I won’t rest until I put that smile on her face again.
Today is surreal. Not surreal in the way it was to stand on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry and perform, but still surreal all the same. If you were to google the definition of surreal, the Wickman mother-daughter heart-to-heart should pop up.
Mama showing up, all tanned, buffed, and polished from her vacation, isn’t something I expected . . . but I guess I should have. After she called me from jail, I knew she didn’t have a man in her life, although that’s a situation that doesn’t generally last long.
My bullshit detector immediately springs to life when she hugs me and says it’s good to see me looking so happy.
Is this really my mother?
I’m so stunned and amazed that she wants to talk and find out how I’m doing—and not about how much money I can get my hands on—that I practically hang up on Crey when he calls. But the fact that she hasn’t mentioned a single thing about walking away with Gran’s jewelry the last time she was here reminds me that she still is my mother, and puts me on the defensive.
When I set aside my phone, she says, “You could’ve talked to him, you know. You must miss him like crazy, being that he’s not here and you’re newlyweds still.”
“Uh, I’ll catch up with him later.”
“If you’re sure.” She looks around the kitchen. “How about I make us some sweet tea and we can sit and talk a spell? I’m planning to head over to B&B tonight to catch up with some friends.”
Ah. That sounds more like Mama.
“Okay.”
I don’t think I’ve ever turned down sweet tea, and I’m not about to start. It’s actually one of the things my mama kicks ass at making. Considering it’s one of the only things she’s ever made me—forget Rice Krispie treats and grilled cheese and Jell-O and the stuff other kids’ moms make for them—I guess it’s a good thing she’s good at it.
She moves around the kitchen easily, still knowing where everything is . . . just like she knew where the jewelry was. While she’s pulling out the same mauve Tupperware jug Gran has used for this purpose as long as I can remember, I try to think of how to bring up the subject. But instead, she catches me off guard.
“You look happy, Holly. Is he making you happy?”
“Wha—what?”
“Happy. Is he making you happy?”
My mother being concerned about my happiness is so shocking that it knocks the truth from my lips before I can think to edit it. Or maybe it’s the naive hope that she may actually care about the answer. Either way, I speak from the heart.
“I am. We had a bit of a rough start, but I think we’ve finally got our feet under us. Me walking out and coming here was probably the best thing I could’ve possibly done.”
The Tupperware lid bounces off the counter and lands on the floor.
Mama looks at me, one hand cocked on her hip and the other raised to her lips. “You walked out on that man? Please tell me that isn’t true.”
My old defensiveness rises fast, and once again, I don’t think before I speak.
“What would you have done if your husband’s first wife cornered you at a benefit, telling you you were lucky number three and not the second wife like you’d thought, and sent you into a panic attack, making you realize you had to get out of that concrete jungle of a claustrophobic nightmare before you lost your friggin’ mind?”
The hand at Mama’s mouth also drops to her hips. “He’s been married three times? But the news never says that. Ever. And he didn’t tell you? Oh my, Holly. I don’t like that he’s keeping secrets. That’s not the way a marriage is supposed to work. Trust me, as bad as I’ve been at them, I should know.”
Her honest-to-God parental-sounding concern throws me off. And then I repeat her words in my head.
“Wait, what? How many times have you been married? I thought . . .”
Mama’s gaze drops to the floor like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen, and I can’t help but think the pink flush creeping up her cheeks is embarrassment. It’s a new look on her.
When she looks at me a few moments later, it’s to say, “Well, let’s just say you’re not the only one in the family to have a quickie Vegas wedding. Let’s just hope you only have one.”
That floor Mama found so goddamn interesting? My jaw is on it.
“You didn’t think it was necessary to mention? I mean, seriously? How many?”
She mumbles something, and I’m out of my chair and closing in on her. “Mama, how many?”
“Two in Vegas, one in Reno, and one in Paducah.”
“You’ve been married four freaking times and never once told your only daughter?”
Her posture crumples inward, making me regret my harsh words, even though I don’t think I should. When Mama’s shoulders shake and tears spill down her face, I’m even more stunned. I’ve never seen her cry. I didn’t think she was physically capable of it.
“I know I’ve been a horrible mother, and I have no excuses. But your gran raised you better than I ever could have. I’m sorry for everything, Holly. I’ve made a mess of my life and yours and hers, and I’m trying to make amends. I’m just learning how.”
I’m a sucker. I know it, but I’ve never seen this kind of honesty from my mother before. Never had this kind of conversation with her before. Maybe this is our second chance?
There’s really nothing else I can do but wrap my arms around her and let her tears soak into the cotton of my shirt.