Kristen Mazzola - Crashing Back Down

Even with how boring my workday had been, I dreaded it being over. I had grudgingly made dinner plans for that evening with my mother, to try a sushi place that had just opened a few blocks away from my house. I loved her to death and really appreciated everything she had done to help me recently, but being alone with her for an extended amount of time was not the most conducive move for our relationship. She nagged me about not moving on, and I totally blocked her out. We got under one another’s skin, plain and simple.

When my mom rang the doorbell thirty minutes late, I was just pulling my heels on. My mom was the exact opposite of me when it came to punctuality, and I eventually came to expect it. I opened the door, taking her into my arms for a long hug. On my drive home, I’d made a promise to myself to start being kinder to her, even if she pushed my buttons. My mom was doing her best; I had to keep telling myself that over and over to convince myself to be on good behavior.

“My word, you’re in a good mood honey.” Her smile spread quickly from ear to ear and the sight of it warmed me a little. She and I looked exactly alike. Long almost black hair, naturally curly, although I straightened mine every day, and she let her curls run wild. She and I were the same short five foot nothing with the same light brown, oval eyes. Our mouths and teeth were the only things that stopped me from being her clone; luckily, those genes were the only ones I got from my ugly, dirt bag father.

“We had a good party for Jim last night. I’m starting to realize what it means to be the old me again.” I smiled, hoping that was a good enough answer for my cheeriness, and took her hand as we walked to Randy’s truck.

As she started to go to the passenger’s side, my mother jumped right into sighing and badgering, as she turned up her nose at my favorite vehicle in the entire world. “I will never understand why you insist on driving this huge thing around. You have a perfectly good Mercedes in the garage.” I just rolled my eyes and let the diesel engine rumble gruffly, after letting it prime. She was right. I did well for myself, and with only me to support, my income plus Randy’s pension made my life more than comfortable, financially speaking. On a whim, right after Randy’s funeral, I treated myself to my dream car, and then refused to drive it.

I bit my lip and scanned the faded dash and steering wheel, taking in the comforting musty smell of happy memories. “I feel safer in this. You want the car, Mom?” My voice was dry and annoyed as I fought to maintain a cheerful expression.

She continued her ignorance of how her words cut into me and sustained her gaze out the window as she laughed to herself. “No honey, that’s sweet of you. My Prius is just fine.”

I shook off the pissed feelings that were starting to creep up, and tried to make small talk on the way to the restaurant with a name that neither one of us could pronounce.

We were shown to our table by a short, skinny man dressed in all black clothing that was three sizes too big for his small frame.

Before the host had chance to walk away, I asked him for two sake bombs, my butt not even hitting the cushion yet. He bowed politely and hurried off to fill my request. The restaurant was virtually empty, so service was quick. Before my mom had too much time to complain, the cool sake accompanied by two half glasses of beer were set on our table. Turning her nose up as high in the air as possible, my mother protested, “Honey, I can’t drink that.” The disdain in her voice was palpable, but I didn’t care one bit.

As her face started to scream with disgust, I laughed. “Mom, you are drinking this tonight! We’re celebrating me coming back from my darkest hour! Welcome to the old me that you didn’t witness when I was living hours away in college.” I gave her a wry wink and slid her shot glass and beer closer to her.

My mom set up her chop sticks begrudgingly the way I showed her, and we slammed our fists on the table chanting, “Sake! Sake! Sake Bomb!” and chugged like champs. Seeing the horrible face my mom made as she wiped her beer soaked chin, I decided one was enough torture for the night.

I rolled my eyes as my mom’s expression changed and her shoulders sagged, “Don’t worry Mom, I’ll spare you the anguish of another.” I chuckled and started to glance over the menu, looking up briefly. “Thanks for champing through that one.” She forced a polite smile and looked down at her menu as well.

When our server trotted back over, I ordered myself a beer, and my mom a glass of plum wine, along with all different kinds of rolls. Luckily, my mom and I had pretty much the same taste when it came to food, so we always shared when we went out together. Once I was done ordering, the server bowed, and scurried off into the kitchen.

“So Margret, is there anything new in your life? I hear you’re spending a lot of time with Walker Eastman.”

Her curious eyebrow raise crawled under my skin but I made myself shake it off, replying dryly, “Nothing new, and, yeah, Walker keeps me company. He’s just as banged up as I am.” Almost on cue, the server returned, setting the beer next to my hand. Hastily I grabbed it and drank half the bottle’s contents before looking at my mother’s grimace.

My mom took my hand. “Honey, you know that it’s okay to have feelings for someone else. Even if it is Randy’s best friend. Randy would want you to move on. Please honey, I want grandkids someday.”

The server returned again with perfect timing, our first round of gorgeously wrapped fish flesh being the only savior from the anger I was about to unleash. She had cut too deep that time. “Mother,” my words were low, but scathing, “that is out of line. Just. Stop!” My eyes bore into my mom’s with fury, while she tried to avoid my death stare.

“I’m sorry, honey. I just hate to see you like this. I know I don’t say the right things. It’s just difficult. Ever since your father left, I regret never trying to find someone else. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. That’s all.” Tears were starting to form in her eyes. She tried blinking them back, but a few escaped, rolling down her cheek. Her misguided tears only fueled my rage.

I gripped the edges of the table, trying to even my angry tone, my knuckles turning white while my pulse quickened. Slowly searching for words, my voice quivered and crackled, “This is different. Randy didn’t walk out on his family. He was fighting to get back here to start one.” I hunched in my seat, letting my body calm into my defeated state, letting my head fall in my hands. There was no way to fight the tears; they rushed like waterfalls down my cheeks and neck. Looking up again, slowly, I could see my words cut deep, but I could not stop there, I had to finally say my piece. “I know you were hurt when Dad left, but please, have some compassion for me.” My voice came out weak and pleading, completely crushed. My mother and I just don’t know how to get along.

After a few moments of silently crying and staring at one another, it was evident this evening was too broken to repair. I waved the server over. His once cheery face had faded into concern when he realized we were both crying.

Trying to glower at him, my words came babbling out before I had time to realize how hurtful they were, “Will you please wrap up all of our food? My mother has spoiled my appetite, and my evening.” He nodded quickly, taking our plates with him into the kitchen.

My mom was like a statue the entire time we waited for the server to return with our boxes of freshly prepared food that was probably going to spoil before we even got it home. With his head down, looking at the floor, the server set our wrapped up dinner onto the table and placed our bill next to it, then almost ran back into the safety of the kitchen. I laughed a little when my mom put her hand on the bill, snatching it out of her hand harshly. There was no way she was going to try to make this night better by treating me, and the fact that she was an awful tipper made me never want to let her pay at restaurants. I put an overly generous amount of cash into the black book, stood up and was out the door before my mother even had her purse in hand.