I’ve tried to get Mama to tell me about the other item in the box. But every time I ask her about the ring, she rolls over and goes to sleep. She does the same when I mention going to the rodeo.
Waiting these two weeks for Jack to come back to town has been excruciating. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see Jack again. There’s too much I want to say about what he’s done. Too many feelings left raw. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to convince Mama to go with me to the rodeo. Now that the big day has finally arrived, I am not surprised that she decides to stay home. I can’t blame her.
“Millie,” she says, tapping the crumpled bedspread for me to sit beside her, a signal that she has something very important to say. “It’s time I explain a few things about Jack.” She pulls the tips of her fingers together to form a hollow sphere, an imaginary bubble between her palms. I am afraid to move, for fear of breaking the surface. I figure she’s about to tell me I can’t go to the rodeo, so I plant a row of excuses in my head.
“You probably wonder why we’ve never gone to see him ride,” she says.
Of course I’ve wondered this for years. I sit still and wait for words.
“I don’t know how to explain it to you, Millie. But, well, the truth is, Jack should never have married a girl like me.”
Out the window, a murder of crows perches in my sweet gum, cawing so loudly I can hardly hear Mama talk. Sweetie’s branches are bare, except for a few battered leaves that refuse to yield to winter wind. They cling to what they know.
“The rodeo, it’s its own world. They’re a different breed out there, with their horses and cows. Bulls and ropes. All kinds of things I never understood. Those people,” she lets out a long, hard sigh, “rodeo people. They do better when they stick to their own kind. We tried our best, Jack and me. I’m glad we did, Millie. If I hadn’t chosen Jack, then I wouldn’t have you. And you know I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”
I have never doubted Mama loves me, but I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to trade her whole life in for a new one. Me included. I don’t dare say that. I just keep quiet.
“I know it’s not easy on you, Millie. Jack and me. You shouldn’t have to see such things. Or hear such things. We should do better for you. I keep thinking it will get better.”
I blink back tears and make a terrible sniffling, snorting sound trying to fight down the flow of emotions gushing in my gut. All these years Mama has told me to pray. She has defended Jack, taken his side, brushed off my fears. I think of those nights she scrubbed away bloodstains and told me to forgive and accept. Like she was always saying, “Jack’s not wrong, Millie. It’s not Jack’s fault.”
Over the years, each and every time Mama defended Jack, she was choosing him over me. Saying, to me, “Don’t fight back. Love him anyway. It’s not his fault he hurts us. He can’t help it. Whatever you do, please, please don’t make him angry.”
After sixteen years, Mama is finally admitting that things haven’t been easy. For me. The noose around my neck feels loosened.
Mama is sweating. She has the shakes. I fluff her pillow and say, “Let me bring you some water.”
I bring her the water, and she takes a long drink, catches her breath, and continues, squeezing her hands into fists to stop her fingers from twitching.
“I never wanted things to be like this, you know. I wanted to be a good wife. A good mother. Lots and lots of children. I pictured it all in my head. We’d sit in the stands at the rodeo. Watch Jack win grand prize. Then we’d go for dinner. Somewhere nice, like Tino’s. Order anything we wanted. Money wouldn’t matter. We’d eat rib eyes and seafood and salad. Not worry about the bill. Jack would order dessert, and I’d hold the baby. You and your brother and sister and me, we’d blow out sparkling candles, silver ones. Wish for a big pink house or a shiny black pony. We’d laugh and everyone would stare, wishing they were us.”
She takes another sip of water. “Take your time, Mama.” I hold her hand. “Rest.”
“That was my dream, Millie. I was just too young. I’d never fit into Jack’s world. I thought, if I tried my best—which I did, Millie, I always tried my best—I believed that’s all it would take to make things right. Make dreams come true. A happy family. Happy home. I thought it would be so easy. I should have had a backup plan, Millie. A way to handle it when all those things didn’t work out. That way, I’d never have been disappointed. Never hurt. Instead, I just learned to stop expecting anything at all.”
“Mama, please take a nap. This can wait.” She is breathing fast. Sweating. Fanning herself. Her heart is racing through her thin blouse, and she is looking at her dresser. Probably searching for her stash.
“Pretty pathetic, to tell you the truth,” Mama continues, sitting tall. “I don’t want you to end up like me, Millie. Never expecting anything good to come your way. You’ve learned happiness isn’t a guarantee. I want you to do better than I did, Millie. Better than this.” She looks around the bedroom, as if she’s finally seeing all the dust and books and aging linens. “Now, go to that rodeo. See your daddy ride. And then, after Jack’s won the prize, go somewhere nice. Tino’s. Order anything you want. Tell the waiter you’re celebrating. Ask for candles. Big, bright, sparkling silver candles. Make a wish. Believe without a single doubt it will come true. I mean it. Believe it. Then blow out the candles, and laugh loud. So everyone will turn to look at you and Jack and smile because you are so happy, the two of you, father and daughter. The way things should be. That’s what I really want, Millie. You and Jack to be happy.”
I am shaking. I squeeze Mama’s hand. “Come with me, Mama,” I say. “Let’s go together to watch Jack.” But there’s no changing her mind. She doesn’t belong in the arena, and I have to find out for myself whether I do or not.
“Mama,” I ask. “Please. Tell me more about the box. Why’d you bury these things? Whose ring is that?”
“There’s a lot left to tell you, Millie. We’ll talk more when you get back from the rodeo. For now, you better hurry. You’ll be late.”
I give her a hug, dry my tears, and head out alone. Half believing that Mama’s expectations of the day might actually come true.