Millie Criswell - Body Language

“Oh, Ellie, there you are. I was beginning to think you weren’t home.”

“Hi, Mom! I’ve been unpacking. My new apartment is still quite a mess, but I love it. Or I will, as soon as I finish getting everything straightened out.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

Visit alert! Visit alert! Take evasive action.

Ellie did not want her mother visiting. “I’m sure it’s going to take me a while to get the apartment decorated.” Like about ten years or maybe never.

Ben Franklin said that fish and company stank after three days. In her mother’s case, it took about three hours.

“The apartment looks like shit right now, and I don’t have enough furniture to fill it. I’m really lacking in the bedroom area.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth!

“Such language, Ellie. Ladies shouldn’t swear.”

Sticking her head in the fridge, she debated ending it all, but decided against it and reached instead for the closest thing edible: a moldy piece of cheese. She bit off a hunk from the least offensive end.

Her mother’s visits, threatened or real, were always good for at least ten pounds. She prayed the woman wouldn’t be coming to stay any time soon. She really needed to lose weight.

And keep her sanity.

“How’s Dad? Has he been working a lot?” Her father, Theodore, or Ted, as he liked to be called, was a certified public accountant who worked out of his house. March and April were his busiest months, and the rest of the year he just coasted, doing books and reports for a number of firms he’d serviced over the last twenty-five years.

“Your father spends every waking moment on that computer of his. He’s on the Internet constantly. I don’t think that can be good for him, Ellie. He’s become a recluse, not wanting to go out shopping or to a movie, or do anything that remotely smacks of fun.

“I’m going nuts. We’ve lived in Florida for five years and I haven’t been to the beach, even one time. My friends, especially Estelle Romano, are starting to talk.”

“Have you considered going by yourself?”

“What fun would that be?”

Ellie could hear the agitation in her mother’s voice and it worried her. Rosemary Peters was usually in control of herself, others, and any given situation. You could even say she was a bit…uh, controlling.

“You need to calm down and think about this rationally, Mom. You know Dad’s the quiet type. And now that he’s found the Internet it’s only natural that he’d be drawn to it. A lot of people have given up reading and television in favor of being online.”

“It’s not healthy, I’m telling you. The man needs exercise. He’s not getting any younger, and he’s developing a paunch. Why, the other day he could barely lace up his shoes.”

Ellie patted her stomach, and then tossed the cheese in the kitchen sink. “Yeah, well I can relate. I’m trying to lose a few pounds, myself.”

“Stop! You’re skin and bones.” Her mother’s tone bespoke horror. “Why would you want to lose weight? Men don’t want to take a skeleton to bed.”

Diet wasn’t part of any card-carrying Italian’s vocabulary, unless, of course, an annoying husband was involved. Then all bets were off. Any Italian woman worth her salt had a ready exception for every rule.

“I’m hardly a skeleton, Mom. Skeletons don’t have cellulite. And since I’m not sleeping with anyone at the moment, that’s not a factor.”

“Don’t tell me about your sex life. I don’t want to know about such things.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who brought it up. And I’m hardly a child. You must have figured out by now that I have sex with men.”

“Well, at least it’s not with women. For that I should be grateful, no?”

“And I don’t do drugs or sell myself on the street, so you should be grateful for that, too.”

“You’re a naughty girl, Ellie. I should have washed your mouth out with soap more often when you were little. Maybe then you’d show some respect to your mother.”

Aretha Franklin had nothing on Ellie’s mother when it came to demanding R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Rosemary felt her exalted position as mother superior, so to speak, rated treatment from her family equal only to that bestowed upon the pope.

Rosemary probably would have loved everyone to genuflect in front of her, but she hadn’t made that request as of yet.

“Lighten up, will you, Mom? I was only kidding. You need to learn to take a joke.”

“Maybe you’re right, dear. I’m sorry. I’ve been a little tense these past few weeks. Your father…”

“Will be fine. Dad is Dad. He’s got his ways. You’ve known that for thirty-five years. Why should you think any differently now?”

“Things seem different. I can’t put my finger on it. But it worries me, Ellie. Something just isn’t right.”

“Have you spoken to him about it?” Maybe her father was ill and not saying anything. That possibility worried Ellie. Her father wasn’t one to complain.

“Your father refuses to discuss it, says it’s all in my head, that there’s nothing wrong.”

“Well, there you go,” Ellie said, trying to ease her mother’s fears. “See, you’re worrying for nothing.” She prayed that was true.

“That’s probably what Ted Bundy told those girls he dated. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me, then hack, hack.”

Ellie’s mother had a thing about serial killers. She was morbidly fascinated with them and frightened that she or one of her family members would come across one some day.

Ted Bundy was talked about so often that he had become like part of the family. The only one Mom drew the line at discussing was Jeffrey Dahmer, because he ate people, and apparently that made a difference.

Go figure!

“I’m not sure how Bundy and Dad relate, but I still think you’re worrying needlessly.”

“Nevertheless, I’m going to church tomorrow and pray about it again. Prayer changes things, you know.”

“Great idea! You can pray for me while you’re there. Tell God that I need to meet a really sexy man with gobs of money, who’s good in bed, loves my dog, and has a full head of hair.”

If only such a man existed!

“Brian was nice. You should have hung on to him. Rich men aren’t that easy to find. And neither are straight men, especially in New York. With all the gay men you’ve got living there, you can’t be too picky.”

Ellie and her mother had had this discussion before, ad nauseam. This was usually the place where Ellie made her excuses and hung up. “Well, Mom, I’d better get—”

“Not so fast, young lady. I want to ask you something.”

Oh, shit! It was never good when her mother prefaced a sentence with that particular statement. She sighed. “What is it?”

“Are you coming home for Christmas? Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, and we’d like to spend the holidays with you.”

“How would I know? Christmas is still months away.”

“It’ll be here before you know it. Promise me you’ll come.”

Usually, it was possible for Ellie to blow people off if she didn’t want to commit, but not with Rosemary. Once her mother had decided on something she wanted, she didn’t give up. First the phone calls started, and then came the packages of home-baked cookies. But it was the threats of her mother coming to plead her case in person that would finally wear Ellie down. Sighing deeply at the thought of palm trees and sand instead of evergreens and snow, Ellie finally gave in, knowing her mother would hound her until she did.

“All right, I’ll come. But you should know that sometimes they make me work during the holidays. I can’t always get the time off.”

“You’ll ask your boss. He’ll understand the importance of family and will let you come home.”