---

I’m not a good son. I live with this knowledge and yet, I don’t know how to do any better for my mother. She still lives Sedona, Arizona with her boyfriend, Jean-Luc. She has resisted all of my efforts to get her to move to the East Coast. I wish I could say this wasn’t a relief. But, I can’t. I love my mother, but our relationship has been strained for my whole life. Since my father’s death, it’s become even more distant.

I blamed her and lashed out. She blamed his old employer Enron, that brought their whole world crashing down when it collapsed. But apparently, she blamed Milly as well, and we have to talk about that. I know it will be less of a conversation and more of a confrontation, which is why I want to do it face-to-face. I don’t know when or how that will happen. We barely speak on the phone and I only see her when I make an annual obligatory trip to Sedona. Even then, I stay at a hotel, we have dinner on Friday, lunch on Saturday, and then I leave.

We have never been particularly close. She wasn’t exactly a doting mother. But when my father died, both of us lost our reason to pretend we were a family.

It was bad enough he lost his job and his retirement savings, but the loss of his income left them unable to pay the significant debts she had racked up while trying to keep up with the Joneses.

They had been able to keep up with the payments thanks to my dad’s very sizable income. But, with that gone it was impossible.

My dad committed suicide a month after Enron collapsed and our relationship has never been the same. She paid off her debts with his insurance policy and was still left with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life.

I have always been wary of women who are obsessed with shopping, money, and who see their husbands or significant others as a walking cash point. So, that I ended up with Nicola was an irony of epic proportions.

That it took me so long to see the similarities between her behavior and my mother’s was an act of willful blindness.

My mother still shops but manages her income by using a monthly pre-paid card that is set up to only top up on the first of the month.

She calls me from time to time to ask me to send her money so she can shop until her balance is reloaded. It’s usually the only time I hear from her. Well, then and the anniversary of my father’s death. She hasn’t remembered my birthday in more than ten years. I have to walk on eggshells around her because she takes almost everything I say as an accusation or admonishment.

So, seeing her name on the screen of my phone now is a surprise. It’s almost the first of the month, and I just gave her some money last week.

My father died in January, that can’t be why she's calling, and my birthday isn't until September.

I sigh, preparing myself for what I'm assuming isn't good news before I answer.

“Hello, Mom.” I try to sound pleased to hear from her.

“Dean! Hi, it’s Mom! How are you?” she yells, like she thinks I'm at a concert and she has to scream to be heard.

“I’m fine. I’m in the car. I can hear you just fine,” I respond, trying not to sound reproachful.

“Oh. Okay. Well I never know where you are, so I just wanted to make sure you could hear me.” She's still shouting, but without as much energy now.

I wait for her to continue, but when she doesn’t, I speak. “Well, it’s nice to hear from you. Isn’t it a little early for you?” It’s only 9:30 a.m. here so that means it’s 6:30 a.m. where she is. Even when I was a kid, my mother was not an early riser. I can’t remember a single day when she was up when I left for school in the morning.

“Yes, it is, but I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been thinking I should come see you.” She says this with a burst of excitement, and I can tell she's smiling. I'm shocked. She has never been here to visit me before and has been resistant to the idea any time I’ve brought it up.

“Okay. That would be great,” I say carefully not wanting to give voice to my surprise.

“Yes, I think so. It’s so overdue. I feel bad I haven’t been to see where you live,” she responds excitedly.

“Well, I’m happy to have you. When do you think you’ll want to come? The weather is really nice in September,” I hedge.

“September,” she practically wails. “That is so far away. No, I was thinking I’d come for your grand opening thing you told me about last time we talked.”

I did tell her about our new DC location, and that I was planning an event for it. But I'm surprised she remembers. I say so.

“That woman who works for you, Krista or Kristine or whatever, she sent me an invitation,” she says absently, as if it’s not important, and she's eager to get on with the details.

“Her name is Cristal,” I say, again trying to hide my annoyance. But now I'm annoyed with Cristal. Why the hell did she send my mother an invitation?

“Well, whatever. She sent it to me, and I want to come. I’ll need you to make my travel arrangements. I only travel business class or higher, of course; and I need to sit by the window,” she says, without a hint of embarrassment or grace. How quickly she reverts back to her role of kept socialite.

I swallow my sigh and only say, “Of course, I’ll have Cristal make the arrangements and send you your ticket once she has it.”

We pull up outside Milly’s house, and now I just want this conversation to end. I’ve been gone all week and I just want to get inside, see my woman, and relax.

“Thank you.” She’s suddenly speaking in a normal tone.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re coming.” I'm not sure whether or not I mean this, but I hope she can’t tell.

“Dean, I . . .” she says and then trails off. I can tell she wants to say something and I try to soften my tone.

“Mom, go ahead,” I say gently.

“Just don’t forget I need that window seat and business class or higher, please. I need the extra room or my ankles swell.” I almost laugh at myself.

“Sure, I won’t forget. I’ve made a note.” I haven’t, but I won’t forget.

“Okay, I’ve got to go.” She hangs up before I can speak again.

I keep waiting for her to be someone she's not. Or for her to see me as more than a means to an end.

I sigh, exit the car, and walk up the steps to the woman who has in the span of just a few weeks become not only the woman I'm sleeping with, but someone I can’t stop thinking about. I cannot get her out of my mind. I want to tell her about my conversation with my mom.

I have a feeling she’ll be able to help me think through some of the resentment I feel toward my mother. But that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Today, I’ve planned a day out at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor with her and Anthony.

I’m supposed to spend the night at her house for the first time as her boyfriend. She has been really deliberate about integrating me into their lives. She's a good mom who is putting her son first.

She has yet to ask me for a single material thing and from what I can tell, she doesn’t seem the least bit interested in my wealth.

I walk up her porch and ring the doorbell. I feel my excitement building as I see her move toward the door through the beveled glass panes on either side of it. It feels like coming home.