Cathleen Schine - They May Not Mean To, But They Do

“Mom,” he said, “easy does it.”

His mother leaned back in her chair and put her glass to her lips, defiant, like a child. Freddie said, “Dayenu!” and drained her glass.

“Your mother drinks like a goy,” Joy said.

“Well, you’re supposed to drink wine on Passover,” Ben said.

“It’s okay for me to criticize her, Bennie. I’m her mother.”

“Also, that’s kind of a stereotype, Grandma.” He smiled when he said it. He had noticed his grandmother had become quite sensitive to criticism.

“I love the word ‘dipsomaniac,’” Karl said.

Natalie said, “Other people’s families are so much less trouble.”

Trevor and Melanie seemed content, turning redder with each glass, gamely crunching matzoh. “Brilliant,” Trevor said each time Ben poured.

“Brilliant,” Cora repeated.

Ruby began reading the four questions in pig Latin, Cora disappeared under the table, and Joy was eating macaroons dipped in chocolate, one after the other.

“Mom, easy does it,” Molly said.

Ben laughed, then saw on his mother’s flushed face nothing but earnest concern. You’re not ironic either, Mom, he thought, but kept it to himself.

“I’ll pay for this later,” Joy said, licking her fingers. “Oh boy, will I.”

Ben wondered if he could sneak away to watch the ball game. It was opening day. It was then that he felt the stab of absence, the moment that he glanced around to ask his grandfather if he wanted to watch, too, and remembered that his grandfather was gone.

* * *

The next morning, Molly woke up with a headache. She and Freddie were on a single blow-up bed wedged between the pullout couch that did not pull out and the bookcase.

“It’s morning,” she said, but Freddie groaned and did not move.

In the bathroom, the door locked, Molly called her brother.

“What the hell was that all about?” she said.

“Okay, I drank too much. I’m sorry I passed out on the couch. Please don’t give me a hard time, Molly. Coco has already done that. Several times. And it’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

“Not you. Mom . What was with all those people ? What was Karl doing here? Who is he, anyway? Some random guy from the park? At our first family gathering without Dad? What was she thinking?”

“She knew him in college. But I never heard her mention him until a few days ago. Do you think he was an old boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s sure an old boyfriend now.”

They both laughed.

“At least no one ended up in the ER after this holiday dinner,” Daniel said. But he had been shocked to see Karl there, and hurt. He couldn’t admit it even to Molly, but there was a moment when he walked into the apartment when he’d thought, I am the man of the house now, an unworthy thought that filled him with unworthy pride, until it dissolved into sadness and guilt. And then to have Karl appear — it was all wrong. Still, what was an old geezer like that going to do? Switch walkers with Joy when she wasn’t looking? Daniel thought of himself as a calm, thoughtful, and reasonable person and he was determined to behave like one, but really his mother could have shown a little more consideration. And the man had brought his mother flowers.

“At least he didn’t try to run the seder,” he said, calming himself down. “Although it might have been better if he had. But I’m sorry, there was just something about him being there when Dad wasn’t. It’s only been a few months, for god’s sake.”

“Is this what Mommy wants?” Molly was saying, talking over him. “Every holiday dinner at the Mount Sinai emergency room with an old sick man who isn’t even Daddy? This guy is bad news, Daniel.”

“Bad news.”

“The man wants a nurse, a loving nurse, not a paid companion. That’s what they all want. And we can’t let Mommy fall into that trap.”

“It’s like she’s not thinking clearly. She’s like in shock.”

“Look,” Molly said. “We have to face facts. Mommy’s got nothing left in her life. Nothing. No job to go to. No sick husband to take care of. Her life is empty. She’s very vulnerable.”

Daniel said, “It’s us she needs now.”

“It’s up to us to protect her.”

Daniel pulled his mother’s suitcase out of the closet. The sting of mold came with it.

“Oh dear,” said Joy, sneezing.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, Mom.”

“It’s a little like being in the country, though, that smell and the green. It makes me nostalgic.”

The suitcase had been a gift from Daniel and Coco ten years ago. He wondered if she’d ever used it.

“Why don’t you ever use this when we go Upstate?”

“Danny, honestly, it’s full of mold. How could I possibly use it to go anywhere?” She sat on the bed. “Well,” she said, “now that we see how the land lies, mold in the suitcase, very unhealthy, I’ll just have to stay put in New York. In my own apartment.”

Daniel took the suitcase down to the basement and left it by the garbage cans. That was on Saturday. On Sunday, he returned with a new suitcase. At first he’d gone to look for a cheap one in a crummy shop in Chinatown. He found a flimsy roller bag with zebra stripes for eighteen dollars and was about to buy it, thinking, It doesn’t have to last too long, she won’t be making too many more trips at her age, then immediately felt so guilty that he left the zebra stripes behind, took the train up to Bloomingdale’s, and got her an expensive roller bag in a respectable shade of blue with wheels that swiveled in all directions.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Joy said when he spun the bag in graceful circles to demonstrate.

“You can’t go to California with your stuff in garbage bags.”

“California is not for me, Danny. I’ve never been there and there’s a reason — it’s not for me.”

In the airport, Joy dropped her boarding pass, not on purpose, but she was not sorry to have lost it. The man pushing her wheelchair went back to look for it while Danny tapped his foot and forced a smile. She hated being a burden, but since she was, she wished people could shoulder her with more grace.

“I’m sorry to gum up the works,” she said.

Danny shrugged, not very gallantly. Could you shrug gallantly, she wondered.

People were rushing past her in every direction. Little children were outfitted like their parents, wearing miniature backpacks, pulling little suitcases. Too many people from too many places traveling to too many other places.

How would she bear it? Two months in L.A.

“When you come back, the kids will be out of school and we’ll all go Upstate,” Danny said.

She was weary and she had not even gotten into the airport proper, much less the plane. People wheeling luggage the size of coffins rumbled past her. She heard a sparrow chirping high above in the rafters. Poor little bird, lost in a vast edifice, trapped, just like me.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

Danny pretended not to hear her.

“I don’t belong here,” she said.

“ No one belongs here. It’s an airport.”

The wheelchair man had reappeared, victorious, waving the boarding pass. “Okay then, Madame.” He spoke with a lilting Caribbean accent. He was almost as old as she was. Had his children made him leave his comfortable home and come to New York City because they were afraid he’d slip and fall?

“I’m supposed to age in place,” she said to Danny.

“It’s a vacation, Mom, in a warm place with people who love you.”

“I don’t really need a wheelchair,” she said to the wheelchair man, turning, twisting her neck so she could see him. “My children are overly cautious.”