Page 10 of Tell Me You Love Me

Wounds created by her.

So I turn and open my eyes.Jump in. Get it done.But when I expect to see a woman who has always weighed in at a comfortable two-hundred and fifty pounds, I’m instead stunned to find a woman a third of that… when she’s soaking wet.

“Mom?” She used to have hair black as midnight and skin like the finest china. But now, both are gray. “You look…”Thin. Sickly. Not well at all.“Different.”

“It’s my new diet.” She pastes on a beaming smile and hobbles down the porch steps, draped in a dress that eats her up and leaves her a shapeless blob that would hide a lot of her weight loss if not for the way her wrist bones poke out. Her collarbones. Her cheekbones. She doesn’t move nearly as quickly as she used to, but her eyes are the same, at least. Shrewd, like they can see throughanything. “You’re gonna make me walk all the way there, aren’t you?” She waves us closer but steps onto the grass and quickens now that she’s on level ground. She looks from Franky to me.Back and forth as though she can’t quite decide who she’d like to stare at more. “Franklin Page, you handsome little devil. Look at you!” Decision made, she makes a beeline for my baby with her arms outstretched and expectation plastered on her face.Hug me, child. “Oh my gosh, Grandma is happy to see you.”

But of course, when she expects him to run forward and dive into her arms—in the movies, maybe—he steps back, shifting to the side to make me his shield.

“Oh…” Slowing, she swaps her smile for a frown. Then, her glittering eyes for something else entirely. Something I know all too well. “Uh…?”

“We’re happy to see you too, Mom.” I draw her in and press a kiss on her cheek in greeting. Then the other. “Franky and I have had alongdrive, so we’re a little tired.”

“We’re tired…? Franky and I had a long drive…?Did the cat take his tongue?”

“There have been no cats.” I release her and stand a little taller. A little firmer. “He’s simply tired. But maybe later, once he’s settled in, he’d like to come say hello.” I peek down and meet his wary eyes. “Can you go to the car and get your backpack, honey?”

To my mother, all she would hear is a request. But to my son, he hears freedom. His little chest—which is actually kind of broad, considering his age—deflates with relief as he spins on his heels and dashes to the back of the car, popping it open and retrieving his things. Then I bring my gaze back around. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She jabs a finger in his direction. “He doesn’t even want to say hello to his own grandmother? What on earth could I have done to deserve that?”

“Why does it have to be about you? It might gall you to hear this, Mother, but his need for quiet can actually have nothing to do with you at all.”

“Alana—”

“My son struggles with new people and places,” I grit out. “He’s allowed to establish boundaries and handle uncomfortable situations however he wants, so long as he remains respectful. Your hurt feelings are not more important than his right to peace and autonomy.”

“Autonomy?” She repeats, as though the concept is foreign to her ears. “Boundaries? Oh…” And with that, her lips firm into thin lines. “I see how it is. You went and found those hip new words up in New York, and now you’re bringing them back to Plainview like you think you’re better than those you left behind.”

Jesus. She hasn’t changed a single bit since I left. The woman is impossible to please and entirely too comfortable in her victimhood, even in situations that have nothing to do with her. “They’re neither hip nor new. They’re basic human rights. We’ve just driven two days straight to get here, so instead of focusing on you for a moment, how about you consider the possibility that a nine-year-old is simply too tired to socialize right now? We’re sweaty. We’re overstimulated. And honestly, we’d like a shower and as little emotional manipulation as possible, please, while we settle in to this new world.”

My mother has always been in the habit of looking down her nose at me. Derision and judgment—her constant companions. My father’s mother treated her the same, and so that’s how she acts toward me. It’s a learned behavior adopted while trying to survive an unhappy marriage, and the fact I take after my father—in looks and personality—no doubt contributes to her bitterness.

“You called me, Alana.” She wrinkles her nose, the action so much more severe now that she weighs less than half as usual. “You said you wanted to come home because you and Colin are… struggling. I’m doing you a favor. Let’s not forget that.”

“Uh-huh.” Mine and Colin’s marriage being over is a mere coincidence. The fact is, she called me, but letting the truth hinder a tantrum has never been something Beatrice Page stood for. “Will we be in my old bedroom?”

“You will be.” She backs up and gestures toward the house as Franky wanders around the car, his arms overflowing with things; books, the teddy he’s slept with every single night since he was born, a sweater he absolutely won’t need in Plainview until January, at least, and a robotic hand created from Lego pieces.

“I’ve made the guest bedroom up for Franklin,” she continues. “I think you’ll both be comfortable with your accommodations.”

“Come on, honey.” I gently brush my fingers over his shoulder and lead him toward the house. “I’ll show you my bedroom. It’s the one I grew up in.”

“I don’t want to sleep in the guest bedroom,” he whispers, drawing me down with a tug on my shirt. “I don’t want to be in there alone.”

“Don’t worry.” I wink and wait for his eyes to soften. Relax. “You can stay in my room for as long as you want. This might be Grandma’s house, but I’m still your mom. I get thefinal say.”

“I sure hope you and I get to hang out, Franklin.” My mom hurries up the porch steps ahead of us, then across to hold the door open. Finally, she turns back and pastes on a friendly smile I know she saves for the people she’d like to impress. “I mean that. Plainview is a small town with lots of really cool things to do. Your mom will be busy working soon, and summer break has not long started, so there’s no school yet. That means, sometimes, it’ll just be me and you. I hope we can be friends.”

He stops in front of the open door and glances up, meeting her eyes. The world silences, except for the scream of the cicadas and the beat of my heart pounding in my ears.

Then he nods and keeps going.

That’s basically a high five, and miraculously, I think Mom realizes it. Because her false smile breaks away to something bigger. Better. Real.

“Alrighty.” With a skip to her step, she follows us in and closes up to keep the bugs out. “Why don’t you two head to your rooms and freshen up? Dinner will be served in an hour.”

“Let’s go.” I take some of his stack before the Lego topples to the floor and shatters, then wrapping my hand around his, I lead him through the home that holds a million memories. The kitchen I ate in alone too many times to count, and the living room I was shunned from because my mom wanted to watch her shows, and my presence, evidently, bothered her.

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