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Patricia is cleaning the dishes after lunch, which is always a fun little skirmish. It usually involves me offering to help and her refusing three or four times, each of us on our best behavior. The ritual inevitably ends with her complaining about how she’s the only one who does any work around the house. Of course, in true Patricia style, she never actually complains, and she manages her not-complaining in such a polite, gracious manner that if you get mad at her or annoyed, you’re the wicked witch instead of her.
“It will be nice for Tiffany when your daughter gets big enough to help out around the kitchen.” She’s not really talking to me, but she’s not talking directly to Jake either, so neither of us respond. Unfortunately, Patricia doesn’t take easily to being ignored. “When the twins were born, my mother had already died, and my mother-in-law never ate properly so was too sickly to travel. I sometimes wonder how young people manage these days without any outside support.”
Of course, we all know she doesn’t really wonder that, because when Jake and his sister were born, Patricia’s husband spent his eighty hours a week at the office (not that I could blame the poor fool), and there was nobody else around to help her out.
She lets out a dramatic sigh. “It’s a good thing I’ve been taking calcium since I was a teenager. My sister never got in the habit, so now her osteoporosis is so bad she has to hire a girl to do her cleaning for her.”
In Patricia’s mind, any housewife who hires someone else to do the cleaning for her, whether by choice or laziness or sickness, isn’t even worthy of her title. Neither is a mom who sends her kid to daycare. Fortunately, this is one of those times when Patricia is just happy to have a captive audience. We don’t have to engage with her or even agree as long as we let her vent.
“That’s what I’ve been telling Abby ever since she got so serious with that computer science boy.” Abby is Jake’s twin sister, who thankfully is enough of a black sheep that she absorbs the bulk of Patricia’s ire. Not that I get how a first-year law school student could turn into such a disappointment while Jake the convenience store cashier is Patricia’s pride and joy. Or maybe she complains to Abby just as much about him. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“I told her that she needs to focus on her studies. That boy is nothing but an unhealthy distraction.” This rant is familiar enough that I already know about that boy and how he’s doing some sort of postgraduate work in computer science and probably has a higher IQ than me, Jake, and Patricia combined.
“They’ve only known each other for three semesters, and they’re already talking about getting married once she’s out of law school.” Her eyes are wide as she shakes her head in convincing bewilderment. I find this somewhat humorous given the fact that Jake and I hooked up, shacked up, got pregnant and then hitched all in the same calendar year.
I feel sorry for Abby, truth be told. From what I gather, Patricia pegged her daughter as the smart one and Jake as the disappointment before the kids were toilet trained. Patricia pushed Abby, which explains the first-year law student status, and basically ignored Jake, which explains the nine-dollar-an-hour cashier job. The downside to being the genius in the family is that Abby will never live up to Patricia’s expectations. I’ve never even met the poor girl, but I see it so clearly. Eventually Abby’s going to marry and have kids, whether with this computer science genius or someone else. And Patricia will shake her head and cluck that overused tongue of hers and say, “It’s just so sad that Abby has to be away from the children. When the twins were that little, I refused to work outside the home.” And if by some insane chance Abby postpones her law degree or takes time off work to be that stay-at-home Martha Stewart wanna-be that Patricia expects of her, there will be just as much headshaking and just as much tongue clucking, except this time it will be, “When I was raising the twins, I kept up my nursing license. I didn’t put my whole life on hold. That’s the reason why so many children are growing up spoiled.”
Thankfully, Patricia isn’t as talkative today as she can sometimes be. When the dishes are done and my kitchen is scrubbed senseless, she reminds me that it’s almost time for my daughter’s tube feeding, then she takes Natalie and retreats to her room, and I can finally breathe again.