How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [84]
“Actually, I am going to stand here and tell you that. But you know what, Mom? I’m forty years old and single. And I don’t appreciate your speculation or the fact that you discussed it with my sister. My love life—or lack thereof—is none of your business.”
“Well, you know, Ramona, you haven’t exactly shown the greatest discernment in the area of men.”
“Oh, is that right? Which man are you thinking of, Mom? The one who fucked me when I was a child—”
“Watch your language!”
“—or the one I married, the one everybody approved of so much and who ended up being as faithful as a tomcat? Everyone sure seemed to like him when I married him.” She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand. “I’m not doing this. I’m a successful, independent”—not quite true, but I’m on a roll now—“divorced businesswoman who raised a fantastic daughter.”
“With help!”
“Absolutely I had help. Thank you.” I step toward her, keeping my voice low. “But I’m tired of apologizing for a mistake I made when I was fifteen. I’m sick of being treated like a teenager. It’s ridiculous.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about today, and you know it. Cat Spinuzzi is one of the biggest womanizers in this town! You want to be just a notch on his belt?”
“Mom! Stop. That’s not what you care about. You care that it will infuriate Dad, but I’m not sure why it matters anyway, since all we ever are is polite to each other.”
“And who started that?”
I sigh. “I’m sure I did. But it’s not like that with Cat, anyway.” I shake my head, realizing it won’t matter what I say. “He’s my mentor, and that’s all.” I hold up a hand. “I swear on all that’s holy.”
“That’s not what I saw.”
I want her to shut up and leave the subject alone. I want to retreat into silence. I want to stonewall her. But if this pattern is going to change for any of us, somebody has to start. “Mom, will you listen? Please?”
She takes a breath and crosses her arms—shutting me out physically if not mentally—and I do something it has never occurred to me to do. I step forward and put my hands on her arms, gently taking them apart. “Really listen.”
Her shoulders ease the smallest bit.
“He was my lover for a while.” The truth, I say to myself. “Maybe a long while.”
Her mouth tightens. “He’s much, much too old for you.”
“I know. But he’s also charming and kind, and he’s very good to me. He made me feel good about myself when I was feeling like the ugliest, stupidest, most pathetic woman on the planet. Does that make any sense to you at all?”
“Yes.” Her eyes cloud. “I’m so sorry you felt that way. I hope you don’t anymore.”
“I don’t. He gave me that gift, Mom. But I also realized that he is too old for me and I was using him to avoid facing my real life. So I ended it. Well over a year ago.”
“I see.” She presses her lips together. “Thank you for telling me.”
The doorbell rings and I shout, “Come in! We’re upstairs!” To my mother, I say, “Can we keep this between us, please? Please?”
She nods but doesn’t look at me.
Whatever. It’s a start. It’s the best I can do for now.
Nancy and Poppy fell in love that summer I stayed in Sedalia, and they credit me with their long and happy partnership. It’s been a boon for both of them. They’re now in their late sixties but quite vigorous from daily yoga and the walking treks they take all over the world. Poppy is still plump and busty, but she’s taken on muscle in her calves and shoulders from all that exercise. Her hair is steel gray and clipped to her shoulders, and tonight she is wearing a simple athletic top and hiking pants with Tevas. Nancy, tall and rangy and very tan, wears a straight blue-and-white-striped shift. She reminds me of Julia Child, with that same vivid zest for life, and as she comes in bearing bags and boxes, she fills the entire room with a soft violet light.
“Hello, hello!” she cries, bending to kiss my cheek. “It’s so good to see you! Lily, you look terrific as always. That color is excellent for you.” She puts her parcels on the table and inhales deeply. “It smells great. Is that our