Suzie’s House 227 : Is She or Isn’t She?

Gene and Tracy sat at the kitchen table while Mrs. H. watched Miranda cook, which was kind of weird since Miranda was just as old as Mrs. H. and knew how to cook, sort of. Last time it was her turn to cook she left out the salt. Mrs. H. called it a sin of omission.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” He asked it like it was no big deal, didn’t even look up from his homework all that much.

“About what?” Mrs. H. said. She glanced backward at him with a spoon of sauce in her mouth.

“About going to MacDonald’s to meet my mom tomorrow.” So much for easing into the conversation.

“That’s fine. I have time. But Gene, I don’t think she’s really your mother.”

“Really?” Tracy said. “They have the same color hair and the same kind of nose.

“Brown hair and straight noses are commonplace. The reason I don’t think she is his mother is because she didn’t name a single place that Gene mentioned having lived. Not one. If she were his mother, wouldn’t she have named the last place where they saw one another?”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t how the conversation went.” Tracy tapped her notebook with her mechanical pencil.

“She didn’t say anything I would expect from a long lost mother, either. No remembrances, no apologies, she never talks about your past together. She isn’t mother-like at all.”

“What’s there to remember? I was five when she left.”

“I still remember certain diaper changes with Ben.”

“Even I remember some of those,” Miranda muttered while stirring the Swedish meatballs.

“I can see a lot of his current characteristics in the way he was then. If I had gone so long without seeing him, I would be looking for them in him. Fran isn’t like that. She doesn’t really seem to care about him at all.”

Gene grunted agreement, though he didn’t say anything. Mrs. H. was exactly right. He’d been feeling for a while like there was something wrong with Fran. Not that he wanted his real mom to hang all over him and cry and tell him how sorry she was for leaving him in the hands of his abusive father or anything. But it felt like there should be more from her. Like, why did she even bother to meet him? Why did she keep bothering?

“Well, if she isn’t his mother, then what does she want?” Tracy didn’t even pretend to look at her homework anymore.

“The guitar,” Miranda said, turning the stove off. “If she isn’t his mother, then the only thing she knows about him is about the guitar.”

“Just a beat up old thing,” Gene muttered.

“Maybe whoever carved their initials into it was famous. Or her old boyfriend. Who’s going to set the table? Dinner’s ready.”

“But she would never talk about the guitar. I tried.”

“That’s another thing. It isn’t like she isn’t interested in the guitar. It’s like she avoids talking about it at all, except once to ask where we kept it. Table’s already set, Miranda.”

That’s right. She wanted to know where he kept it. So all she wanted was his guitar. She didn’t care about him at all.

So what? It wasn’t like he needed a mother at all. He’d done all right up until now without one, hadn’t he? Not counting that time he slept in a parking lot and caught pneumonia. So when he went to MacDonald’s, that would be the last time. He’d tell her just what he thought of her then.

If you enjoy Suzie’s House and would like to see more, please leave a comment. Suzie’s House is powered by its readers.