May 16
The details were clear and not very surprising. I had free rein to handle the story however I saw fit, as long as Liz received 2,000 words from me by June 1. Less than a month. A quicker turnaround time than usual as Liz was planning to bump another article that wasn't time-sensitive. How could I ever hope to get to the bottom of this complicated story in a few weeks when I hadn't been able to do it in the months leading up to this point? And now, I didn't even have the advantage of Destiny's presence. But I had agreed to it. Too proud, stubborn and possessive to let any other reporter get within a square foot of this story.
It was mine. It had taken over my life since January. Although it had wreaked havoc on my existence in many ways, it also had cured me in a sense. I no longer cared about controlling my eating habits. For the first time in years, the anxiety had disintegrated. Replaced by new reasons for mental turmoil, maybe.
Still, a nagging feeling wouldn't leave me. Hadn't I uncovered enough strange stories about my past? I was heading forward once again into the territory that only brought unexpected and painful revelations. Returning to the hotel, to memories of Destiny, would bring me closer to everything I had hoped to leave behind. I was putting my recovery in jeopardy. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince myself to pick up the phone and tell Liz to hand the story off to someone else.
Mom, with her overstuffed carpet bag of a purse under one arm and Mimi under the other, arrived at 1 p.m. and said she had precisely three hours to spend with me. She dropped everything onto the couch and turned to face me. Mimi sniffed a cushion and promptly settled down. She looked like a little white ball of marshmallow fluff.
"Yes, I know you're surprised," Mom said sharply, running a hand through the pageboy that she colored to the cinnamon tint of her youth. "Didn't think I would take you up on your challenge, did you, young lady? Just because you saw me abandoned by your father doesn't mean that I'm defeated by life."
I trembled, seeing the pain in her eyes and hating myself for having contributed to it. Yet, the stubborn bubble of pride that kept me as its prisoner held back the tears and apologies that yearned to surge forth. I took a deep breath, settled down on the couch next to Mimi and asked my mother to have a seat beside me.
"Why did it take you so long?" I whispered.
"To visit you here? In Blanche's apartment, I might add. It would have been nice to see you able to afford your own place."
I sighed in annoyance at her comment but held back the sarcastic words that would have liked to jump out of my mouth.
"I mean your comments about Dad," I said instead.
"When your husband cheats on you and your daughters watch the situation unfold... It's humiliating, Kat," she murmured. "It gave the two of you a very poor impression of both of us. What bothered me the most was that you girls saw me as a victim. I didn't want to be a victim, but it seemed to me that no matter what I said or did, you would see me that way."
She was right. I hadn't spoken with my father in years because he was a coward who didn't even face up to his transgressions. I remembered how he denied everything until my mother caught him in the act. Yet, instead of putting all of the blame on him, I sometimes had transferred it to Mom. As if through her weakness, she had encouraged his bad behavior.
"I was convinced your anorexia, the suicide attempts—all that was somehow my fault," she continued, her words interrupting my thoughts.
"Mom, that's not true."
She put her hand on my arm to stop me.
"Listen, I understand that now. Blanche and I have talked about it a lot."
"You have?"
"Don't look so dumbfounded," she said, shaking her head. "Don't you realize how many conversations we've had about you? Then you wonder why the two of us are close. It's not favoritism in any way, Kat. Our relationship has revolved around you."
"I didn't know."
"I came here today because the conversation we had gave me quite a jolt. And the fact that you never showed up at the station the other day... What's going on, Kat? I know your relationship with Paul wasn't ideal, but at least it kept you somewhat in check."
"No," I said, jumping up. "I don't need anyone to babysit me. Paul was cheating on me, Mom. Just like you, I was dumped. Now you know it. That is unless Blanche spilled the beans long ago."
My mother bit her lip and looked down at her rumpled gypsy skirt.
"No, she didn't tell me. I'm sorry that happened to you, Katherine. You should have told me. I could have..."
"Could have what? Mom, you were in this kind of situation yourself. There's nothing anyone can do about it. I didn't want to worry you about the whole thing. It didn't matter anyway."
"You didn't love him?"
"I don't know. That sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth. Oh, in the beginning, I'm sure there was something there, but after a while, things faded. It still hurt though—the betrayal, I mean."
I couldn't believe I was finally having such a frank conversation with my mother. I stopped, seeing a hint of a compassionate smile on her lips. Was she, too, surprised by my candor? I couldn't be sure. But for once, we spent three hours together without one of us ending up hurt or annoyed. We didn't talk about my father, my illness or even Blanche. We went to a hole-in-the-wall café for egg salad sandwiches and coffee, watched the passersby, and for once, tried to be normal. When I told her I was returning to London for an article, I could tell she held back what could have been a deluge of comments. She didn't believe that was the real reason for my trip. And neither did I.
I left New York before I could change my mind. Before Will had time to call, visit or send a note asking why I had pushed him away. Before I had time for regrets, indecision or doubts. I left just in time.
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