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MAGGIE
My mother and Mila are sharing tea and scones when I arrive at her house.
Mila’s decked out in a long pearl necklace and has a pinky raised as she sips chamomile tea, and my mother is slicing the scone into bite sized bits and instructing her not to dunk it in the cup. I raise my eyebrows as I approach the table behind Mila, surprising her with a quick kiss to the neck.
“Mom!” Mila squirms, sloshing a bit of tea over the side of her cup and onto the tablecloth. “That tickles!”
My mother frowns at me, but ignores my interruption. “Mila, honey, set your tea down before you move around. You’re spilling all over the place.”
“My fault, mom,” I say, not bothering to comment on the fact my mother is probably trying to instill something in Mila that hasn’t sunk into me. Manners? Class? I’ll never know because I don’t want to have this conversation. “Thanks again for watching the girls. I really appreciate it.”
“Mila, honey,” my mother says. “Would you mind excusing yourself from the table and gathering your things? I want to talk to your mother for a moment.”
I feel the same dread I felt as a teenager when my mother would be waiting up, her eagle eyes watching as I pulled into the driveway two minutes behind my curfew time. Ready with a warning, a lecture, a threat.
“Please excuse me,” Mila chirps, bustling up and out of her seat. As she runs out of the room, she pauses at the door. “Thanks for the tea, grandma.”
My mother bows her head. “You’re welcome.”
I watch, proud of my little munchkin.
Once she’s gone, my mother turns to me, and says, “You’re welcome.”
“Thank you?” I say, trying to remember if I hadn’t already thanked her. “I really appreciate you watching the girls,” I repeat. “It was very nice of you.”
“I meant for instilling manners in her.”
“You think Mila’s manners have nothing to do with me, her mother, the lady she sees every day?”
“You didn’t exactly behave yourself like an angel when you were her age.”
“I still don’t behave like an angel. Is that what this is about? Are you trying to turn Mila into your little angel?” I give a shake of my head. “Look, I think Mila is perfect—she’s my daughter, and I love her. But if you expect perfection, you’ll be disappointed.”
“Are you talking about Mila?”
“I’m talking about anyone,” I say, pushing thoughts of Tyler away. For a brief moment, I thought he’d been perfect. Perfect for me, at least, and I’d been wrong—again. “I don’t want to have this conversation—”
“You never want to have this conversation.” My mother lowers her voice as the sound of Mila getting her things together comes nearer. “Why not? Afraid of what you might find?”
I stand, push my chair in. “Thanks again, mom. I’m sure the girls had fun.”
“What about you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You asked me to host a sleepover so you could have one of your own.” My mother’s disapproving gaze meets mine. “Well, did you have fun at the party?”
“It was fine,” I say, shortly.
“Then why did Tyler pick up Jessica so early?”
“How early?”
“Seven. Said he had a flight to catch.”
My heart thumps. “What?”
“A flight. Hence the reason he picked her up at the crack of dawn—he apologized and said something had come up.”
“Okay.”
“You didn’t know.” A smug look settles on my mother’s face as she studies me. She must see something reflected back that tells her I’m not ready for this game, however, because her expression falters. “Margaret? What happened?”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I ask, quiet. “He’s gone now, so I hope you’re happy.”
“Margaret.”
I stand, pushing my chair in. “Thanks again, we’ll be going now—”
“Margaret,” she says again, more firmly. “What happened?”
“Why do you care? You’ve been rooting for this from day one. You’re right, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? You’re right. I shouldn’t have given Tyler a second chance,” I blurt. “I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him the first time, much less the second. It’s his fault I turned out to be a horrible person—that’s what you think, isn’t it?”
“This has nothing to do with Tyler!” My mother stands, her chair scratching backward. “This has to do with you. You’re my daughter.”
“Yes, I know I’m a disappointment to you.”
To my surprise, my mother stops. Her mouth parts, and then nothing comes out.
I shake my head, knowing I’d always been right, but not wanting her to confirm it so thoroughly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, with a shrug of my shoulders. “I tried to be good enough for you, and it just didn’t work.”
Mila appears in the doorway, and a truce is called—as it always is—when she’s in the room. If it weren’t for her, I wonder if my mother would even bother inviting me for the holidays.
“Bye, Grandma!” Mila bounces over and plants a kiss on my mother’s cheek before turning to grab my hand. “Ready, mom? Maybe me and Jess can play today. We got halfway through our game when her dad came this morning. He said they were going to her grandma’s house.”
“Grandma’s house?”
“You know, Tyler’s grandma—er, mom.”
“We’ll see, honey,” I say, pulling her close to my side and holding on for dear life. “Let’s go home.”
As we leave through the front door, I feel my mother following us, watching as we climb down the front path. And, as we slide into the car and pull away, she closes the door behind her.