Goodbye To All That (18 page)

Her lips were pursed, tense with concentration. Checking out a customer’s purchases evidently required deep concentration. But the scanner gave a friendly beep each time she passed an item through its beam, so she must have been doing her job correctly.

Being a Good Daughter, Jill ducked down the shampoo aisle, remaining out of her mother’s line of vision. She wouldn’t want to distract her mother and make her ring up a candy bar or an Atkins Diet milkshake incorrectly—although if her mother made a mistake, maybe the store would fire her and she’d go home.

Not likely. She’d only be discouraged, her self-esteem punctured. Returning home a failure wouldn’t do. Her mother had her pride, and that pride could be Jill’s entry. She could convince her mother she’d made her point, proven she had the right stuff, had a grand adventure and emerged a better person. Only then would she willingly put her wedding ring back on.

From the shampoo aisle, Jill could see the front door. She pretended to be fascinated by the selection of super-hold styling gels while watching for the diet-conflicted customer to leave. As soon as the woman passed through the folding doors, Jill emerged and approached the counter.

“Jill!” Her mother broke into a huge smile. “Jill! Oh, my God!” Before Jill could answer, her mother turned to the lanky kid behind her. “Wade, this is my daughter Jill. She never shops here—she’s got a First-Rate in her own town. Jill, what are you doing here?”

“Obviously, I’m here to see you,” Jill said, eyeing the kid warily before returning her mother’s smile. “If I wanted to shop, I’ve got a First-Rate in my own town, just like you said.”

“Jill—” Why did her mother have to keep repeating her name? Was she afraid that now that she’d embarked on her new life as a single woman, she might forget her children’s names if she didn’t say them over and over? “—this is Wade. He’s been breaking me in.” Her mother giggled. “That’s what they call it, anyway. You’ll never guess what his last name is, Jill.”

Her mother seemed oddly hyper. Jill humored her. “Okay,” she said pleasantly.

“Go ahead, guess.”

“You said I’d never—”

“Smith,” her mother declared. “His last name is Smith. Can you believe it?” Once again, she didn’t give Jill a chance to comment. “And this—” she gestured toward the woman at the next register, who took a moment out from ringing up another customer’s order and gave Jill a friendly nod “—is Rosita. And that’s Bernie, straightening out the Halloween candy. Bernie, come and meet my daughter!”

Jill hadn’t traveled all this way so her mother could show her off. Nor had she come here in order to meet her mother’s new playmates. But before she could react, a short, spunky gentleman who appeared old enough to have celebrated his twentieth anniversary as an AARP member bounded over and clasped her hand in his. “Ruth, you didn’t tell us you had such a beautiful daughter,” he exclaimed.

If Jill were Abbie, she would have rolled her eyes and made retching noises. If she were Noah, she would have said, “Later, dude,” and run out the door. Instead, she shook the gentleman’s hand and said, “That’s very sweet of you. Mom? Can you spare me a few minutes?”
Dad’s dying,
she wanted to add, if only because those two words would probably scare the effusive Bernie away.

Her mother glanced at the kid, who glanced at the woman named Rosita, who nodded. Did it bother her mother that she had to get permission from people so much younger than she was if she wanted a break? As if the apron wasn’t humiliating enough.

“We’ll go to the staff room,” she said, sauntering the length of the counter to the end, where a gate allowed her to escape into the store. “You want something to drink?”

“No, thanks—”

“I’ll get you a drink. I get an employee discount.” Before Jill could stop her, she’d crossed to the refrigerator case and removed a can of Diet Coke.

“No, really, Mom, I’ve already drunk my daily quota.”

“Nonsense. My treat.” She returned to the dreadlocked kid’s station, scanned the can herself, and then scanned a laminated card. “I have an account,” she explained to Jill. “If you buy things in the store, they keep track and deduct the cost from your paycheck. Discounted cost, of course.” She strode down an aisle and Jill followed, unnerved by the certainty of her mother’s steps. Not that her mother had ever minced or teetered when she walked, but there was a purposefulness in her gait today, as if she were training to hike the Appalachian Trail from end to end.

At the back of the store, she slid her laminated card into a slot and pushed open a door marked “Employees Only.”

“The staff room is pretty shabby,” she warned Jill as they walked past some shelves full of inventory and into a room that was, indeed, shabby. “After I’ve been here a while, I’ll ask Francine if I can put up some posters, maybe bring in a plant or two to liven the place up.”

Jill had no idea who Francine was. Another person half her mother’s age to whom her mother had to answer, probably. The more pertinent part of her mother’s statement was
after a while
. How long a while was she planning to work here?

Jill surveyed the dreary little lounge. Lockers lined one wall; a countertop with cabinets above and below, reminiscent of the cabinets in Jill’s dentist’s office, lined another. A microwave oven, its window smeared with ancient splatters of food, stood on the counter, beside it an empty coffee maker. A minifridge sat on the floor.

“There are no windows here,” she pointed out. “Plants need sunlight.”

“So I’ll get some plastic plants,” her mother said. She popped open the can of Diet Coke and placed it on a small, round Formica-topped table. “Sit. Drink.” She dropped onto one of the chairs at the table and gestured to another chair for Jill. “You look worried. That’s not like you, Jill. You’re my one child who never worries.”

“I always worry,” Jill retorted, then took a sip of soda to steady her nerves. “Doug’s the one who never worries. He’s rich, he’s successful, and he’s got Brooke hanging off his arm.”

“He’s got twins,” Jill’s mother said, as if that was a cause for chronic panic.

“Okay, so I’m worried,” Jill said. “The inn where we’re having Abbie’s bat mitzvah reception is trying to rip us off.”

“They all do that,” her mother muttered.

“I wanted to call you for advice, but I couldn’t.” Jill wondered if her mother could hear the resentment underlining her tone. “You were here, at work.”

“Oh, you don’t need advice from me,” her mother said. “You’re my rock, Jill. You’re the one I depend on. The idea of you coming to me for advice
 . . .
. That’s crazy.”

Maybe it was crazy, but it was also true. Jill could be a rock as long as the rest of the family stood on terra firma. But if they were drifting out to sea, what good was a rock? A rock would only sink.

She felt the pressure of tears at the back of her eyes and blinked furiously. She would not cry in front of her mother. Crying was Melissa’s job, not Jill’s.

Dad’s dying,
she longed to say. Or, more accurately,
We’re all dying. The Bendel family is dying.
Instead, she said, “How is it going to work if you and Dad aren’t together at Abbie’s bat mitzvah?”

“What has to work?” her mother replied. “It’s not like your father and I can’t stand each other. We were married a long time. We can get along.”

“Don’t you miss him? Aren’t you lonely?”

“Lonely?” Her mother shrugged. “Who’s got time? I’m working, learning. Today’s my first day on the register. Nobody’s promising anything, but if things work out they may teach me how to run the one-hour photo machines. Just as a back-up, though. That wouldn’t be my primary job. They’ve got two ladies who work there, Gina and Brandi with an
i
. That’s her real name, B-R-A-N-D-I. Who would do that to a child, give her the name of a hooker? But she seems nice enough. A little stand-offish, both of them. They think they’re special because they run the film department.” Jill’s mother shook her head. “I’m talking too much. Tell me, how’s everything with you? How are the kids?”

“The kids are fine,” Jill said, not wanting to waste what little time she had on trivial matters. “Mom
 . . .
Okay, so you’re not lonely. What about Dad? What if he’s lonely?”

Stupid move. Her mother straightened in her chair and her smile vanished. “He’s going to have to figure out how to fix that himself. I’m done living my life around him. He’s a big boy. He’s lonely? Let him pick up a phone and call a friend.”

“What if the friend he calls is a woman?” Jill asked.

“We’re separated. If he wants to call a woman, he can call a woman.”

“That wouldn’t bother you?”

“He isn’t living his life around me, either.” Another shrug, this one a bit more emphatic.

“You haven’t
 . . .
” Jill swallowed. “You aren’t seeing another man, are you? That guy Bernie—” She gestured in the direction of the store, where she’d met the effusive older man.

Her mother laughed. “Bernie is a character, isn’t he? He’s married. And full of baloney, and he’s old. I’m not seeing him. I’m not seeing anyone. If I wanted a man in my life, I’d stay with your father.”

“Don’t you want—I mean, what about sex?”

Her mother laughed louder. “Sex? If I miss it, I’ll start worrying about it. Right now, I’m not worried.”

That was cryptic. “It’s a normal, healthy part of life, Mom.”

“I’m sixty-four. I’m not the same person I was thirty years ago.” She rested her folded hands on the table. Jill tried not to wince at the sight of that unadorned ring finger. “Now, my girlfriends? Them I miss. I don’t have time for coffee with them anymore. No time to put together fundraisers for B’nai Torah, or to visit patients at the hospital. No time for a game of bridge on a Wednesday afternoon. But sex?” She held her hands palm up, as if to say sex was nothing, it was empty.

Unsure what to think, Jill drank some soda. Its blessedly familiar taste would have soothed her if soothing her were at all possible. She hadn’t discussed sex with her mother since she’d gotten her period at the age of eleven and her mother had explained the mechanics to her, making them sound generally awful.
That thing he uses to pee with goes where? Yuck!

So her mother didn’t miss her father and didn’t want a boyfriend. At that rate, if Jill said, “Dad is dying,” her mother would likely say, “Poor guy. I’ll say a prayer for him next time I can free up a few minutes.”

“Mom,” Jill said, opting for honesty, “we all want you to get back together.”

“Who’s we?”

“Melissa and Doug and me. Gordon, too. Abbie and Noah. I’m guessing Brooke, too. The twins are probably too young to care.”

“Change is hard,” her mother said gently. Jill realized her mother was giving her advice, after all. “If this separation doesn’t work out, we’ll get back together. So far, it’s working out.”

“For you,” Jill conceded. “What about the rest of us?”

Her mother sighed. “That’s the point, sweetie. I’m done living my life for the rest of you.” For a moment she looked wistful, even lost. How could a woman who’d spent her whole life living for her family make such an abrupt U-turn? Shouldn’t she have whiplash?

Then she smiled, a brighter smile than Jill could recall seeing on her mother’s face in a long time. “I should get back out to the store. But listen, you and Abbie should come to dinner. I’ve got my new apartment set up now. We could have a girls’ night, just the three of us.”

Jill didn’t want a girls’ night with her mother. A family night with both her parents would satisfy her just fine.

“I’ll schedule an early night off,” her mother said. “I’ll make a pot roast. Abbie loves my pot roast. Call me when you can figure out a good day for you and her. I’ve really got to go. This isn’t my break time.” She hurried toward the door, where she waited for Jill to join her.