Jess was a Bitch Ch. 02

Why are my cheeks wet?

***

I knock as I insert the key. And, unlike my father, I wait before opening the door, even though I know they're both gone, off to visit Tulum.

"Who is it? Don't come in!"

"Mom? What's wrong? Why are you here?" The tone of her voice tells me there's something wrong. If I didn't know this was her room, I'd never have recognized her voice. I hurry around the short hallway, afraid she's sick, but if she's sick, dad would have never gone off to visit some stupid ruins.

"Jon, damn it to hell, I told you not to come in. I'm not dressed."

She isn't. She pulls her towel up to cover herself but doesn't do a very good job. She's proud of her new boobs and I wonder if she's doing this on purpose. Then I see her eyes. She's crying or been crying.

"Mom, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you sick? You've been crying."

"Spare me, Jon. I don't cry. There's no point to it."

"Everyone cries, mom, even if it's only on the inside."

"Oh God, are you gay? On top of everything else are you gay?"

"No, mom I'm not gay." Just ask Jess, you fucking bi...I kill the thought, strangle it. It's the sort of thought I'd had about Jess for most of my life and I was learning how wrong I'd been. What if I was wrong about mom?

I walk back to their bathroom and grab a towel. When I return she's still sitting on the end of the bed, staring into space. I offer it to her. "Here mom, you're a little exposed."

To my horror, she lets the towel drop. She stares at herself in the mirror. "Are they that ugly? So, ugly, a mere glimpse repulses you?"

"You're beautiful, mom. You have to know that." I can't bring myself to say, 'they're beautiful' about her boobs.

"Yeah, right." She turns from side to side. "They're ugly, hideous. I did it for your father. I imagined it would please him but nothing I do pleases him any longer. He's leaving me." She stands up and faces me. I keep my eyes fixed on her face. "Please go now, Jon. I'd like to get dressed and pack."

I swallow my fear and reach for one of her hands. I hold it in both of mine. "Please don't go, mom, not yet. Get dressed. I'll get Jess, then, please, can we go to breakfast and talk, or just eat, but don't go, not yet, please." I can tell my words are having no effect. "Please, mom? Don't give up on dad, or me, not yet. I love you. I'm sure dad, does to. I know I'm a dick and I don't show it or say it but I'm sorry. You're my mom. I love you. Please, stay."

Her mouth opens, closes. She nods. "Okay, I'll have breakfast but I make no promises beyond that." She pulls her hand from mine and turns to face the patio. "Go on. I'll come to your room when I'm ready."

Even though she's naked. I walk to her and put my hands on her shoulders. "Thanks, mom. Thank you." I'm about to leave when her right hand comes up to rest on top my mine. "It's fine, Jon. You always worry too much. Go on. I'll be over in a few minutes."

"Okay," I whisper before fleeing.

***

"What are you talking about? That's crazy!" Jess is shaking her head at me.

"I'm telling you, mom is sitting in her room, crying, crying. She says dad told her he's leaving her."

"I'm going over there," Jess mutters. I take hold of her hand and pull her back down. She slumps against me. I slip my arm around her shoulder. "No, don't. She said she'll come over when she's ready. If we make her feel embarrassed, it'll just make things worse." Jess pulls away and looks at me. "Dad wouldn't really leave her, would he? I mean what would she do?" I shrug. "Mom's pretty tough, Jess. You think they've been happy? Really happy?" She shakes her head and then lays it back against my chest. "No, but they're so used to each other. Are people married that long supposed to be happy?" I chuckle. "Yeah, ideally I think that's how it's supposed to work."

She tips her face to mine. I'm not sure if it's what she wants but it's what I want, so I kiss her. I taste her toothpaste when her tongue touches mine. We both jump at the knock on the door.

Jess hurries to the door and yanks it open. I see her jump into mom's arms. Mom awkwardly pats Jess on one shoulder.

"It's not true is it, mother? Jon misunderstood."

"No. Your father announced he didn't want me to go to Tulum with him and that, in fact, he wanted a divorce."

Her voice is not the one I'd heard just moments ago. This is the voice of Gloria Vandermach, neighborhood bitch. Please, please don't use that tone, mom, I beg her silently.

"He's just upset or something. You two just need to talk."

"No, he's right. It's over. I'm tired of failing to meet up to his expectations. It's exhausting."

"Mom, what do you mean expectations? He loves you," Jess insists.

"Once maybe, but he's always been embarrassed of me, the silly, dumb, blonde he rescued from the boondocks."

I hear the crack in her voice. I hate it but I love it at the same time. I take her hand again. That's twice in under twenty minutes. Wow. She lets me lead her over to the bed, Jess's bed, the one that doesn't reek of our fucking. I sit down. Mom sits down. Jess sits down.

"One, you're not dumb or silly and dad has never thought that about you," I tell her. "No one thinks that about you."

"No, you all just think I'm a bitch."

I nod. "That's true, mom but isn't that what you want us to think?"

She turns to look at me, eyes wide. "Why would I want my son," she turns and looks at Jess, "my daughter, to think I was a bitch. Like any mother, I'd like to think my children would have some love for me."

"Mom, do you really think we don't love you?" Jess whispers.

"Oh, sure, you squeal 'I love you, mommy', when you get something you want but when's the last time you've just said it?"

"Mom?"

She turns to look at me. "When's the last time you've just said it to one of us, especially me?"

Her eyes narrow. I'm afraid I've fucked up, gone too far. Her mouth opens. I ready myself for the onslaught. She starts to cry, noiselessly. Huge tears fill her eyes and cascade over her cheeks, cheeks free of makeup for the first time in my memory. She stands to go but Jess grabs her in a bear hug. This time mom hugs her back. They rock in each other's arms for a moment.

"Come on, mom. Lie down with me," Jess whispers. She kneels on the end of the bed and moves toward the head, holding on to mom's hand. They lie down. Mom on her back, Jess curled up by her side. I lie down on my back beside my mother, who suddenly seems like a mom to me. She reaches over and takes hold of my hand. I squeeze it. She squeezes back.

"I love you, mom."

"I love you, kids."

Our three voices overlap in the quiet air. Outside, the surf rumbles ashore, like it always has and will continue to do, at least until such time as the earth heats up like Venus and all the water disappears into space. Fucking scientists, they're so goddamn cheerful.

***

I don't know about mom or Jon but I'm starving. I'm starving but lying with my head on my mom's shoulder, listening to her breathe, smelling her shampoo and glimpsing my brother stretched out beyond her is the most relaxing thing that has ever happened to me. Thank God, Jon's stomach growls. My head bounces as mom laughs. It's a good sound. She sits up.

"Come on, you two. I'm hungry, too. Let me wash my face again."

She emerges from the bathroom in a couple minutes, patting her cheeks with a towel.

"I like you without makeup."

Mom smiles at my brother. "Thank you, Jon. If only everyone was as accepting as you."

Jon looks at me. "Don't you agree, sis?"

"Mostly. Sit down, mother." She does. I grab my purse. I gloss her lips with a light pink. A little mascara. "No more crying, today, mom." She nods. Just a brush or two of blush and, voila. I step back and look at my mom for the first time in a long time, not as a mom but as another woman. "Jesus, you're pretty, mom. No wonder all those cunts at the club resent you."

"Jessica! You know I hate that word!" Mom gapes at me, shocked. Then her lips twitch. "They are pretty cuntish aren't they?"

"Fuckin' A right they are," Jon chirps. He gets a gape, then a chuckle.

"You two are a bad influence on me," she sighs.

When she stands, I take her hand. We leave the room and start down the hall. Jon takes her other hand.

Breakfast is outside. It's gorgeous. The place is all inclusive, except booze. Mom settles for fruit and a mimosa. Jon offers to get an omelet for me, while he gets his own. I'm touched that he remembers how I like my omelets. How had he done such a good job of convincing me that he hated me?

"What's going on with you and Jon?" mom asks.

I jerk around in my seat; Mom is staring at me. "What do you mean?" I stammer, horrified at how guilty I sound to my own ears. Get a grip, dummy, I chide myself silently.

Mom looks at me a moment longer. "You haven't insulted each other in almost an hour. He offered to get your breakfast for you. If all it took for you two to start acting like brother and sister was your father threatening to leave me, I'd have had him do it years ago. The bitch-asshole show becomes quite droll after a time, you know."

"Hmm, how many dumb hicks use the word 'droll' mother? Just wondering."

She gives me a hard look. "Don't change the subject, Jess. What's going on with you two?" I roll my eyes, channeling what's left of my inner sixteen-year-old. "Nothing. We talked to each other last night, actual conversation. That's all. He's not totally hideous and he agrees I'm not totally a bitch."

"You never were, unlike your mother, you can't quite pull it off."

"Bullshit, mom! Total fucking bullshit. I'm a really good bitch when I need to be. It's you, it turns out, who's the real cream puff."

"You go on and believe that if you want but I could give the names of a couple football players from high school who'd disagree with you."

"You never talk about when you were a kid. Tell me more."

"Tell you more what?" Jon asks, sitting a plate with an omelet in front of me. "Coffee?" I shake my head. "I'm fine with water." He nods and sits down.

"Mom was telling me how she kicked some jock ass in high school." I look at my mother. "I don't think I've ever heard you talk about your childhood. I mean, I know, your parents are dead but beyond that, I mean, like, nothing."

"My father is dead. I don't know about my mother."

Jon and I stare at her. I hope my mouth isn't hanging open as widely as his.

"You said your parents were dead," Jon manages to choke out at last.

The server walks over and hands mom her mimosa. "Hang on a second, honey," mom tells the young woman and then downs the mimosa. "I'll have another, thanks." Mom looks at my brother. "I'm going to need more on my stomach than some over ripe melon." She gets up and heads over to the omelet bar. I look at Jon, who shrugs and begins to eat his omelet. I don't feel hungry any longer but I force myself to eat.

***

I will not let my children in on my sordid childhood. I will not. I don't need or want their pity. Why the hell did I order another mimosa? I should have switched to bloody Mary's - or just vodka.

***

Mom sits down and begins to eat. She drinks half of her second mimosa. I set my fork down and surprise myself by touching the back of her hand.

"Uh-uh, mom, we're not going to let you act like nothing's happened. You've always told us your mom was dead and now you mention you're not sure. What's up with that?"

Jess nods in agreement. She leans toward mom and puts a hand on the back of her arm. "Jon's right, mother mine, spill." She picks up the mimosa glass and drains it. "We're not letting you wiggle out of this one," she says, setting the empty glass down and smiling.

Mom is not smiling. "That was my drink, daughter mine. You're under-age. I could have you sent to a Mexican prison."

"You'd be tortured by guilt and descend into alcoholism and, eventually, into huffing household cleaners. It'd be awful. I'll risk it."

"Jon, can you shed any light on what is wrong with your sister?"

I nearly choke on a bite of omelet. Mom gives me a hard look, past her turned head, I see Jess roll her eyes.

"What's wrong with her? You mean besides being pushy and nosy?"

Mom holds my eyes for another moment and then drops it.

"My father died when I was fourteen. My mother hounded him to death. I went to live with my aunt Clara; you met her when you were small. I haven't talked to my mother in over twenty years. She could still be alive. I don't know. I don't care. She was awful. My dad worked for the town water company. She always said he was a 'sewer worker'. He never made enough money. She never had 'nice' things, like her 'friends'. He took a job working at nights at the gas station out on the highway near the small town I grew up in. They found him dead, heart attack, sitting in his chair with half a sandwich in his hand. Mom took the insurance money and headed for Omaha. I stayed. She was a terrible mother, terrible person, a real bitc..." her voice fades away. She covers her mouth with one hand as her eyes expand to fill her face. She pushes her chair back and runs past the startled server.

Jess follows her. I put the drinks on mom's room, add a nice tip, sign the receipt and head off to find my sister and mother.