Olivia Goldsmith - Marrying Mom

“Can you imagine being stuck next to Mom?”

“Oh my God,” Sharon breathed. “I’m getting claustrophobic just thinking of it. Where’s my inhaler?”

“He asked for my phone number,” Phyllis added in a self-satisfied tone.

“What was he selling?” Bruce asked, puffing on his Marlboro despite the No Smoking signs.

“What difference does it make? She doesn’t have any money,” Sig reminded him.

“Be like that,” Phyllis sniffed. “He was very nice.”

Bruce sighed deeply. “It’s started,” he said in a singsong. “Sharri is fat / Mom is no fun / Sig is unmarried / And I’m a bad son.”

Phyllis turned and looked at him and his cigarette disapprovingly. She waved her liver-spotted hand in front of his face. “You know, you’re killing both of us with that smoke.”

“Not fast enough,” Bruce muttered.

Phyllis pretended not to hear and speeded up, heading toward baggage claim, looking ready to chew out everyone. Her three stunned children followed.

“Unbelievable. No matter how often I’m with her, in between sightings I forget what it’s like,” said Bruce.

“That’s what they say about UFOs,” Sig reminded him. “Yet doubters still persist.”

“No wonder I’m fat,” Sharon mumbled resentfully.

“No wonder I’m unmarried,” Sig added.

“No wonder I’m gay.”

“ Bruce, you’re gay? ” Sig asked, pretending shock. Bruce looked at her murderously.

“Forget Operation Geezer Quest. Let’s just kill her,” Sharon suggested, blood in her eye. “And I didn’t gain twenty pounds. Fifteen, tops.”

“Twenty,” their mother called back from way ahead of them.

“God, she still has her faculties,” Bruce commented.

“Not for long,” Sig threatened. “Come on. Let’s get her to your place and brief her.”

“My place? Why my place?” Bruce almost squeaked. “We’re closer to your neighborhood,” he told Sig.

“Yeah, but there’s no room for her to stay over at your apartment. Plus there’s Todd. He’ll move her right along.”

Despite the crowds, Phyllis had spotted her bags right away and dived for them. She was still fast, for an old woman. In minutes they were standing in the cold outside of baggage claim, waiting for Todd to pick them up in his van. Even in her winter coat, Phyllis shivered. Sig tapped her foot, irritated and impatient. They had to indoctrinate their mother ASAP, get her to cooperate, and get her into the Pierre Hotel suite Sig had already reserved. But it wouldn’t be an easy sell.

“Can’t we do something else?” Bruce asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I say so, that’s why,” Sig told Bruce.

Phyllis laughed. “You sound just like me,” she said to her daughter.

“I do not,” Sig retorted.

“Do too.” Bruce and Sharon confirmed with a nod. Just then, thank God, Todd drove up with his van. It took them almost fifteen precious minutes to load all the assorted crap into the battered vehicle that Bruce used for card deliveries.

“Do we need anything else?” Todd asked cheerfully when they were all settled in at last.

“Just Valium and a baseball bat,” Sig said through her teeth.

Forget it. I’m not even considering it,” Phyllis told her children. They were sitting in Bruce’s apartment, crowded into the front room of his tiny brownstone flat. Boxes of greeting cards towered above them, threatening to collapse, just as Bruce’s business was. Phyllis paid no attention to either the disorder or her children’s arguments.

“Mom, you don’t understand. It’s not that we don’t want you here or staying with us,” Sig lied, “it’s just that you don’t understand the realities in New York anymore. It’s not as safe as it used to be. And it’s not as cheap.”

“Since when is a hotel cheap?” Phyllis asked.

“Not cheap, but safe. New York has changed,” Bruce said. He was desperate to have her out of his already crowded space.

“Don’t worry about me,” Phyllis said. “I can take care of myself. I always have. I don’t plan to be a burden on any of you.” She paused. It was hard for her to admit her mistakes to anyone, much less her children. “Listen,” she said, “I haven’t come for a visit. And I haven’t come for myself. I’ve come for you. I know that your father and I were so busy with the business that I didn’t give you all the attention that you needed. If I had …” She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, things might be different.”

“Mom, you—”

Phyllis held up her hand. “I couldn’t stand those women at the PTA. I wasn’t a Brownie leader or a den mother. I didn’t help you with your homework. And I’d like to make up for that now. I’m here for the duration,” she said as bravely as she knew how.

“The duration of what?” Sig asked. Her mother had been in Manhattan for only two hours and it already felt like a month to Sig.

Sharon let out a whimper, while Sig thought she heard her brother groan. “You mean you’re serious about living up here permanently?” Sig asked.

“Well, at least until you straighten out your lives. I’m your mother. I’m here to help. And I’m not staying at some expensive hotel.” She patted her purse. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I have a little put away, and my Social Security check. And I still get some of Ira’s pension money. I’ll be fine.”

Sig smacked her forehead. Despite how often she’d begged her mother, she’d never gotten into TFIs or any other bonds. “Your Social Security check is six hundred and sixty-three dollars monthly,” Sig said. “Daddy’s pension is … what? Three hundred? Four hundred more?”

“Three eighty, but it’s all tax-free.”

Bruce covered his eyes with his hands. Sharon looked away. It was only Sig, as always, who had to continue relentlessly. “Great. So you have less than a thousand a month to live on here in Manhattan, the most expensive city in the world.”

“No, Sig, I think Hong Kong and Tokyo now rank as slightly more expensive,” Sharon corrected.

“Yes, Sharon, but Mom isn’t thinking of living in Hong Kong or Tokyo,” Sig said through gritted teeth.

“In my dreams,” Bruce said under his breath.

“I heard that, Bruce,” his mother snapped. “Susan, a thousand dollars is still a lot of money. And I do have a little something put aside,” she repeated.

Sig shook her head bitterly. If her mother had only let her put some money into Paine Webber’s Select Ten Portfolio, her yield could be twice as high. But no. “Mom, you just don’t get it. Do you know what the rental on a small studio apartment is here? A very small studio apartment?”

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