Elise Lanier - Treading Lightly

“And throw some salt into it,” she continued. She knew he was rolling his eyes. “And don’t forget to put a lid on it, or it will take forever to come to a boil.” That was one of the few culinary tips she knew.

Twenty-five minutes later they were headed for their usual positions at the kitchen table.

“So why the big interest all of a sudden, Mom?” Craig said as he simultaneously pulled out and hopped onto his chair from behind. It was a slick move she’d often wondered how he came up with. It also prompted frequent prayers to the gods of the family jewel keepers that he wouldn’t hurt himself. One false move and she’d never have grandchildren. Time and again she’d told him not to do that, but he always ignored her, laughing at her concern and insisting it was his signature move.

Each time he did it, she’d cringe, but with a teenage son, one had to choose one’s fights cautiously. After all, motherhood was a long haul. A very long haul. It wasn’t just that wonderful and all-too-swift period of cute, gurgling baby noises and patty-cake. Sure, it was that too. In the very beginning. But that only lasted a short while. Then you’re given a few years to prepare yourself, ready yourself—at least as best you can—for…this: your child’s unswerving, non-stop, express train ticket headed straight to puberty. Some called it adolescence. To others it was known as the “front lines.” A chosen few simply referred to it as “hell.”

She’d learned a long time ago, that if you fought every battle that came up, a mother—particularly an overprotective one—would be dead in no time. That clearly in mind, she decided not to comment on the hopping-over-the-back-of-the-testicle-crushing-chair move. She figured if he ever did miss, he’d be humbled, humiliated and racked with pain—which was far more of a deterrent by example than any “I told you so” ever was.

“What do you mean? Why, all of a sudden, my big interest in what?” She sat down with a heavy sigh. “Please pass the Parmesan.”

He handed her the tall, green bottle. “All the hair-curling stuff. You’ve always had the equipment and never used it before.”

Out of the mouths of babes. Her mind couldn’t help pondering the depressing thought that she had lots of equipment that hadn’t seen any use for a while. “I don’t know, it just feels funny.” Her hand flew to her head, and patted.

“You did a good thing, Mom,” he said, while slurping up a stray strand of spaghetti.

She watched her son lick sauce off his mouth with a quick flick of his tongue. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

“I wonder who’ll get it,” he said, before shoveling in another huge mouthful.

She had the urge to tell him to take human bites, but didn’t. “I don’t know. They handle it like an adoption.”

He nodded. “Have any regrets?”

She swallowed and then added more Parmesan cheese to her mound of spaghetti before answering. “Yeah, marrying your father.”

He rolled his eyes. “I meant about cutting off your long hair.”

Maybe a little. “Nah. It’s only hair.”

“Not to the girl who’ll get it,” he said, hitting her reason for doing it to begin with square on the head.

“Yes,” she said wistfully, imagining the joy of the sick and horrified hairless teen who would receive it. “I suppose.”

They ate in relative silence, a habit they’d gotten into over the past couple of years. “So how was school?” she asked before the meal wound down. She knew he’d lock himself in his room for the rest of the night, and they’d shared such a nice moment before, she wanted to extend it.

Wanting and getting were two different things when one had a teenage child.

“What is this? Twenty questions?” he asked, his wall of attitude now firmly placed around him.

“It was one question.”

“One too many,” he said snidely.

Yes, their Hallmark moment was over. “What’s the matter, Craig, did I hit a nerve?”

He rolled his eyes. “Everything you do hits a nerve, Mom.”

A smarter woman would have quit while she was ahead. She went on. “Oh yeah, I forgot. But help me out here, a little. You’re not failing anything, are you?”

“No,” he said sullenly.

“Anything I should know about?”

“No.”

“Any teachers want to see me?”

“No.”

“Doing drugs?”

“Jeez, Mom!”

“Answer the question and it’ll be the last one I ask.”

“For tonight.”

“So, sue me for caring about my kid!”

He rolled his eyes again.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Drugs?”

“No!”

“Good. And can I trust you?”

“You said that would be the last question.”

She shoved a huge forkful of spaghetti into her mouth. “I did, didn’t I. Okay, you don’t have to answer that last one.”

Like her, he shoveled a large forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

“Just nod.”

“Mo-om,” he cried, spitting bits of spaghetti and sauce on his side of the table.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He finished chewing and swallowed hard, eyeing her mischievously. “You’ll have to forgive me, my mother never taught me manners.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Craig.” She wasn’t going to let up until she had her answer, and he must’ve known that, since he’d lived with her for his entire lifetime.

Capitulation was inevitable. She’d wear him down eventually. It was easier to answer and move on with life. “Yes, Mom. You can trust me. I don’t do drugs.”

“Okay, just checking,” she said with a smile.

“Anything else you want to drill me about?” He took a swig of his soda from the can.

“No. I’m good for now. Eat your spaghetti, dear. And didn’t your mother ever teach you to use a glass?”

“We don’t have any clean ones.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll have to buy some more.”

“You could break down and wash some, Mom.”

She opened her own can of soda and took a swig. “What? I’m the only one that lives here? Your hands are damaged?”

“It’s easier to give in than argue,” he said with a smirk as he pushed over the ever-present pad of paper that sat on their table, and handed her the pen that stayed permanently on top of it.

She wrote: Buy More Glasses!

As she pushed the pad away, the phone rang and Craig reached to get it. Janine didn’t bother answering it anymore after three o’clock. It was always for him, and never for her, so why bother.

“Hey, Dad,” she heard her son say after a brief pause. He listened for a while then looked at her cautiously.

Here it comes. It was another one of those conversations that was going to make her out to be the bad guy. She could see it in her offspring’s eyes. She could feel it in her stomach. Either it was that, or the half pound of pasta and tomato sauce sitting like a brick down there.

She ate too fast. Always did. It was a trait her ex-husband had pointed out frequently. Of course it didn’t help that after a long while of hearing him constantly assert that she ate too fast, she responded with a concise remark of what she thought he did too fast! True, it’s not the most high-minded or confidence-building thing to criticize about a man, but any man should know not to criticize a woman about her eating habits. Both were hitting below the belt, if you’d ask her. So she’d always considered it a fair comeback. He didn’t.

But he was never a match for her. She’d overpowered him from the moment they’d met. When they were first together and newlyweds, he’d told her he thought her assertiveness and aggressiveness was sexy and exciting, but after a while, he’d changed his mind.

For her, when they’d first met, she’d thought his shyness and passive-aggressive, soft-spoken ways were endearing. Plus, it was easy to always get her way. But after a while, there was no way around it for her. She’d only perceived him as “wimpy.”