it in the house and not touch it…I’d know I’ve gone clean.”
She laughs. Her hand hovers over the neck, trembling. “I’ve managed it for three years, Lilly. Maybe I was just saving it for a time like this.”
My gut clenches. I don’t want to be the reason she breaks sobriety.
She breaks the seal before I can speak. All her movements are tense and jittery. She takes out a tall beer glass, and all the memories of scenes exactly like this, playing out in our many apartment kitchens, come rushing back.
“Mom, wait,” I say. I search desperately for something to distract her with. “Wait. Don’t. Why don’t you just…just have a cigarette first?”
“Hah!” She barks a laugh. Her eyes are glued to the bottle. I can see the internal struggle unfolding in the shifting expressions of her face. “Have a cigarette, you say? I never thought I’d hear the words from you. You were always so much about clean living .” She fills the words with a touch of scorn, but I think that’s just to mask the envy. “Drop one bad habit, and pick up another, am I right?” She picks up the bottle and brings the lip over the glass.
Don’t . I beg in my head. Don’t , don’t, don’t .
I’d never be able to live with the guilt of knowing I pushed my mother back into alcoholism.
Slowly, she tips the bottle. Starts to pour. And then—at the last second—jerks her hand sideways over the sink, and flushes all the alcohol down the drain.
She looks at the empty bottle, completely impassively. “Or maybe,” she says, “I was saving it to do that .”
With a quick motion, she tosses the glass container in the trash. She snaps up the cigarettes and walks back to me, sits down, and lights one.
“Don’t judge me,” she warns, and then inhales deeply. The smoke seems to take a little of the edge off. She closes her eyes, takes one more deep puff, savoring it before she lets it out. Then she leans back and looks at me.
“So,” she sighs. “Paul.”
“Yup,” I say. “Paul.”
“Your father,” her mouth twists. “What he would say, were he to see me now… How long have you known? Is that why you came to find me? Wait,” Renee holds up on hand. “Don’t answer that. Let a mother believe it was just from the goodness of your heart.”
“I’ve known…for a month or so,” I say. “And no. That’s not why I came. I came to fix things. To make amends. To say…” I avert my eyes. “To say the thing I told you back at the diner.”
Renee looks me up and own. She glances at the cigarette, makes a sound of disgust, and smothers it against the coffee table. Then she looks back at me, her eyes filled with warmth, and she smiles. “To say that you love me?”
I give a little nod.
“You don’t know how much that means to me,” she admits. She sits up, and suddenly becomes much more business-like. “So, Paul. What do you want to know?”
“Is he… really my father?” I say. I know better than to still wonder about that. But I need verbal confirmation from the one person in the world I trust to give it without bias.
“Yes,” she says. “He really is your father.”
“Then why… why did you tell me all those horrible things about him? After the two of you broke up? I mean, I have my theories…”
“You have your theories.” She chuckles. “There’s my Lilly. Always so analytical. I bet that’s served you well at Yale, huh?” She adds casually.
I stop short. “Wait. You know?”
“The whole world knows, honey.” She sorts through her magazines and finds the one that I was looking at earlier. She tosses it to me. “There. Go on. Have a look. It’s got pretty much everything on you. I was waiting for you to bring it up yourself, so I could say how proud I am of you. But, since we’re sharing secrets…” She shrugs.
I leave the magazine unopened. “I already saw the story. I’m sorry for not telling you about Yale, mom. But I got in such a long time ago…so much has happened
She laughs. Her hand hovers over the neck, trembling. “I’ve managed it for three years, Lilly. Maybe I was just saving it for a time like this.”
My gut clenches. I don’t want to be the reason she breaks sobriety.
She breaks the seal before I can speak. All her movements are tense and jittery. She takes out a tall beer glass, and all the memories of scenes exactly like this, playing out in our many apartment kitchens, come rushing back.
“Mom, wait,” I say. I search desperately for something to distract her with. “Wait. Don’t. Why don’t you just…just have a cigarette first?”
“Hah!” She barks a laugh. Her eyes are glued to the bottle. I can see the internal struggle unfolding in the shifting expressions of her face. “Have a cigarette, you say? I never thought I’d hear the words from you. You were always so much about clean living .” She fills the words with a touch of scorn, but I think that’s just to mask the envy. “Drop one bad habit, and pick up another, am I right?” She picks up the bottle and brings the lip over the glass.
Don’t . I beg in my head. Don’t , don’t, don’t .
I’d never be able to live with the guilt of knowing I pushed my mother back into alcoholism.
Slowly, she tips the bottle. Starts to pour. And then—at the last second—jerks her hand sideways over the sink, and flushes all the alcohol down the drain.
She looks at the empty bottle, completely impassively. “Or maybe,” she says, “I was saving it to do that .”
With a quick motion, she tosses the glass container in the trash. She snaps up the cigarettes and walks back to me, sits down, and lights one.
“Don’t judge me,” she warns, and then inhales deeply. The smoke seems to take a little of the edge off. She closes her eyes, takes one more deep puff, savoring it before she lets it out. Then she leans back and looks at me.
“So,” she sighs. “Paul.”
“Yup,” I say. “Paul.”
“Your father,” her mouth twists. “What he would say, were he to see me now… How long have you known? Is that why you came to find me? Wait,” Renee holds up on hand. “Don’t answer that. Let a mother believe it was just from the goodness of your heart.”
“I’ve known…for a month or so,” I say. “And no. That’s not why I came. I came to fix things. To make amends. To say…” I avert my eyes. “To say the thing I told you back at the diner.”
Renee looks me up and own. She glances at the cigarette, makes a sound of disgust, and smothers it against the coffee table. Then she looks back at me, her eyes filled with warmth, and she smiles. “To say that you love me?”
I give a little nod.
“You don’t know how much that means to me,” she admits. She sits up, and suddenly becomes much more business-like. “So, Paul. What do you want to know?”
“Is he… really my father?” I say. I know better than to still wonder about that. But I need verbal confirmation from the one person in the world I trust to give it without bias.
“Yes,” she says. “He really is your father.”
“Then why… why did you tell me all those horrible things about him? After the two of you broke up? I mean, I have my theories…”
“You have your theories.” She chuckles. “There’s my Lilly. Always so analytical. I bet that’s served you well at Yale, huh?” She adds casually.
I stop short. “Wait. You know?”
“The whole world knows, honey.” She sorts through her magazines and finds the one that I was looking at earlier. She tosses it to me. “There. Go on. Have a look. It’s got pretty much everything on you. I was waiting for you to bring it up yourself, so I could say how proud I am of you. But, since we’re sharing secrets…” She shrugs.
I leave the magazine unopened. “I already saw the story. I’m sorry for not telling you about Yale, mom. But I got in such a long time ago…so much has happened
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