I thought it was going to be the perfect evening.” We’re sitting in my mother’s room. I sit at Mom’s dressing table like I used to when I was a little kid. Mom paces the floor.
“The opera was at eight. Arnold said he’d pick me up at seven, so we’d have lots of time to walk around. ‘See and be seen with my beautiful girl.’ That’s what he said.”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod. “That’s nice.”
“It would have been. Except he didn’t show up until twenty to eight. We were late and had to stand outside until the orchestra finished playing its introduction thingy.”
“The overture,” I say. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay. Anyway, he said he had to work late. Since when do podiatrists work late? And on a Friday? Was there some sort of bunion emergency?”
That’s probably what Mrs. Arnold thought, all those times when Arnold worked late because he was with Mom. But I control myself.
“At least…” She’s still pacing, taking the pins out of her hair. It stays hanging at an odd angle, even after most of the pins are out. “We made it for the first act, and—Oh, Caitlin—it was beautiful. The singing. The costumes. For the first time, I understood why you like it so much. I really liked it, honey. Arnold wanted to … snuggle during the show.”
Translation: He tried to get in her pants right there at the performing arts center.
“But I didn’t mind. I was all wrapped up in the story. It was just like that Nicole Kidman movie, the one that takes place at the Moulin Rouge. I didn’t even mind too much when he said his ankle hurt and he wanted to stay in our seats during intermission, even though it meant no one would see my dress. I figured he would see it at dinner. As it turned out, we never ate dinner.”
“You didn’t? Then where were you all this time?”
“Oh, we went to a restaurant all right, but we didn’t eat. But I’m getting ahead of the story. Anyway, the second act started, and it was so beautiful, so … so noble.”
“What was?” I’ve missed something.
“What Violetta did, Caitlin. Don’t you think so? When Alfredo’s father tells Vi that his daughter may never be able to marry her beloved because Al’s dating a … a…”
“A hooker.”
“Right. And so Vi breaks up with Al, and tells him she doesn’t love him even though she does, so his family can be happy. It was so noble, so strong. She was right, but it was sad.”
She’s crying again. I can’t believe my mother’s crying about La Traviata. What’s up with that?
“I know.” I actually pat her shoulder. I’ve never done that in my life. “That’s what I love about that opera.”
“Violetta is such a good person, and Al doesn’t realize…” She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands. “So that got me thinking about Arnold and his family.”
“I’m glad you thought about that,” I say.
“Me too. So we went to the restaurant, and Arnold said he had something important to discuss with me. And I said I wasn’t sure if getting married was a good idea.”
“What?”
She nods. “But you know what that man said to me?” When I shake my head, she says, “He wanted me to go on a cruise with him. That’s what he had to discuss at dinner that was so important. When I said I thought he was going to propose, he actually laughed.”
“He laughed?” I’m picturing it, her all dressed up at a fancy restaurant, waiting for him to propose, and I feel soooo bad for her, even though I was so mad before.
“Laughed. He said he never planned on marrying me. ‘We’re just having some fun, Valerie. I’d never leave my wife for someone like you.’ Someone like me! That’s what he said. Like I’m some … some…”
I don’t finish the sentence for her.
“Some skank! Can you believe that?” she says.
I can believe it because he’s scum, but I can’t believe he told her. “What did you say, Mom?”
“I didn’t say a thing.” She shakes her hair out. “I threw a lobster at him.”
I sit again. It’s too much to stand. “A what?”
“A lobster. And two little bowls of drawn butter. I’m positive that’s what Violetta would have wanted me to do—I mean, if she was a real person. And as God is my witness, the only regret I have in the whole thing is that that poor creature had to die, only to be thrown at Dr. Arnold Mikloshevsky.”
But I’m barely listening at this point. I’m picturing that lobster, sailing—claws out—across an elegant table, attaching itself to Arnold’s nose. Then I picture drawn butter dripping off the last remaining strands of Arnold’s hair.
For the second time in one night, I start to laugh.
“It’s not funny!” Mom yells. “It’s not … it’s!” She smiles. “Okay, a little.”
I finally manage to calm down. “I’m sorry. I know you feel bad, but … butter?”
We both start laughing hard. When one of us is about to stop, the other one yells, “Butter!” and we both start again.
Finally, I say, “I’m glad, Mom. I’m glad you dumped him. I’m proud of you.” I know I should be happy that Mom finally knows what a jerk Arnold is, that her sinister plan was thwarted, and she won’t be profiting from Mrs. Arnold’s misery, and better yet, that she figured it out for herself. But somehow, standing there in her velvet dress with her mascara messed up and hair all over the place, Mom looks less like a villain, and more like a heroine.
“He insisted on driving me home. I think he was worried that if I got into a cab, I might show up on his doorstep and talk to his wife.” She turns her back to me. “Can you unzip this?”
I lean to undo her zipper, and she says it again, those words I’ve longed to hear all my life. “You were right.”
I nod and say, “Wonder how he explained the drawn butter to his wife.”
“Yeah, I’d like to have been there for that. But I bet he came up with something, and I bet she believed him. Some women will believe anything.” She looks in the mirror and sighs. “Guess that’s me, huh?”
“No, of course not.”
She shrugs. “It’s true. You had to tell me how stupid it was to date that guy. You and Violetta.” She slips the dress off, and lets it drop to the floor so she’s standing there in her strapless bra and underwear. “Time to start over again.”
“What?”
“Dating. The hunt.” She makes the universal Quotation Mark symbol with her fingers. “Find a Husband After 35. That’s what I was trying to say that day when I said it scared me when you talked about moving out.”
I wince, thinking about that day. “What did you mean?”
“The idea of being alone, it’s scary. I’ve never been alone. I’ve always had someone—first my parents, then your father, then you. I don’t know if I can handle being alone with myself once you leave. It’s scary thinking about things changing. I mean, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s what I’m used to.” She turns away to pick the dress up.
That’s just what I did with Rowena and the summer program. I didn’t take a chance because I was afraid. “I understand, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“We should go to bed.” She goes to hang up the dress.
I start for the door. “I wish I’d seen it, with the lobster.”
“Yeah, it was great.”
“Good night, Mommy.”