Mavis nodded, absently, scanning the room from the corner of one eye. She didn’t have to look too far. They were leaning against the far wall, next to the office copier.
No one took any notice. But then, no one ever did.
Not the passengers on her daily bus rides here and home. Not the people she met while walking to the store each evening. Not the customers at the neighborhood McDonald’s, to which she had finally fled in despair, unable to cook under the constant pressure of that blind, triple stare.
They never came any closer, and they never spoke.
After a week, she broke down, and began to talk to t
hem.
* * *
The call had come so early in the morning that Mavis was utterly unable to place the noise until her telephone had already rung five times. She scooped up the receiver, jamming it between ear and shoulder, and hissed: “Yes?”
“Mum, it’s me.”
Like a kick to the stomach. All air rushed from her lungs, leaving her answerless.
“Mum, are you still there?”
Mavis gulped, trying to steady her voice. “What do you want, Eileen?” she asked, finally.
There was a pause. Mavis could hear her breathing, shallow, as if something were caught in her throat. Then, thickly:
“I have a question.”
“Well?”
Another pause, this one so long Mavis suspected she’d hung up. But instead of the dial tone, Eileen said:
“Did you ever love me?”
The stupidity of it slapped Mavis fully awake. She was back in known territory now. Struggling up in bed, she snapped: “What a thing to say! Really, Eileen—are you drunk?”
“No, mother.” But she did sound remote—submerged in some frozen sea of pain, with ice blocking her escape.
“That’s a change, then. Did I ever love you? I only worked all my life to keep you in good clothes, and no thanks for it, either. If that’s not love—”
“Is it, though?”
“Four o’clock in the morning’s no time for riddles, Eileen.”
“Then you didn’t,” Eileen said. “Thank you. I’d wondered.”
“Now, you just hold on a—”
“No,” came the reply. “No, I’ve held on too long, I think.”
Mavis groped for words, but they fled the numb, measured tone of Eileen’s voice as flame flees water—extinguished at a touch.
“I just wanted to get it all straight, before I did it,” Eileen went on. “When you started sending everything back, I think I knew then. It just took me a while to make up my mind. Now I have.” Pause. “I guess I should thank you.”
The line hissed softly between them.
Mavis felt her pulse hammer against the silence, unable to break it. Not for Eileen. Not for anything.
“I hate you,” Eileen said. “I’ve always hated you. Even if you said you loved me right now, I’d still hate you.” Her voice broke. “So why—why—can’t I stop caring—what you think of me?”