Jessica Sankiewicz - If Only We

I smile coyly, then break off part of the peanut butter cookie while it is still in his hand. “Cookies and chocolate always make everything better.”

My mom and I have been avoiding each other as much as possible. Neither one of us want to make things uncomfortable for Maurice or Kaitlin, especially after Maurice made it clear he wanted us to act like a family. So whenever we are all together, we talk; mostly she and I talk to either Maurice or Kaitlin, never directly. Any time we are alone in a room or pass by in the house, we barely utter a word.

It’s not right.

Yet I don’t know what to do to make things right. Even if I did become a nurse to please her, the damage is done. She can’t trust me, and I don’t blame her there. If I were her, I wouldn't want to trust my daughter after she lied to me all summer either. I wish there was a way we could compromise. I have a feeling that despite what my dad told me, it is going to be hard to find that middle ground. At least I can’t see it in the near future.

Maurice and Kaitlin go out for a daddy/daughter dinner Saturday night. It's the first time my mom and I have been in the house without one of them there with us. I almost want to lock myself in my room and not come out, but I do need to eat and I don’t want my mom to eat by herself.

I go down to the kitchen when I hear my mom making noise getting out pots and pans. I go to the refrigerator and get out lettuce, tomatoes, and olives. I start chopping and slicing, waiting for my mom to say something to me.

She doesn’t.

Before I realize it, I sigh. Of all the things I could do at this moment, it has to be something audible and obvious. This catches my mom’s attention. She turns her head to me and asks, “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I just…I was hoping that maybe you would say something.”

She is silent for a moment. I'm regretting that sigh already. She finally says, “I don’t know what to say, Adrienne.” She starts boiling water in the pan. “I just wish you wouldn’t throw your life away.”

I cringe and bite my lip. “I’m not throwing my life away.”

“Then what are you doing?”

This is a trick question; no matter what I say I'm going to be reamed out. I give her the most honest answer I can think of. “Discovering the world of possibility. I need to find out who I am and go from there.”

“And you have to skip college to do this?”

“I wouldn’t be the first person to take a semester off. It’s actually a little more reasonable because some people take a year or two off and travel across Europe. I just need a small break to figure things out.”

“You still lied to me.”

I set the knife down on the counter next to the bowl and spin around. “I know. And I'm sorry that I lied. I really am. But we need to get past this. I have made my decision.”

She holds up her hands. “Without even discussing it with me.”

“Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t feel like I could before.”

“You can’t discuss important life decisions with your own mother?” she says harshly.

“Not when I know the conversation is going to be one-sided!” I yell. “I did try to talk to you the one time, years ago when I was a freshman. We had a career day where a bunch of people came in to talk about the jobs we could have when we grew up. You remember what you said to me?”

She purses her lips. “No.”

“You said, ‘It doesn’t matter, we’ve already got a plan.’” I blink the tears back. “So, no, Mom. I can’t discuss this with you. In fact, I’m done trying to reason with you.” I grab a towel and wipe my hands. “I’m going to Lyndsay’s. Don’t wait up, I may spend the night.”

* * *

“How did you deal with my mom so gracefully?” I ask Faith after dinner. I couldn't stop thinking about it all through the meal. With as much trouble as I have been having attempting to create a peaceful relationship with her again, I just don't understand how it's possible.

She lets out a long breath. “To be honest, it wasn’t always so graceful or easy. It probably seems that way to you because you weren’t old enough to remember the early years.”

“The early years?”

She leans back in her chair. “Back when I was pregnant with Lyndsay and your mom was pregnant with you. She graduated from college, had a job, and was married to your father. I was fresh out of high school, had no job, and wasn't married. How could I raise a child, go to college, and work all by myself? My parents were willing to help but I didn't want to rely on them. I was a different kind of girl, unwilling to accept their generosity.” She chuckles. “So I decided to skip college and go straight to work. My mom was not too pleased with my decision but she knew I was going to have a child of my own to care for. She just assumed I would go to college in a couple years. Your mom, however, was upset. ‘This is our family’s tradition.’” I could hear my mom’s voice in my head. “She kept saying that over and over again. She wouldn’t let it go. For a few years, anytime the family would get together she and I would argue. Everyone else could hardly stand being in the same room as us.”

“I didn’t know it got that bad.”

“It was because of you girls that we tried to get along, and for the sake of the family when we got together. It got better when I decided to become a nurse’s aide. Your mom started to be nicer once she heard, but things were still tense since I wasn’t planning on going to college to be an RN.”

I sigh. “So my mom will never be okay with me not being a nurse in some capacity?”

She frowns. “I wouldn’t say that. She and I have been able to get along regardless of my choices. The obstacle is the two of you being stubborn.”

I make a face. “I’m not stubborn. I just know that I don’t want what she wants.”

She shakes her head. “No, Adrienne. You are stubborn. You lived in your mother’s shadow for years, and then you decided to think for yourself. The day you did that was when you became stubborn. At least, in your mother’s eyes.”

I consider this a moment. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be a nurse; it was because she and I were too similar. That similarity put us at odds when we had opposite views. “So, since I’m no longer a passive child, she doesn’t know what to do?”

Faith nods. “She is in shock essentially, and her initial response to that shock is to fight. It’s a new side to you that she never expected to see. I don’t think she likes it much. However, once the shock wears off, she is going to remember that you are her daughter and she loves you no matter what.” She reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. “She’ll get over it soon.”

“Just a little over one week and then my baby girl will be starting high school,” Maurice says after dinner. It was a pleasant meal, as it has been since the argument on Saturday. My mom and I seem to have some sort of unspoken truce in place. The fighting will only cause more tension and nobody wants that.

Kaitlin gives a hint of a smile as we gather up our plates and silverware. Maurice continues and asks, “You getting excited?”

Her partial smile fades into a frown. “Not really.”

Maurice chuckles. “You don’t have anything to worry about. High school is a lot like middle school, just in a bigger building.” He turns to me. “You just made it through, Adrienne. Tell her.”

I look over at her and say, “It’s not bad. There are times when it feels like too much to handle but you will survive. Trust me.” I smile. “Besides, you have friends like Paige, and you’re going to make plenty more as the years go by.”

She doesn’t respond immediately. “Yeah,” she says dejectedly.

I know that the way they portray high school in television and movies probably has her worried about friends and classes. It probably isn’t helping her watching The O.C. constantly. Despite that thought, I still suggest watching more of it with her. She replies, “Maybe tomorrow. I have a book I want to finish.”

Hiding my worry, I say, “Okay. Tomorrow sounds good to me.”

When she goes to her room and closes the door, all I want is to open it up and ask her what is bothering her, but I don’t. She will let me know when she is ready.

I sigh and go to my room. I don’t really feel like sitting around in here the rest of the night. I send Chevy a message to meet me at the coffee shop. Half an hour later, we're in line ordering iced coffees. I glance at the chalkboard sign on the counter and see that karaoke is this Saturday. It makes my stomach clench to think about it.

He notices me looking at it and asks, “Thinking about singing that song for me?”

I look away from the sign. “Maybe.”

He taps my arm. “Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to sing, you know.”

“I know.”

He lets out a sigh. “What makes it so hard for you?”

I slowly make eye contact with him again. Should I tell him? We have opened up about so many things that he deserves to know this too. “Back in fifth grade, we had this recital. I got up in front of, like, two hundred people to sing a solo. I was so nervous my heart was racing. I didn’t look at the audience when I started singing. Everything was fine, until I looked up. My voice trailed off and my knees locked into place. That’s when I fainted.” I close my eyes. “Nobody really remembers it now but every time the idea of singing alone comes up, the feeling associated with that moment stirs up inside of me and I freak out.”