to love?” Both women laughed. It was an old joke. Pilar had fretted about her nose all through high school. Gradually, it became less of an issue. “If Ms. Streisand can live with her distinctive breather, so can I.”
“Good for you,” Celeste cheered. “You were the only one troubled by it anyway.” She paused, then added, “This is so much fun. I wish we could do this more often.”
As they sipped their ice teas, it seemed like the old days when Pilar and her mother shopped for school clothes. “This has been a great day,” Pilar finally agreed. “I miss being with you.” With few friends and Julie so far away, Pilar was happy to have her mother to talk to.
“We must do this more often, no matter how far apart from each other we live,” Celeste affirmed. They clinked their tea glasses in agreement.
They devoured their food. They giggled like girls, heads bent close together as Celeste revealed the latest Pointe gossip. Once freed from her Gothic prison, she was self-assured, even flamboyant, outspoken, and young again. At that moment the two beauties passed for sisters, rather than mother and daughter. Marcus wasn’t there to tell them, “Don’t be so silly”, or “Act your age.”
Pilar sighed. Her father would have made a fine Puritan. Like the Puritans, a few righteous men wandered from the fold as Marcus had. He spent his life rationalizing his sinful behavior and projecting his guilt onto Celeste and Pilar. That anger, deception, and rigidity aged him while it destroyed Celeste’s confidence and Pilar’s trust — their real selves forever lost to him. His loss. Pilar grinned at her mother.
Celeste’s face became serious as she dabbed her napkin around her mouth, a familiar and perpetual habit. “Are you happy at the prison, dear?” she asked.
Pilar sensed an ulterior motive to her question. “Yes, I suppose,” she answered. “But, it’s hard to tell. I haven’t been there that long.”
Celeste leaned forward. “Give me your word that you won’t let your pride get in the way if you decide that prisonwork isn’t for you.” Celeste paused and bit her lower lip, a more recent habit than the napkin routine. “You are always welcome in my home.”
“Thanks.” Pilar made a mental note about how she emphasized “my home.” “But if I decide to change jobs, I will live in my own place. I think I’m old enough for that.”
Celeste laughed. “I guess you are, but I don’t want to believe it.” She surveyed the restaurant and focused on the young couple snuggled together at the bar. “Have you made any friends yet, Pilar? It can be very lonely without friends.”
Believing Celeste spoke about her own life as well as her daughter’s, Pilar answered, “That will take a little time.” She followed her mother’s gaze to the couple. “There is one person. Jane. A nurse. She’s about my age, married with two children. She seems to be bright and fun. She doesn’t take the job personally.” Surprised that she didn’t hesitate to tell her mother about Jane, Pilar was nevertheless careful not to let on that she was suspicious of Jane’s overly friendly relationship with Tommy Johnson. If Jane wasn’t careful about her flirtation, she’d get fired. And as her supervisor, would Pilar also be accused of being an accomplice?
“She’s married?” Celeste stirred a spoon in her tea and appeared caught in a dream.
“Yes, why?”
“It would be nice to have grandchildren, that’s all.” She shrugged.
“You sound like Father, except he only wants grandsons.” Pilar frowned at the direction the conversation had taken. “The best thing I could give him, no doubt.”
“No. Not I.” Celeste tilted her head and peered at Pilar as though she looked over the top of reading glasses. “You have always given me your best. Grandchildren would just be the frosting. Besides, I’d be a wonderful grandmother.”
Pilar pushed her hair from her face and smiled. “Don’t hold your
“Good for you,” Celeste cheered. “You were the only one troubled by it anyway.” She paused, then added, “This is so much fun. I wish we could do this more often.”
As they sipped their ice teas, it seemed like the old days when Pilar and her mother shopped for school clothes. “This has been a great day,” Pilar finally agreed. “I miss being with you.” With few friends and Julie so far away, Pilar was happy to have her mother to talk to.
“We must do this more often, no matter how far apart from each other we live,” Celeste affirmed. They clinked their tea glasses in agreement.
They devoured their food. They giggled like girls, heads bent close together as Celeste revealed the latest Pointe gossip. Once freed from her Gothic prison, she was self-assured, even flamboyant, outspoken, and young again. At that moment the two beauties passed for sisters, rather than mother and daughter. Marcus wasn’t there to tell them, “Don’t be so silly”, or “Act your age.”
Pilar sighed. Her father would have made a fine Puritan. Like the Puritans, a few righteous men wandered from the fold as Marcus had. He spent his life rationalizing his sinful behavior and projecting his guilt onto Celeste and Pilar. That anger, deception, and rigidity aged him while it destroyed Celeste’s confidence and Pilar’s trust — their real selves forever lost to him. His loss. Pilar grinned at her mother.
Celeste’s face became serious as she dabbed her napkin around her mouth, a familiar and perpetual habit. “Are you happy at the prison, dear?” she asked.
Pilar sensed an ulterior motive to her question. “Yes, I suppose,” she answered. “But, it’s hard to tell. I haven’t been there that long.”
Celeste leaned forward. “Give me your word that you won’t let your pride get in the way if you decide that prisonwork isn’t for you.” Celeste paused and bit her lower lip, a more recent habit than the napkin routine. “You are always welcome in my home.”
“Thanks.” Pilar made a mental note about how she emphasized “my home.” “But if I decide to change jobs, I will live in my own place. I think I’m old enough for that.”
Celeste laughed. “I guess you are, but I don’t want to believe it.” She surveyed the restaurant and focused on the young couple snuggled together at the bar. “Have you made any friends yet, Pilar? It can be very lonely without friends.”
Believing Celeste spoke about her own life as well as her daughter’s, Pilar answered, “That will take a little time.” She followed her mother’s gaze to the couple. “There is one person. Jane. A nurse. She’s about my age, married with two children. She seems to be bright and fun. She doesn’t take the job personally.” Surprised that she didn’t hesitate to tell her mother about Jane, Pilar was nevertheless careful not to let on that she was suspicious of Jane’s overly friendly relationship with Tommy Johnson. If Jane wasn’t careful about her flirtation, she’d get fired. And as her supervisor, would Pilar also be accused of being an accomplice?
“She’s married?” Celeste stirred a spoon in her tea and appeared caught in a dream.
“Yes, why?”
“It would be nice to have grandchildren, that’s all.” She shrugged.
“You sound like Father, except he only wants grandsons.” Pilar frowned at the direction the conversation had taken. “The best thing I could give him, no doubt.”
“No. Not I.” Celeste tilted her head and peered at Pilar as though she looked over the top of reading glasses. “You have always given me your best. Grandchildren would just be the frosting. Besides, I’d be a wonderful grandmother.”
Pilar pushed her hair from her face and smiled. “Don’t hold your
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