We manage to hug in the cramped space between the two front seats.
“Let’s go and mother our mother,” Lexi says when we pull apart.
Our childhood home has changed a lot since Lexi and I moved out and it’s all thanks to my older sister. She completely renovated the house, tearing down walls and retiling and recarpeting the whole house. She got rid of all the old furniture and bought new everything so that when Mom left rehab, it was to a completely new start.
Lexi knocks and Mom’s voice calls from inside though I can’t make out the words. She opens the door and beams. “I still find it hard to believe that my two daughters are women with their own homes. Time just flew by. One minute you were little girls in pigtails and the next, you had moved out.”
I blink at her rewrite of history. For starters, we never did our hair in pigtails for the simple reason that we didn’t know how and she was never there to do it. In the times when she was there, she was often blacked out on the couch or with some man in her bedroom.
“Hi, Mom,” Lexi says in a cheerful voice. My sister has come far. Had it been a few years ago, what Mom said would have set her off. These days she’s doing a lot better about not dwelling in the past and ignoring Mom’s act as if she was the ideal mother.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, echoing Lexi’s words.
“Come in,” she says.
As I walk past her, I automatically sniff to see if she has had a drink. It’s an automatic response from growing up with an alcoholic. I can bet my last dollar that Lexi has done the same.
“Lunch smells wonderful,” Lexi says. “What can we do to help?”
“Nothing,” Mom says. “Everything is under control. Sit down, let’s talk.”
I love how open and bright the house has become since the makeover. Mom asks about the children and while we’re chatting, a knock comes on the door. Mom’s eyes light up and she jumps to her feet.
“That would be Jim,” she says and rushes off to open the door.
“Told you,” Lexi says.
Now we wait and see how bad our mother’s new boyfriend is. I’m expecting a man in a leather jacket, hair slicked back with gel or a ponytail, red-rimmed eyes, a cocky attitude, and dirty jeans. Those are the kind of men my mother goes for.
I blink rapidly in disbelief when Jim walks into the living room behind my mother. He’s clearly from the suburbs and a gentleman. He’s wearing a sports jacket over a button-down shirt and casual pants. But it’s his manner that tells you he’s a cultured man, not the kind of riff-raff my mother usually picks up.
Lexi and I both stand.
“These are my daughters, Lexi and Vanessa,” Mom says holding a bunch of gorgeous roses. “Girls, this is Jim Moore. He’s a good friend of mine.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” he says and gives a little bow.
Lexi and I are so stunned, we stammer our responses. Jim is the opposite of what we expected. It’s a very welcome surprise and I can’t keep a smile off my face.
“Lunch is ready,” Mom says. “I’ll just arrange these flowers in a vase.”
I don’t think my mom has ever dated a man who brought her flowers. Lexi and I exchange a discreet, excited look. It’s such a relief to have Mom be with a normal man. There’s not going to be any stints in rehab this time and no disappearance.
“Your mother talks about you girls a lot,” Jim says with a warm smile when we sit at the table. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
He has grey hair at the temples and that’s how I’ve always imagined my father looked. Lexi and I don’t know who our father was. It was one of the things that Mom was tightlipped about. Over the years we lost interest when we saw how determined she was to keep it a secret.
Probably better not to know considering the kind of guys she used to date. Lexi was sure he was married, hence the secrecy.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Lexi says.
The table is already set, and Mom goes into the kitchen to get the food.
“I’ll help,” I say and follow her.
Lexi stays behind to chat with Jim.
In the open plan kitchen, I glance at Jim to make sure that his attention is on Lexi and then I whisper into my mom’s ear. “I like him.”
“I like him too.”
We ferry dishes of food back and forth. Mom has cooked as if she’s cooking for an army.
“Looks delicious,” Jim says and shoots Mom an affectionate look. “Thank you, Lydia. The last time I ate a home-cooked meal was…” his voice trails off. There’s an air of sadness around him.