First
by Jennifer Prado
The newly-divorced Mother and her married
Daughter do all of their real talking on the phone.
There is something about seeing each other face-
to-face that makes them both clamp up. Instead,
they resort to being overly polite, and telling each
other gentle lies.
“I met a man on the Internet,” The Mother says.
The Daughter takes a deep breath. The Mother is
driving down the Highway of Love in a Model T.
She hasn’t been single since 1965.
“Mom, it’s a magnet for weirdos,” The Daughter
says.
“I’m using a fake name.”
“What’s your screen name?”
“It’s a small lie. I use your grandmother’s name.”
“Ugh, that’s even creepier.”
“I’m not going to be talking to him anymore.”
“What happened?”
“He asked me for my favorite web sites, so I
mentioned ones on gardening and bird watching.
Then he said his favorite one was about spanking.”
The Daughter has misunderstood. “More and more
people are using on-line banking. He sounds
modern.”
“Not banking. Spanking! I went to the site.
Everyone was wearing black leather.”
“Mother!” The title reserved for moments of
exasperation. “He’s a freak. Close your account.
God! I thought we were talking about Personal
Finance. You’ll find someone better.” Even though
The Daughter has her doubts, sometimes a lie can
give hope.
“He said he collected antique cars,” The Mother
says. “I had no idea about his other…hobbies. It’s
not easy for a woman my age.”
“You need to find a man with a bicycle.”
“I married the man with the bicycle and he walked
out on me after forty years!” The Daughter sighs,
she was exactly where The Mother wanted to place
her, in the middle of her divorced parents.
“Mom, I think you’re looking at it the wrong way.
You married the man with the bicycle, and you had
a nice, long ride. But then you got a flat tire. It’s
nobody’s fault. The road was full of broken glass.”
The Daughter has perfected the metaphoric lie, but
that’s easier than the truth: the love inexplicably
ran out.
“I’m going to look for Edwin Thompson.” The
Mother says. The name is vaguely familiar to The
Daughter. It was a name that appeared in the story
her parents told her, when she was a girl, that had
become the Family Myth. It was a story they told in
duet.
“She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen,”
The Father would say. “When she walked into a
room, all the heads would turn. She looked like a
movie star.”
“He had the most wonderful voice I had ever
heard,” The Mother would say. “He sat behind me
in class and asked the most provoking questions.”
They fell in love with each other’s beauty. This had
never failed to charm The Daughter, and give her
hope that love was overpowering and permanent
and not fleeting and ephemeral.
Edwin was The Mother’s fiancé. They had dated for
two years and when her Senior Year began they
had gotten “pinned.” It meant that at Christmas he
would give her a diamond engagement ring, and in
June, after graduation, they would get married. But
then, The Mother starting meeting her classmate
for coffee. They had both gone to Europe that
summer, which only the adventurous did at that
time. Edwin had stayed in Indiana and worked for
his father’s company. To everyone’s surprise, The
Mother broke it off with “Mr. Sure Thing” to marry
the man with the wonderful voice and the bicycle,
and Edwin faded away.
“Why do you want to talk to Edwin?” The Daughter
asks. “That was almost forty years ago.”
“Because I loved him first. Maybe he still loves me.”
“Mom. I don’t think this is a good idea. You’re
attached to a memory of this man. He will not
possibly be the same person. That was a whole life
ago.”
“Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should have
married him.”
“You can’t expect to pull off a do over. That’s a
child’s logic.”
“Maybe Edwin wouldn’t have abandoned me, like
your father did.”
“You’re selling yourself a lie! By trying to find him,
you’re doing more than wishing away the
frustration with your marriage. You’d be dissolving
your children as well. Would you want that?”
“I don’t want to be alone. Edwin was dependable.
He wouldn’t have left me.”
“‘Was’ is the operative word. You’re enamored of a
ghost.”
The next month, The Mother calls The Daughter. “I
found Edwin.”
“How did you manage that?
“I wrote to my Sorority Sister. She tracked him
down.”
“And?”
“He’s a widower. I’m waiting for news.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“That’s the way it’s done now.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Oh Mommy.” The title reserved for sentimental
moments of tenderness. “Don’t be that way. Be
brave.”
The next week, The Mother calls again. “Jean
Louise got to him.”
“Who the hell is Jean Louise?” The Daughter asks.
“My Sorority Sister.”
“Oh right. What did he say?”
“He doesn’t want to see me.” There is a long
silence.
“Well, he told the truth. He said what’s in his heart.
It’s best if you leave it alone then.”
“He told Jean Louise that I’d hurt him so badly all
those years ago, that he couldn’t forgive me.”
“He was that bitter about it?”
“Yes. He was.”
“I don’t know what to say.” The Daughter tries to
think of something that would make The Mother
happy at this moment.
“Poor Edwin. He ended up alone, too.”
“Listen. I have some exciting news. You’re going to
be a grandmother.”
The Mother makes an audible gasp.
“Oh, sweetheart. That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for
you.”
“I’m a little scared.”
“Don’t be scared. Be brave. Did you tell your
father?”
“No, not yet.”
“Thank you for telling me first. You made me feel
very important today,” The Mother says. This truth
brings them closer than any lie ever could.
# # #
University of Wisconsin - Madison. Her short stories have
appeared in Small Spiral Notebook, The Dead Mule, Mad
Hatters' Review, Word Riot, and In Posse Review, among
others. For current projects, please visit her page at:
http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/members/JenniferPrado.
