Mom,” Meredith explained meekly, “and she’d write back. You could call her. And she’d answer. And she’d talk to you.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Julia was angry but very quiet. “Because she’s gone. She died.” Julia raised herself from her knees then. She went out to the balcony and clenched the railing there with both hands like she was thinking of jumping over it. Or tearing it apart. Meredith started to follow her outside, and Kyle stood up to stop her, to tell her to give her mother some space and time to recover, but his daughter wasn’t done making her case.
“We didn’t want you to find out this way,” Meredith said to her mother, as if how she found out were Julia’s main objection.
“You didn’t want me to find out at all. You were never going to tell me.”
“I was. I wanted to. Because … she’s been asking for you.”
“Stop saying ‘she.’ I don’t know what Sam’s doctored up in there, but it’s not a she, and it’s definitely not her.”
“It,” Meredith consented. “It’s been asking for you. It wonders why you haven’t called.”
“ Because she’s dead . Jesus, Meredith, do you hear yourself?”
“But that’s the point. It’s not real. I know that. But I still get to talk to Grandma, still get to see her. Wouldn’t you give anything to see her again?”
“Yes. I would.”
“That’s what this is.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It’s not hurting anyone.”
“It’s hurting me.”
“Why?”
“It’s wrong to remember her that way.”
“What’s the right way to remember her, Mom?”
“You look at pictures, Meredith. You tell stories. Hell, you’re living in her apartment. How is that not …”
“Enough?” Meredith supplied.
Julia stopped. “It’s never enough, I know. But that in there—it is just wrong.”
“Why?” Meredith pressed.
“Because it’s not her. All I have left of her is my memories and—”
“And we’re using them. That’s what we’re using. Your memories. But hers too. Isn’t it nice they aren’t just lost?”
Julia looked at her daughter through tears that were streaming over her cheeks and into the collar of her turtleneck. She pulled her daughter against her and stroked her hair, held her quietly for a few confused minutes, and then whispered, “Meredith. I love you. More than anyone. That will always be true. And you’re a big girl now—smart, open, a good person. But I don’t know what you’re doing here. I don’t know if you know what you’re doing here. It’s wrong. It’s cruel. It’s selfish. And mostly, it’s not what your grandmother would have wanted.”
Sam watched from the living room. Meredith was staring at her shoes, arms crossed tightly around her chest, shoulders slumped. He had a sudden, tender flash of what it must have been like to ground her as a teenager. But then she rallied.
“This is how you screwed me up, Mom. Screw me up. Every way that isn’t your way is wrong. Everyone who disagrees with you is morally deficient. I like living in a city instead of on an island. I like this big old apartment building you couldn’t wait to get out of and all the people shopping downtown you disdain because they’re buying things not made by hand.I spent years feeling guilty for all of that until I realized that what you thought wasn’t right. It was just your opinion, your judgmental, opinionated opinion, and I was entitled to mine too.”
“This isn’t my opinion, Meredith. If that thing in there were okay, you wouldn’t have kept it a secret. I don’t want to be with you when you’re like this. I love you, but I want to go home.”
Meredith sighed. “You always want to go home, Mom.”
“It’s just wrong, Meredith. I don’t want to be a part of it, and I don’t want to watch you be a part of it either.”
Julia went back inside and started packing. She wouldn’t even look at Sam. She told Kyle to say goodbye and she’d be waiting in the car. She took two
“No, she wouldn’t.” Julia was angry but very quiet. “Because she’s gone. She died.” Julia raised herself from her knees then. She went out to the balcony and clenched the railing there with both hands like she was thinking of jumping over it. Or tearing it apart. Meredith started to follow her outside, and Kyle stood up to stop her, to tell her to give her mother some space and time to recover, but his daughter wasn’t done making her case.
“We didn’t want you to find out this way,” Meredith said to her mother, as if how she found out were Julia’s main objection.
“You didn’t want me to find out at all. You were never going to tell me.”
“I was. I wanted to. Because … she’s been asking for you.”
“Stop saying ‘she.’ I don’t know what Sam’s doctored up in there, but it’s not a she, and it’s definitely not her.”
“It,” Meredith consented. “It’s been asking for you. It wonders why you haven’t called.”
“ Because she’s dead . Jesus, Meredith, do you hear yourself?”
“But that’s the point. It’s not real. I know that. But I still get to talk to Grandma, still get to see her. Wouldn’t you give anything to see her again?”
“Yes. I would.”
“That’s what this is.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It’s not hurting anyone.”
“It’s hurting me.”
“Why?”
“It’s wrong to remember her that way.”
“What’s the right way to remember her, Mom?”
“You look at pictures, Meredith. You tell stories. Hell, you’re living in her apartment. How is that not …”
“Enough?” Meredith supplied.
Julia stopped. “It’s never enough, I know. But that in there—it is just wrong.”
“Why?” Meredith pressed.
“Because it’s not her. All I have left of her is my memories and—”
“And we’re using them. That’s what we’re using. Your memories. But hers too. Isn’t it nice they aren’t just lost?”
Julia looked at her daughter through tears that were streaming over her cheeks and into the collar of her turtleneck. She pulled her daughter against her and stroked her hair, held her quietly for a few confused minutes, and then whispered, “Meredith. I love you. More than anyone. That will always be true. And you’re a big girl now—smart, open, a good person. But I don’t know what you’re doing here. I don’t know if you know what you’re doing here. It’s wrong. It’s cruel. It’s selfish. And mostly, it’s not what your grandmother would have wanted.”
Sam watched from the living room. Meredith was staring at her shoes, arms crossed tightly around her chest, shoulders slumped. He had a sudden, tender flash of what it must have been like to ground her as a teenager. But then she rallied.
“This is how you screwed me up, Mom. Screw me up. Every way that isn’t your way is wrong. Everyone who disagrees with you is morally deficient. I like living in a city instead of on an island. I like this big old apartment building you couldn’t wait to get out of and all the people shopping downtown you disdain because they’re buying things not made by hand.I spent years feeling guilty for all of that until I realized that what you thought wasn’t right. It was just your opinion, your judgmental, opinionated opinion, and I was entitled to mine too.”
“This isn’t my opinion, Meredith. If that thing in there were okay, you wouldn’t have kept it a secret. I don’t want to be with you when you’re like this. I love you, but I want to go home.”
Meredith sighed. “You always want to go home, Mom.”
“It’s just wrong, Meredith. I don’t want to be a part of it, and I don’t want to watch you be a part of it either.”
Julia went back inside and started packing. She wouldn’t even look at Sam. She told Kyle to say goodbye and she’d be waiting in the car. She took two
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