back of the car. When Heidi took her hand and held it, Barbara felt a surge of gratitude for being blessed with these two complicated creatures, her children. It was the best anniversary gift she could think of to be able to tuck Heidi into bed tonight in her old bedroom, even though the room now had a desk and a wall unit of bookshelves on one side and had been serving for the last few years as Barbara's at-home office.
"Grammy looked adorable tonight, but she's such a cuckoo," Heidi said. She was turning down the daybed while Barbara stood watching.
"Thank you for coming in for this dinner, honey," she said.
"Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
Every time Barbara saw either of her children after not seeing them for a while, like the times Heidi came in from San Francisco to visit or Jeff got off the bus from spending a few weeks at tennis camp, she would be gleefully bowled over by the sight of them. Not bytheir beauty, because she knew she had no objectivity about that, but by the miracle of genes. She would marvel as she gazed at one of her kids, for what they always found to be an annoyingly long time, at the way her own characteristics and Stan's fell together to shape them.
Their carriage, their gestures, their speech, their respective senses of humor, the familiar amalgam of her characteristics and Stan's mixed in with each child's individuality never ceased to amaze her. The same kind of uncontrollable hair she tried to tame on herself in high school by rolling it around orange juice cans and plastering it with Dippity-Do, on Heidi was a wild, wonderful-looking mane caught stylishly in a headband, or worn hanging loose, showing off the girl's personal confidence, which was more than Barbara ever remembered having at that or any age. And the darkness around Stan's eyes, which had always been his least favorite feature on his own face, had been inherited by Jeff, on whom it looked exotic and mysterious.
"Sit down, Mom," Heidi said, and Barbara knew it was an invitation to stay in the room to talk, so gratefully and obediently she sat on the desk chair across the room from the bed, and started the conversation with what she hoped sounded like a casual, not-too-probing question. "How's everything in San Francisco?"
She'd been saving any girl talk for the time when they were alone, hoping she'd get real answers instead of the upbeat facile ones Heidi might give in front of the others. Or maybe she wouldn't get a real answer at all. That sometimes happened too. Usually after Heidi first arrived, there would be a kind of tense feeling-each-other-out time between them, until the familiarity took over and Heidi dropped the exterior of a chic San Franciscan.
"I'm not good," Heidi said, moving some clothes from her duffel bag into a drawer. "I'm in love."
Hmmm, Barbara thought, things are getting chatty a lot faster than I'd anticipated. "But why does that make you not good?'' she asked. "I thought that was supposed to be happy news."
"It makes me not good because he's crazy. Because he's thirty-five years old and can't make a commitment. Because speaking of mothers, his did such a job on him that nobody will ever live up to her so he can't get married, can't be exclusive to any woman. And I'm the poor jerk who stays with him, even though I know that all I want in life is to have a relationship like yours with Daddy. But there's not a prayer. Not with this guy. I mean, I know he lies to me and probably cheats too."
"Are you practicing safe sex?" Barbara asked, knowing she would get an outraged answer back.
"Oh, God. Of course!" Heidi flared.
"I'll bet the lying and the cheating hurt a lot," Barbara said.
"Don't shrink me, Mother!"
"I'm not shrinking you. I'm being sympathetic."
"Yes, it hurts a lot, and I'm thinking of moving back to L.A. just to put some distance between me and Ryan. Yikes. Even when I just say his name I get a pain in my chest."
Barbara held her breath so she wouldn't
"Grammy looked adorable tonight, but she's such a cuckoo," Heidi said. She was turning down the daybed while Barbara stood watching.
"Thank you for coming in for this dinner, honey," she said.
"Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
Every time Barbara saw either of her children after not seeing them for a while, like the times Heidi came in from San Francisco to visit or Jeff got off the bus from spending a few weeks at tennis camp, she would be gleefully bowled over by the sight of them. Not bytheir beauty, because she knew she had no objectivity about that, but by the miracle of genes. She would marvel as she gazed at one of her kids, for what they always found to be an annoyingly long time, at the way her own characteristics and Stan's fell together to shape them.
Their carriage, their gestures, their speech, their respective senses of humor, the familiar amalgam of her characteristics and Stan's mixed in with each child's individuality never ceased to amaze her. The same kind of uncontrollable hair she tried to tame on herself in high school by rolling it around orange juice cans and plastering it with Dippity-Do, on Heidi was a wild, wonderful-looking mane caught stylishly in a headband, or worn hanging loose, showing off the girl's personal confidence, which was more than Barbara ever remembered having at that or any age. And the darkness around Stan's eyes, which had always been his least favorite feature on his own face, had been inherited by Jeff, on whom it looked exotic and mysterious.
"Sit down, Mom," Heidi said, and Barbara knew it was an invitation to stay in the room to talk, so gratefully and obediently she sat on the desk chair across the room from the bed, and started the conversation with what she hoped sounded like a casual, not-too-probing question. "How's everything in San Francisco?"
She'd been saving any girl talk for the time when they were alone, hoping she'd get real answers instead of the upbeat facile ones Heidi might give in front of the others. Or maybe she wouldn't get a real answer at all. That sometimes happened too. Usually after Heidi first arrived, there would be a kind of tense feeling-each-other-out time between them, until the familiarity took over and Heidi dropped the exterior of a chic San Franciscan.
"I'm not good," Heidi said, moving some clothes from her duffel bag into a drawer. "I'm in love."
Hmmm, Barbara thought, things are getting chatty a lot faster than I'd anticipated. "But why does that make you not good?'' she asked. "I thought that was supposed to be happy news."
"It makes me not good because he's crazy. Because he's thirty-five years old and can't make a commitment. Because speaking of mothers, his did such a job on him that nobody will ever live up to her so he can't get married, can't be exclusive to any woman. And I'm the poor jerk who stays with him, even though I know that all I want in life is to have a relationship like yours with Daddy. But there's not a prayer. Not with this guy. I mean, I know he lies to me and probably cheats too."
"Are you practicing safe sex?" Barbara asked, knowing she would get an outraged answer back.
"Oh, God. Of course!" Heidi flared.
"I'll bet the lying and the cheating hurt a lot," Barbara said.
"Don't shrink me, Mother!"
"I'm not shrinking you. I'm being sympathetic."
"Yes, it hurts a lot, and I'm thinking of moving back to L.A. just to put some distance between me and Ryan. Yikes. Even when I just say his name I get a pain in my chest."
Barbara held her breath so she wouldn't
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