it showed up again, she escalated the insult: ‘
Foul Fowl
.’ Unfortunately, that didn’t deter her mother from whipping up a batch every time Marissa sniffled. Just picturing the floating tofu made her shudder.

“Are you cold, Honey? Should I turn up the heat? Get you a sweater?” Her mother started toward the thermostat. “I know I keep it pretty cool in here . . . wish it would hurry up and warm up already. I’m sick of winter.”

“No, Mom, it’s fine. Really. I’m okay. Warm, actually.”

Her mother looked unsure but turned back. Then she beamed at her. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Getting used to her mother’s shifting moods was definitely going to be tough.

Pointing to the bouquet of scarlet roses gracing the dining table, her mother said, “Aren’t they just gorgeous?”

Marissa slurped the broth from her spoon. “Sure. I guess.”
George must be a pretty romantic guy
, she thought.
Or else smitten. What joy.

Her mother pouted, clearly disappointed at her lack of enthusiasm. “They’re for you.”

“Me?” Her mind raced. Drake was the only one who ever sent her roses.

“Yes, you! Go look . . . there’s a card.”

She stroked a silken petal and inhaled. The scent was heady and for a moment Marissa was transported to another day, another bouquet. Fingering the card and fearing its message, she inhaled the heady fragrance. How she wished she could go far away from this place, this life. She mustered her courage to examine the card.

“
Be my Valentine. I’m crazy for you. Love, Jim.”

Warmth flooded her chest. Some foreign emotion filled her, something new. It felt something like . . . happiness.

The weekend passed in a blur. Marissa’s ordeal left her with a seemingly insatiable need for sleep; she craved it like a starving person hungered for food. Unlike the escapist slumber she sought before, this desire was purely physical. A med-induced fatigue, probably. She slept like the dead all weekend long, rising only to care for her basic needs.

On Saturday morning, her mother roused her to take a phone call. It was Jim, checking in.  “When do I get to come see you, sugar? I’m getting mega lonely.”

No way was she ready to face him yet, not after that last phone call while she was in the psych ward.

“Next week?” she said. “I’m so wiped out. All I want to do is sleep.”

After she hung up, Marissa wrapped herself in his devotion like a virtual security blanket, and put herself back to bed. Her mother fielded calls for the rest of the weekend and relayed these to her during her brief forays into wakefulness. Handing her a bowl of clam chowder, she said, “Kelly called.” When Marissa took a trip to the bathroom her mom called down the hall, “Your father wonders how you are doing.”

Monday arrived, and she was stuck in the
Boozer
again on her way to her first outpatient visit with the psychologist recommended by Dr. Dave. Stone silence again. Marissa gazed out the window at the trees lining the streets. Tiny buds dotted the branches; spring was nearly here already and the quarter was half over. She wondered how she would ever make up the credits.

Yawning, she wondered if her fatigue would ever lift. It fit, though, stuck as she was in a nightmare which refused to end.
In a few minutes she would expose her mind to yet another complete stranger who stood between her and freedom.
What should she say? “Hello. My name is Marissa, and I’m in love with a merman.”
Maybe they have a twelve-step program for people who suffered addictions to sea creatures,
she thought
, a Mermophiliacs Anonymous.
She prepped herself to deliver another line of crap to the therapist. Nudibranchs, her unimpeachable defense; she couldn’t be faulted for scientific inquiry.

They rode the elevator to the third floor of the office complex and it dumped them into a lobby. The décor was depressing, not at all the soothing vibe she imagined the psychologist hoped to achieve: dove-colored walls; deep mauve leather sofa; a poster depicting a city scene of pedestrians thronging the sidewalk, holding black umbrellas up to ward off rain which fell from a darkened sky.
If I wasn’t suicidal before coming here
, she thought,
I would be after hanging out in this room for a while
.

“Welcome.”

She turned around to find a woman with cropped copper hair, the same shade as her own, standing before her with hand outstretched. “I’m Dr. Leopold. Call me Leticia. You must be Marissa.” The woman smiled warmly.

 “Hi,” she said. “Nice to meet you.” She stifled an odd urge to curtsy. Leticia was tall and held herself regally erect as though about to bestow a blessing upon some supplicant. Disarmed, Marissa instantly liked her, something she had vowed to guard against.

Dr. Leopold shook her mother’s hand. “And you are Marissa’s mother? I can certainly see the resemblance. You must be very proud of your beautiful daughter.”

Her mother blushed and nodded, obviously spellbound too.

“How kind of you to bring her. I trust you don’t mind waiting while she and I visit. There is a coffee shop on the corner of the office building across the street if you’d prefer not to wait here in the lobby.” She tilted her head slightly to indicate the direction of the coffee shop. “We’ll be done here at eleven forty-five.”

Her mother hesitated. “Oh . . . sure . . . of course.” No doubt she’d intended to join Marissa on the therapist’s sofa. “Yes, I’ll go have some coffee. See you later.” She cast an uncertain glance backward before finally departing.

“Let me show you my space,” Dr. Leopold said. “Would you care for some tea or juice before we begin?”

By noon Marissa and her mother zipped down Highway 217 to Washington Square Mall on a quest for temporary clothing. “You need something to wear until Jim comes up this weekend,” her mother said, taking control like always.

Since being discharged on Thursday, Marissa had worn yoga clothes; nothing else in her mother’s wardrobe fit. Like she would be caught dead in her mother’s polyester suits anyway, even if they were tailored to her size. Thankfully, it was still cold enough for her to commandeer an old hiking jacket, which covered her butt and hid the stretchy pants. She was skinny now from surviving on hospital food. Not a great way to diet, she decided; it was worse
than drinking those nasty shakes. Or barfing.

“It’s lunchtime. Do you want to stop somewhere, or grab a bite in the food court?”

Given a quiet location and a menu, her mother was sure to start playing twenty questions so Marissa jumped on the latter suggestion. “The mall’s good.”

Tall counters in the food court skirted the dining area. They chose stools at one near the Mediterranean kiosk where they could watch the customers line up with plastic trays and read from the menu boards. Relieved her mother didn’t ask about her session with Dr. Leopold, she picked at the curry on her disposable plate and eyed the mass of shoppers and employees. A girl shifted her weight from one high-heeled leg to another as she waited to order pizza. Blond hair cascaded past her shoulders in a sleek sheet; her white smock and perfectly painted face advertised a job selling cosmetics at one of the department stores.
Daddy’s little princess,
Marissa thought. Behind the saleswoman, a petite girl with shaggy black hair with streaks of mahogany slumped against one of the pillars. Long black skirt, chunky black sweater, thick black eyeliner:
Goth or Emo,
she figured; whatever slur the popular crowd made up this year. Rejects like herself. Goth girl and Princess stood inches apart, ignoring each other as if they inhabited separate continents. Nobody really ever knows what’s going on inside another person, she thought. She wondered if they kept terrible secrets like hers, if there was a merman in their lives, or a dead sister.

Or a Gilbert.

“Is Macy’s okay?” her mother’s voice interrupted. “Or would you rather go somewhere else?”

Pulled back to reality, she gave her mother a blank stare before she remembered their mission. “Sure. Either’s fine.”

Disappointment spread across her mother’s face, evidence that she still held out hope that Marissa might divulge something about her session, some big breakthrough or insight.
Not happening, Mom
, she wanted to say.
Give it up
. But she almost felt sorry for her. It must be rough to have a crazy daughter.

Her mother changed the subject. “Last week a notice came about your car. It’s impounded out in Hillsboro.”

Abandoned at Ecola, of course it would get towed. She didn’t own a spare set of keys; her only one was left on the beach, discarded with her attachment to the human world as she strutted out into the ocean and into the arms she imagined were waiting there to embrace her.

“I guess you never changed your address on your registration.” Her mother methodically removed all the onions from her vegetable fried rice and avoided Marissa’s stare.

“Yeah. Good thing.” Crumpling up her napkin, she dropped it into the turmeric-tinted puddle on her plate and cringed. Thinking about the future of the Styrofoam inflicted a vague guilt upon her conscience.
So much for walking lightly on the planet and all that,
she thought
.
Like everyone else tossing the trash from their lunch, she was just another hypocrite
.

“Maybe we can go to the lot tomorrow.” Then she said, “Since I’m not paying for your room and board this month, hopefully I can afford the impound fees. Must be a fortune after so many days. Not to mention the charge for towing.”

Heat rushed to Marissa’s cheeks. “Let’s just go, okay? I can wear these,” she said, picking at the thin fabric covering her thighs. “I’ll be fine until Jim comes up this weekend.”

“Mari . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

Classic Mom,
she thought, trying to undo the damage
.
Marissa faced her.

“Look, Mom. I’m sorry about the money. I’m sorry about the inconvenience. I’m sorry about everything. I wish I’d died instead of Bethany, okay? I never meant to disturb you and your perfect life. If I could just disappear I would!” Shame tore through her, overpowering her defiance.

“Sweetie, it’s me that’s sorry. Please don’t say things like that. It’s not true, Mari.” Her mother’s voice was firm and urgent, inches from her ear. “I love you. More than
anything
. I always have. Please don’t ever say that again. I’ve never wished that,
ever
. Bethany’s death was horrible, Mari, and when you landed in the hospital I was terrified I would lose you too.”

Marissa allowed herself to soften in her mother’s embrace. Burrowing into the thick curls nested on her shoulders, an enormous wave of sorrow overtook her and she wept, disregarding the curious crowd. Her consciousness was consumed by the grief pouring from her until at last it was drained and she was left empty.

Twenty-Eight