Getting Her Back

She sighs. “Yes, it is getting a little bit overwhelming. That’s why I asked for your help.”

“You didn’t tell me why you’re throwing this party. Celia’s birthday isn’t for like four months.”

“You’re right,” she says, smiling. “But Celia decided to finally go to school. Your father and I are over the moon, so we decided to throw her a party to show her just how happy we are.”

I make a face. “You never threw me a party when I decided to go to college.”

“Yes, dear, but you’ve always been a lot more focused than your sister. She needs a little more encouragement.”

Sitting down across from her, I raise an eyebrow. “And you need an excuse to throw a party?”

Her smile is sly. “Of course.”

“Did Dad fall for it?”

She laughs, picking up a stack of what look like paint samples. “Of course not. He knows. But he loves me, and he loves a good party.”

“So, may I ask what type of party is this?”

“I don’t really know. That’s part of the reason why and you come out here.”

“Seriously?” I ask. “You’re having this party next week and you don’t know what kind of party it is?”

She gives me a look. “Don’t give me that. We just decided this was going to happen. It’s not as long of a prep time as my other parties.”

“Okay,” I say. “What are your ideas?”

“I have a few,” she says. “One of the ideas I had was springtime tea. Another one was maybe kind of a pool party theme.”

“We don’t have a pool.”

“Hence the problem with that idea. What is your sister like now? I want to do something she’ll like, but I’ve never been able to pinpoint your sister’s interests.”

I start flipping through some of the idea books that she has. My mother has always kept books like this around, collages that she’s cobbled together for ideas, whether it be parties or decorating. “You know that Celia and I don’t talk that much,” I say. My sister and I have never really seen eye to eye. Part of it is just plain old sibling tension, and some of it is what my mother said, that she lacks focus. When we were younger, it didn’t feel like a lack of focus, but a free spirit that I never seemed to be able to capture. Even though I shouldn’t have been, I was resentful some of the time, and that caused us to grow apart. I’m not surprised that she didn’t tell me she decided to go back to school. The last time we spoke she was overseas somewhere.

“Do you know what she’s going to school for?”

“History,” my mother says. “She told me all the time she was spending in Europe made her want to learn all about the historical things there.” She shrugs. “I’m just happy that she’s finally going to be getting a degree.”

“What about that then? Why not make the party theme be some sort of historical setting? It’ll be fun for you to plan, challenging, and since she’s planning to study history she’ll obviously like it.”

My mother stops and looks at me. “That’s a really good idea.”

“I’m full of good ideas,” I say, laughing.

She tosses another book at me. “I know you are, or I wouldn’t have had you come help me. Now look through that and see if you can find anything remotely historical related.” It’s another one of her idea books. I start to flip through it, and she clears her throat. “So, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“It feels like I haven’t heard from you in a while,” she says. “Are you seeing anyone?”

My mind instantly flashes to Christian, but I’m not seeing him. He’s just trying to get me pregnant. That’s all. I refuse to acknowledge that it could be any more than that, not after he hurt me so much in the past. “I’m not.”

She sighs. “You know, I’ve pretty much given up on hoping for grandchildren from Celia. I always thought you’d be the one.”

“It still might happen,” I say. “I’m not giving up on that quite yet.”

“I’m just saying,” my mother says, in a tone that’s artificially light, “you’re not getting any younger. And I know that I’ve mentioned it to you several times, but if you really don’t want kids, I won’t push you about it anymore.”

I have to bite my tongue. Somehow in the last couple of years our conversations always end up here. “Mom, I told you that I do want kids.”

“Well, you just don’t seem to be working toward that. You’ve always gone after what you wanted, so I have to assume you don’t.”

I clear my throat. “Just because you don’t see me working toward it, doesn’t mean I’m not.”

“All right, it’s fine,” she says. “I won’t bug you about it anymore.”

Frustration burns under my skin, and I can’t stop the words that come out of my mouth. “I’m working with a clinic.”