Yesterday, I hired a woman named Sue, who once worked for Maya’s Aunt Mary, to help Mom for four hours a day. Aunt Mary was actually Maya’s brother’s best friend’s aunt, but Maya likes to say that Mary was more of an aunt to her than any of her actual aunts, which I always tell her is an absurd statement as the only requirement for being an aunt is to be the sibling of your parent. But Maya insists she loved Mary like a niece loves an aunt—which is a particular kind of love, different from the love of a sister, daughter, or friend. I love Aunt Rosemary, thoroughly—but not totally; compassionately—but with complaints. Maya described Sue as “wonderful beyond wonderful as a caregiver and a person.” I called and introduced myself as Maya’s friend. Sue said that any friend of Maya’s was a friend of hers and told me that her client for the past three years passed away two weeks ago.
“That’s great news,” I exclaimed.
Whoops.
“Of course, I’m sorry about your client’s passing.”
It feels fundamentally wrong to be happy about somebody’s death, but I felt genuine glee, not to mention gratitude, toward Sue’s client for dying. Sue said he was a kind man and I hope he had a long and fulfilling life and went without suffering.
I don’t talk to dead people often, but after my conversation with Sue, I went outside and noticed a cloud that I thought might have resembled Sue’s former client in his afterlife and I thanked him. I told the cloud about what’s been going on with Mom and said I appreciated his timely passing so that Sue was available to help my mother, as I’m sure Sue had helped him. I waited for the cloud to respond with some sort of acknowledgement—a thunderclap or raindrops—but it remained evasively silent and essentially ignored me for the entirety of our conversation. I waited a while longer, communing with the nonresponsive cloud until I started feeling a bit snubbed, so I bade the cloud farewell, but made sure to thank it one last time before heading back inside.
Mom said she didn’t need help with anything and wasn’t planning to pay anyone for help she didn’t need. So I told her that I had spoken to Elliot and in a display of kindness and generosity he said that he would pay Sue.
“Elliot has always had a soft spot for you, Mom,” I said.
“Elliot was a wonderful son-in-law.”
It’s true that Elliot found my mother’s eccentricities amusing, and I’ll be paying for Sue’s time out of my alimony money, so a case could be made that he will be in fact paying Sue. “Tell him thank you. I could certainly use some help around the apartment.”
“I will, and I’m so glad this is working out. Sue is planning on stopping by at 1:00 to say hi and meet you,” I said.
At 1:00 sharp Alan called.
“Hi Elise, it’s Alan from 212. I’m sorry to bother you. A woman named Sue is here to see your mother, but when I buzzed your mother, she told me she didn’t want to see anyone.”
I told Alan I’d call my mother and call him back. I called Mom. She let the answering machine pick up and after the beep I hollered, “Mom, pick up the phone! Mom, I need you to pick up the phone right now! Pick up the phone! Mom, Sue is downstairs. Pick up the phone. Now! Pick up!!!!”
I hung up and called back right away. “Hi Mommy, it’s me, Elise. Can you please pick up the phone? I miss you and want to talk to you.” She didn’t fall for it.
I called Sue on her cell and explained the situation. Lovely, gracious, kind Sue told me that Mom’s behavior wasn’t unusual, and that it often takes people a while to adjust to the idea of having someone in their house helping them out. She said she’d head home and that I could call her anytime.
An hour later Alan called to tell me that Mom had gone out. She told him that if she had any visitors, he should send them away and tell them to go to hell.
At 5:30, Alan called to let me know that Mom had just gotten back.
I started calling her, but she wasn’t picking up. She was probably giving the finger to the phone every time I rang.
She finally answered. It was almost midnight.
MOM: Hello, darling.
ME: I’ve been calling you all night.
MOM: I didn’t feel like talking.
ME: What if there had been an emergency?
MOM: No one needs me for emergencies anymore. No one who has an emergency is calling me. You are the only one who calls.
ME: That’s not true. Aunt Rosemary calls you. Your friends call you. Telemarketers call you. Mom, what happened with Sue? Why wouldn’t you let her up?
MOM: I didn’t want her to eat my food.
ME: What?
MOM: She’s going to eat my food.
ME: Sue isn’t going to eat your food. I promise you she’s not going to eat your food. If anything, she’ll be making you food so you don’t have to cook.
MOM: I don’t want her in my kitchen.
ME: She doesn’t need to be in the kitchen. We can make the kitchen off-limits to her.
MOM: If she’s not going to cook for me, then why do I need her here at all?
ME: To help you out.
MOM: I don’t need help and I don’t want help. Elise, I’ve got to go now, On the Waterfront is about to begin.
I hung up, picked up a book, and read for a few minutes, but I couldn’t focus, so I put it down and stepped outside to find the cloud. The night was moonless, starless, windy, dark, and menacing. It fit my mood. “Fuck you, cloud! Fuck you, fucking cloud!”