Chapter 4: The Ride Home

We rode home from the dentist in silence. I wanted to continue the conversation, but I didn't know how to bring the topic back up again. I decided I would just let it go, at least for today. My mother knew I wanted to know more about her past. She had to realize I would ask again at some point.

We were about five minutes away from home when she broke the silence.

"I haven't forgotten about what we were discussing earlier," she said gently.

I waited for her to continue, but she didn't. She kept her eyes fixed on the road and a firm white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

We entered our neighborhood and were a few streets away from our house; she hadn't said anything else, time was running out.

We pulled into the driveway to find my brother and father busy in the garage working on my father's motorcycle. My brother was kneeling on a towel and handing my dad a tool, neither of them looked up to acknowledge us.

I am glad I have a brother and not a sister. Drew is four years younger but towers over both me and mom. He is kind and sweet without being a pushover. When mom was pregnant, I prayed every night that she would have a boy. I don't know how families manage it when they have two kids of the same gender. It is even worse if they are close in age.

My friend Melissa has a sister who is only thirteen months younger than she is. They fight constantly; it can get pretty ugly. I have personally witnessed a few arguments. The two of them have had some knock down, hair pulling, rolling on the floor physical fights too. There was the time that Margaret, the younger sister, borrowed Melissa's iPad without asking. Her iPad was dead, she had forgotten to charge it, and needed it for something, I can't remember what. So, while Melissa was in the shower, Margaret went into her room and took it. Of course, when Melissa returned to her room, she noticed immediately that it was missing. According to Melissa, she knocked on her sisters door and asked for the iPad back nicely. She said that Margaret refused to answer the door or respond to her, which really upset Melissa. So, she kicked the door hard several times until she put her foot through it. Melissa ended up fracturing her ankle and had to walk on crutches for a few weeks. Her parents made both Melissa and Margaret split the cost of replacing the door. I told my mom what happened. She explained that they are experiencing sibling rivalry. Whatever the reason is for their issue, it seems awful.

I never feel like I have to compete with Drew and one of the main reasons is because we aren't the same sex. I bet it makes it much easier on my parents too. Dad does boy things with Drew and mom does girl things with me. There are times though when I want to go to a hockey or football game. I do like some sports and dad did teach me to know what is going on so that I am not at a complete loss.

Dad is great at explaining things. He always knows how to find the right words to make you understand something new without making you feel dumb. I know my brother feels the same way. I have heard Drew say to his friends things like, "Let's ask my dad, he will know, or "My dad can help us."

One of my most favorite birthdays was when dad reserved a box at the hockey arena. I was able to take four friends, plus my parents and brother. Dad let Drew bring one friend so that he had someone to sit with. The server brought in chicken tenders, fries, and several other food choices. Towards the end of the third period, the hot trays were swapped out for cookies and ice cream sundaes. It was an amazing birthday.

I reached for the door handle assuming there was nothing left to say, when I felt my mother's hand on my left arm. I looked down at her hand and then followed her arm up until I reached her face. She looked directly into my eyes, smiled, and then touched my cheek with the back of her hand. She would do this sometimes when I didn't feel well to check and see if I felt warm.

This time her touch was different, softer. She caressed my skin slowly moving her hand up and down from the top of my cheek to below my chin. My mother repeated the motion several times as we sat in silence. I usually hate it when she touches my face, but for some reason this time I didn't mind.

She dropped her hand onto her lap and whispered, " I love you and your brother so much."

"We know that mom," I assured her sincerely.

My mother is always reminding us how much she loves us. She wants us to "feel the words" and not just hear them, she says. She is constantly telling me and my brother that we will understand what true love is when we have children someday.

I don't want to have kids. I even told her so last year. Surprisingly, this didn't upset her. I figured I would naturally get a lecture like, "You say that now or when you find the right guy you will feel differently." But she did not object, not even an eye roll. I thought every mom wanted to be a grandma.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Really mom, it's okay."

She nodded her head and replied, "I want to show you something. It will be easier if I begin with showing you."

I smiled in agreement. I wanted to offer her a way out. But I was too curious to disagree. Her behavior before we went into the dentist office and now here in the car, I admit, scared me a little.

"Saturday night your father is taking your brother to the hockey game. We will wait until they leave."

And without pausing for a response, she honked the horn and then laughed at the way my brother and father jumped from the sound.

"Not a word of this to your brother or father," she cautioned through smiling teeth.

We both got out of the car and went our separate ways. I went towards the house, and she stopped to talk with my father and brother. Their conversation about the clutch faded with each step I took.

I am lucky to have two parents who are still together. Half of the kids I know are split between two houses. They are always complaining about one parent or how annoying it is to have to go back and forth. The hardest part, according to some, is getting used to your parent dating. I would absolutely hate that. It is already disgusting enough to think about your own parents doing it, never mind some man or woman you barely know. On the plus side, they benefit a lot from double birthday gifts and Christmas gifts. Hannah Cohen said she even gets twice as many for Hannukah; eight nights, but sixteen presents.

You can always tell the difference between the moms who are divorced from the ones who aren't. Mom and I ran into Mrs. Russo at the grocery store last week. I hardly recognized her. She lost like thirty pounds and was wearing tight jeans and a low-cut tank top. In elementary school, I was in the same class with her son, Danny, three years in a row. Mom would make a point to sign up to be a room Mom at least twice a year to help the teacher out with special events. Mrs. Russo did the same for Danny. She was always nice to me when she was volunteering, and mom said she was a lovely person to chat with while they organized the class activities. Back then, she was still married to Mr. Russo, they divorced when Danny was in seventh grade. The rumor at school was that Mr. Russo had an affair. Some said he cheated with another guy; others said it was with a woman at the gym. When I brought it up with mom, she said it was none of anyone's business and that I should not contribute to the gossip. Either way, Mrs. Russo looked very different from the way I remembered her.

Before I opened the front door, I looked back at my mother. She was cheerfully talking to my dad and resting her arm on my brother's shoulder. Her ability to shake off her mood and pivot to the caring wife and mother so quickly had impressed me.

What could she have done? What was so terrible that she couldn't just come right out and tell me? Whatever it was, in two days I would learn the truth.