Kaira Rouda - Favourite Daughter

Once we’d finally packed up her despicable dorm room, Mary took us on a walk around campus.

“Next year I live in that house. Can you believe it?” she gushed as we walked down 29th Street, otherwise known as The Row. The impressive Southern-style Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority house, complete with Doric columns and window boxes bursting with red geraniums, was intimidating to me. I couldn’t imagine living in one house with all those women.

“It looks nice, but not as nice as home. I can’t wait to have you back for the summer.” I slid my arm through hers. She stiffened, or was it my imagination?

David wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, leaving me to walk alone on the sidewalk. Typical.

He said, “This sorority thing will cost me an arm and a leg, that’s all I know.” He pretended to complain but he loved every moment of Mary’s joy, of Mary’s college life. And living vicariously through her social acceptance. A daughter who is a member of the top USC sorority meant good connections for David’s investment business. “Proud of you as always, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad. I can’t wait for next year. But, of course, it will be fun to be home for a couple weeks, too.”

“A couple of weeks?” I’d asked. My heart hammered in my chest. She had all summer to be home with us.

“I got a killer internship here. So I’ll come home for a bit and then head back up to LA. My friend has a place I can crash. It’s all worked out perfectly.”

This was new. “You said you’d be home. That you’d work, save up.” My old-fashioned, came-from-nothing work ethic was shining through.

Mary leaned against me. “I know, Mom. But I’m premed. Dad agrees it is a great idea and it is an amazing opportunity with a hospital. I’ll be working with patients and I’ve been offered a research position. It’s important for my résumé, for med school.”

“It’s with her? Elizabeth James? Isn’t it?” They were teaming up against me, again. Tears stung my eyes. Mary had found her birth mother, a woman who was now a leading plastic surgeon in LA. She had agreed to work with her, spend all summer with her.

“Just drop it, Jane. This is a great opportunity for Mary,” David had commanded. The liar. The cheater.

Looking back now, I realize what I had done wrong. I allowed Mary to go away to college, to leave my orbit, and she went awry. Stupid amateur mistake, but she was my first child, so I didn’t realize the pull of college life. I never had the desire for more school, for that fake sorority experience, for the liberal arts degree that leads you nowhere. At her age, I had a career to launch, a future to secure.

And no money. There was that, too. So, sue me. I slipped and let Mary go to USC. A huge mistake.

Once Mary was away, David strayed. It was all because of Mary’s choices. She disobeyed me, disrespected me and caused chaos in our family. I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll keep Betsy close to me, one way or another. I’ve learned my lesson.

That day, in the car, I did as David commanded and dropped it. I didn’t say another word, not on the entire drive back home. I was so furious I don’t remember where we had lunch. The effects of betrayal are deep, and lasting, especially when you are harmed by the people you love the most. I know you’ve been betrayed by someone you loved, haven’t you? See, you don’t forget it. You say you’re over it, but you still remember it, feel the weight of it deep down in your heart. I’m just like you. That day I was in shock, consumed by anger. It’s understandable, don’t you agree?

I force the memories away and stare into the fireplace. I am looking forward to my little coffee date with Elizabeth James tomorrow. It’s step one in the Jane back in control plan. I need her out of our lives completely so I can reconnect with David and Betsy. She’s a malignant tumor I need to extract.

We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. She’d been wary to meet me, for good reason, but I pleaded with her, one mother to another. It’s just coffee, I’d promised.

I stand up feeling a little dizzy from the wine, but it’s nice. I should be able to go back to sleep now. I turn off the fire, flip off the lights in the kitchen and living room, and walk to our bedroom, following the sound of David’s snores. I slide into bed, praying for sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.

As I try to fall asleep I remember my first ladies’ luncheon at The Cove. I’d taken extra time to curl my hair, to wear my most expensive, best-fitting tennis dress. The girls were home with the babysitter. All heads turned as I walked into the room, the new, hot young mom. We’ve all been there. You think you’re queen of the castle until a new princess arrives on the scene. A silence washed over the four white-tablecloth-draped tables.

“Hello, are you Jane?” A woman with a big smile, huge fake boobs (not done as expertly as mine) and an impossibly large diamond extended her hand. “I’m Sarah. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She broke the ice. Deemed me worthy of their acceptance. I should thank her someday, I suppose.

As Sarah escorted me to the seat next to her at table three, the idle conversation started up around me. I knew I was the topic. Once seated, all of my tablemates introduced themselves. I was invited to a Mommy and Me playgroup on Tuesdays, another woman asked me to be her tennis partner in the upcoming mixer. Another asked me to join her book club. Bunco was every Thursday night. I accepted every invitation.

I had arrived. It’s hard to crack into a group of women like this, let me tell you. Have you tried it? My palms were sweating the entire lunch. But they liked me. I was a great girlfriend. I was.

I think the trouble with me and all of them began when I started winning at everything. Tennis, Bunco, even on my snack day at Mommy and Me. Jealousy is a powerful emotion. Slowly, over the years, invitations stopped arriving. And the moms all started looking older, too. Bedraggled, sunburned, sleep deprived. But I never compromised my looks for my kids. I took care of myself. While they all started sagging, I looked even better. It happens. It wasn’t my fault their husbands would give me approving winks.

It hurts. I was invisible to them during the last few years before Mary died and I’m incommunicado now. I always had my kids and my husband to focus on. But what now? What is a housewife to do when her kids leave home? That’s the million-dollar question. Well, actually, I believe our net worth is much more than that, I can assure you. My eyes pop open again and I stare at the ceiling. Grief has given me time to think, to strategize. When everyone ignores you, and tiptoes around you, you have space.

David’s rumbling snores aren’t the worst part about trying to sleep at night. It’s what I see when I close my eyes. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if she were never found. Then I would never have viewed her face. I wouldn’t be haunted by the nightmare of the half-eaten shoe still laced onto her half-eaten foot. That’s the other nightmare. It’s falling or the foot.

When those images zoom into my head, I open my eyes and I focus on other things, like random accidental deaths. Did you know hippos kill almost three thousand people a year? I know, I didn’t either. See, you’re distracted just thinking about it.

I don’t tell anyone about these two nightmares. I know they’ll fade away in time, like the memories of my mom getting fainter every day. No, it’s best they all think I am fine. Sure, Betsy and David have caught on to some of my routine. Betsy doesn’t join me in the kitchen for late-night chats these days, and David wasn’t wooed by tonight’s impressive table setting. But no one really knows another person, not fully. And I have so many more loving tricks up my sleeve.