Chapter 1
Ladies and gentleman, this is a very exciting day! Herein is my very first attempt at fiction.
All names, characters, conversations, and ruminations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. And that’s the truth!
“She’s just such a bitch,” says Cate.
“You’re talking about your daughter,” warns Jen.
The two best friends are hunched over mugs of hot chocolate at their favorite eclectic coffee shop situated midway between their homes. They usually opt for a simple tea or coffee, but the sweet and steaming cocoa - with a side of a double chocolate chip muffin to share - seemed the perfect defense against the cold and gloomy Chicago day, their current moods reflected in the weather. They’ve been best friends for as long as they can remember, but for the past 20 years, they’ve been too busy raising kids and taking care of husbands to get together as often as they’d like. Finally, they’re able meet up more regularly, savor their time together, now that life has gotten quieter, with their kids growing up and moving out.
“I know,” sighs Cate, “it’s just that since she’s gone off to college, she’s so mean to me. I can’t seem to say or do anything right. She’s always pissed at me.”
“It’ll get better, I’m sure. She’s just going through a thing. Spreading her wings. She only left a few months ago and everything is new to her. It seems like she’s really happy where she is, at least, so that’s good, right?” Jen asks hopefully.
Cate sighs again. More dramatically this time. “I guess. I just have all these conflicting emotions. Like, I miss her so much it hurts. That would be the biggest slice of the pie. You know, the pie chart in my head. I mean, we used to do everything together and we’d talk for hours. She told me everything and now nothing. All that space she used to take up is now empty. I feel empty. But then, right next to that is how much she annoys me. That would also be a pretty big slice because she literally annoys the crap out of me every time we talk. She’s mad that I call her instead of texting. She never has time for me. I can hear her rolling her eyes when I ask about her classes. And then, yeah, there’d be a teensy tiny slice left for the fact that I’m happy she’s happy. I mean that’s good and all, but maybe if she were a little less happy, she’d be nicer to me. I guess I’m just bitter.”
“I hear you. It was kind of the same for me when Sloan first went away. I’d get off the phone with her and cry. Now, when she visits, she’s not mean, she’s just so judgmental. She wants everything done her way. A couple of years on her own, and she thinks she knows everything, and I know nothing. She criticizes me all the time. Kids suck.”
Jen reminisces about when her kids were little, when she was the center of their universe and could do no wrong. They loved her so much. Nowadays, it seems like they hardly like her at all. Little kids are so easy. Well, not exactly easy. The days were long and exhausting. But she misses the simplicity of those days. When you played with them, they were happy. When you put them to bed, you went to sleep knowing they were safe. As soon as they thought something, they blurted it out. No mysteries. Everything was laid out right before your eyes. But the teenage years threw her for a loop. She no longer had any idea what they were thinking. Her sweet and happy babies became so moody, always brooding, never talking, protecting their privacy at all costs. One minute, you know every detail of their lives, every mark on their bodies, every thought that pops into their heads. And then you blink, and you’re totally shut out. You’re just grateful for every crumb of themselves they toss you.
Now she’s spinning. Do kids not realize all we moms give to them, give up for them? No just the obvious things, like a home, three meals a day, stability and undying love and support, but the less obvious things too. The parts of ourselves that we’ve given, and they’ve taken. How their hopes and dreams slowly replace ours over the years. That the things we once wanted, before we had kids, no longer seem to matter. How they occupy every inch of our thoughts, that we pray for their health, their safety, their success, their happiness… often at the expense of our own.
In the midst of her reverie, Jen realizes she shouldn’t complain. She has good kids. Overall. They make good choices, they’re productive, they don’t find trouble. It’s just been so long since she’s contemplated what she wants. For the past two decades, she’s been their mom wholeheartedly and she’s proud of that. She’s done good work, if she does say so herself. But with the passage of time, she’s lost so much of herself. She’s now 50, with wrinkles and graying hair. At least her sometimes rocky marriage has remained intact. Thank goodness for that. She couldn’t imagine dating at this point in her life, as some of her friends are starting to do. So, why does she feel so unhappy much of the time, so unfulfilled? What is it exactly that she wants?
When she was younger, she knew exactly what she wanted, and she went after it with gusto. She busted her butt and got into the Ivy League school of her choice. She worked evenings to put herself through an equally prestigious grad school and then set off on the trajectory of a promising career. Of course, it changed once she started having kids. She expected that. But she thought she could do both with some degree of success. What she didn’t expect was her loss of interest in the career she’d worked so hard for. She found that she’d rather stay home, watching Sesame Street in the mornings and going to the park in the afternoons. Napping with them. Preparing dinner for when her husband got home from the office. Pathetic as that sounds, it made her happy. Fulfilled her for a long time. But now, after her kids have stopped needing her, moving out and (unintentionally perhaps) making her feel inadequate, after she’s gotten bored of making meals for just her and her husband, what’s left for her? After all this time, being a stay-at-home-mom for 20 years, she doesn’t even know what her choices are anymore. And it exhausts her whenever she contemplates it. Where did all that gusto go?
“What did you say?” She realizes that Cate has continued talking while she’s been daydreaming, trying to pinpoint the cause of her angst these days.
“I was just saying I gotta go.” Repeats Cate. “It’s already time to pick up the twins.”
“OK,” Jen says. “Same time next week?”
“Absolutely,” answers Cate. “I wouldn't miss this for the world. It’s what keeps me sane.”
The best friends give a kiss on the cheek and each heads off, back to her life, on opposite sides of town.