THE next day I awoke with a vicious hangover and a severe dose of paranoia. Mom was coming home, which meant, among other things, that she was married, broke, or maybe both. Vegas was one of those towns in the back of my mind that flickered like an all-night movie. A dreamy world of lights and sensuality, of passion and heartbreak, a place where men are gangsters, women are whores, and the drinks are free.
Mom got out of the taxi wearing sunglasses as big as pancakes, looking like Jackie O. the morning after. She darted for the door as if she were weary about cul-de-sac headlines. I heard the key fit into the slot and the door suck open. Mom dropped her bags at the foot of the stairs. I had a feeling there was trouble. She came home at a strange time and in a strange car. Her footsteps into the kitchen did not hold the weight of true love and happiness. The refrigerator opened and closed. She shuffled through the mail.
“Is anybody home?” she yelled.
I didn’t answer her. The house was quiet as a spider’s web. The wind rattled the windows, and it looked like there was some serious rain charging out of the west. I wasn’t very interested in dealing with one of her moods but felt hopelessly drawn by a scorching curiosity about her weekend, so finally I went downstairs to find out what happened.
Mom was outside picking up pears out of the yard. I could hear them plopping into the bucket. Each thump made me feel a little more uneasy. The trees were so old they shed fruit all year long. The pears weren’t edible unless you were a squirrel. Mom used them for her compost. I couldn’t tell whether she was working out aggression or just stretching after a long flight.
I opened the screen door. “Welcome back!” I shouted. I could tell a mile away Mom was upset. Her moods were as subtle as a car alarm.
“Need some help?” I asked.
“Sure.” She tossed me an empty bucket. “Did you guys have a party while I was gone?” She immediately put me on the defensive.
“Of course not,” I said. “Why?”
“I found beer bottles in two different places, the grass is matted down, there are cigarette butts everywhere. What was going on here? Woodstock?”
“Must have been those rotten little kids down the street. How was Vegas?”
“All right.” She sounded suspicious.
“Was the hotel nice?”
“It was fine.”
“Did you win any money?”
“Not really.”
“And the drinks were free?”
“Depends on your point of view.”
“Did you get married?”
“Dan took me to a party and turned into Hugh Hefner. He got it in his head that the bunnies were interchangeable.” Mom threw her hair back away from her face, as if she were swatting it all away. “I took a taxi to the airport and left on the next plane.”
“You just left him there?”
“The man got so drunk he fell in the pool.” She bent over and picked up another pear, dropped it into the bucket. “I should have never gotten mixed up with him. He’s got some serious problems. I went through all this with your father. I’m not interested in reruns.” Mom reached down, picked up a pear, and dropped it into the bucket.
“Men are about as predictable as the weather,” I said. “One minute they love you and the next minute you’re in the way.”
“Wait a minute.” She leaned up. “Since when do you start consoling me about men? Don’t you have any homework?”
“I always have homework.”
“Then you should be upstairs studying.”
“I’m taking a little break.”
Mom picked up some more pears. I could almost hear the arguments going on in her head. She seemed more frustrated than angry, as if she had lost the marathon after training for years and years.
“So what are we going to do for your graduation? Should we have a party or did you already take care of that?” She picked up a cigarette butt, flicked it into the pail, then sat on the rocks outlining the garden. “Sit down.” She patted a rock beside her. “I want to discuss something with you.”
I took a seat and prepared for the worst.
“First of all. I want you to know how proud I am that you’re graduating from high school. I know we’ve had some disagreements on our way to the finish line, I just hope you won’t hold them against me, okay? I’ve always wanted what’s best for you kids, but sometimes I slip up. I just hope you learn from my mistakes. Have you heard from any colleges yet?”
“A few,” I lied.
“I hope you get in. Stay around here and you’ll end up like all the other mailboxes. Soon the highlight of your day will be scanning the newspaper for coupons.”
“You’ve never clipped a coupon in your life,” I said.
“All right, so maybe I’m a bad example, but you know what I mean.”