“You didn’t have to come, my dear.” The shiny tears glossing over her eyes was exactly why I had to come.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I replied while she pulled me into a hug. “It’s not every day that my mom celebrates her birthday.”
I’d missed several, I wasn’t going to miss this one.
With a kiss on my cheek, she waved a hand, “Oh stop, you’re going to ruin my makeup before lunch.”
“What time are we heading out?” Because of traffic, I was an hour behind the original time I wanted to be here. She had a birthday celebration with her closest friends, Madeline and Sylvie, that I had totally planned on crashing.
“You’re coming to lunch with us?”
“If that’s cool with you, Mom.”
“Of course it’s ‘cool’ with me.” Her hands made air quotes and I couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought the Navy would have gotten rid of your ‘cool’ ness.”
My mom was through and through a lady. She used to tell me stories of Opa Karl and Oma Marie dancing with the royal family. I’d never met my grandparents. They passed away before my mom and dad met, but I’d heard tons of stories about them, and sometimes I wondered how great it would’ve been to have met them.
Anyways, when I started hanging out with my surfing buddies, I assimilated surf speak. From benny’s to gnarly to cranking and hanging ten, it couldn’t be helped. I was with my friends ninety percent of the time so I had started to talk the way they did. My mom hated it with a passion. She’d always ask me to speak the way a proper gentleman would. She couldn’t really say, “like your dad would” because dad’s mouth came straight from the Marine gutter.
“The Navy made me cooler, Mom,” I replied, whipping out the daisies I’d personally trimmed from our place in L.A.
Instead of just yellow, the bouquet of flowers had a smattering of purple and white daisies. I didn’t do it myself, Athena had seen my sorry big-ass hands trying to bundle them up together devoid of any artfulness that she’d grimaced and took the flowers away from me. She didn’t ask who they were for, she merely rearranged them, placed them on a wicker basket that she’d gotten from Vero, and where she found a plastic wrap and ribbon flummoxed me. After she’d done the nifty flower arrangement, I thanked her and informed her that I’d be gone for a day. I hadn’t received any alarming intel and Liam reassured me that he was more than capable of guarding Athena, so here I was.
My mom’s blue eyes refreshed with a flow of tears. “Your father used to bring me flowers. When he was deployed, I got a delivery on the seventeenth of each month. And when he was home –”
I slowly took the flowers from her hands and hugged her. My father was a good man, a great soldier, and a better husband and father. Mom could have remarried. She didn’t have a shortage of suitors the years after my dad passed away, but she lived and loved in his memory.
“He was the best, Mom,” I said, my eyes scanning the living room where I’d spent my childhood. Pictures of me, Mom, and Dad adorned the walls. “He would want you to celebrate your birthday in happiness and not in tears. He’d kick my ass if he saw you crying right now.”
An elbow nudged my ribs. “Watch your mouth.”
“Ass is a word, Mom. It’s even in Merriam-Webster.” In my defense, I tried so hard not to curse in front of my mother. And I did try to tone down on the surfer speak back then. It was difficult but I tried.
“Merriam and Webster don’t live in my house.” Neither did I, but I had no doubt that my mother would kick me to the curb if I even dared to point it out. I may have been roughed up and toughened by the SEAL, but in her eyes, I was still the 9-lb., 2.4 oz, baby that she’d brought into this world.
Spotting the grandfather clock against the wall, I spoke, “Mom, we better get going. I wouldn’t want to keep your friends waiting.”
“You sure you want to have lunch with a bunch of old ladies?”
This time, it was my turn to reprimand, “Old? Mom? Who you calling old? Old doesn’t live in this house.”
She started laughing and this time, I knew that the tears falling from her eyes were of genuine joy.
Dad, I know you’re watching us from up there. I’m making her smile. You would be proud.
“Do you remember Chloee, Webb?” Madeline Waterford, one of my mom’s best friends, asked.
I took a swig of the Paul Hobbs’ 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon and tasted the rich texture bursting with the flavors of blackberry and black cherry fruit. I wasn’t a wine connoisseur, but the server had explained it so thoroughly that even my mind took notes.
“I do, Mrs. Waterford.” I remembered her alright. She was a big flirt and a reckless driver. She hit on me so many times in high school, and when I turned the other way, she hit on my friends too. Sad news for her because while we were interested in girls, Prince of Persia and Call of Duty gaming marathons took the top spot. She was cute, but her ditziness was a huge turnoff. An even bigger turnoff was when she ran into Markus’ new car while his car was parked. She’d said that she was trying to fit into the parking space beside him. Yeah, that would have been a plausible excuse except that there weren’t any cars parked beside Markus so it couldn’t have been that hard to get into the space.
“She graduated with her Masters from FIDM,” Mrs. Waterford’s light brown eyes honed in on me, like a shark waiting for its prey. I loved my mom but her friends? I’d rather do underwater brick workouts for a day.
“Madeline, are you trying to arrange marriage between my son and your daughter again?” Mom interrupted the matchmaking scheme. Mrs. Waterford had been doing this since…I’d forgotten already because every time she saw me, she brought up her daughter, Chloee. That’s right C-H-L-O-double-E.
Mrs. Messing, Sylvie, wasn’t any better.
“Oh you hush about Chloee. My daughter, Dee, is back home, Webb. She just finished her internship with Watson and Bella.”
Was Watson and Bella supposed to be on my radar?
From what I recalled, Dee had amazing double-D’s, but those assets couldn’t compensate for her air headedness and what she lacked in personality. I had never been friends with Dee or Chloee and I doubt I ever would. Our moms may have everything in common, but I had nothing to say to those girls. They didn’t interest me in high school and right now, the only woman I was interested in was in a cramming study session with her classmates.
“She’s a lawyer now. Right Sylvie?” Mom interjected, a small smile grazing her face. Her blonde curls were cut loose today. Turning fifty-five looked good on her. Happiness casted her features. So while I couldn’t stand her friends’ matchmaking attempts, they made her happy. They were her companions when I wasn’t around and they were responsible for my Mom’s rapid ability to pick up the pieces when she was at her lowest point. Those were big enough reasons for me to endure Mrs. Waterford’s and Mrs. Messing’s company.
“Wow. Lawyer. What kind?” Who knew, my job had me tiptoeing legal boundaries on a day-to-day basis, I might need a lawyer to pull me out of jail one of these days.
“Patent law.” Mrs. Messing’s voice colored with pride. I recognized the same in my mother’s voice when she talked to other people about me.
“That’s impressive. I remember her as being extremely driven and a leader in high school.”
“She is.” Mrs. Messing smiled, “I’m sure she’d love to reconnect with you, Webb.”
Hell no. “Maybe one of these days, Mrs. Messing.”
My mom’s eyes landed on me, a gentle smile presented on her face, she knew I was patronizing her friend.
Mothers always know.
Our server, a young guy who reminded me of Denzel Washington, approached our table. “Are you ready to order?”
Mom replied, “Yes we are, Atif.”
Mom was that person – the one who called everyone by their first name. She said that everyone needed to be recognized as a person, it didn’t matter who or what or where they came from. It was how she was brought up and how she brought me up. My dad had instilled the ma’ams and sirs in me; my mom had drilled the Missus and Misters, everyone who was older than me had to be addressed with respect even when their views were completely opposite from mine.
Mom ordered the Foie Gras Pot de Crème and Oeufs Gratines first and the rest of us followed suit. I wasn’t extremely fond of French cuisine, but it was one of my mom’s favorites.
Table chatter strayed away from any more matchmaking schemes as we enjoyed the delicious array of food. The ladies chatted about how they spent their days – from visiting local shelters to volunteering to cook for the local high school’s sports events and continuing to advocate for the plight of mothers and children to gain healthcare access.
Mrs. Messing was the wife of Congressman John Messing and Mrs. Waterford was a former president of the San Diego Community College District. They were influential members of the community and they used their status and influence for good.
Mom had met them at a PTA meeting way back when I was in kindergarten and they’d built a friendship that lasted through the decades.
“When are you going back to L.A. son?” Mom asked, while she wiped her mouth with the napkin emblazoned with A.M., the restaurant’s name and logo.
“Later tonight.” I’d planned on going back tomorrow, but the new e-mail from Tony was something I needed to discuss with Liam in person.
“I’m glad you were able to come for my birthday. I’m not quite sure what’s keeping you so busy these days…I’m just happy you’re here.” Mom’s voice had a touch of sadness. I couldn’t tell her what’s going on. I understood why Dad had to keep her in the dark about his job. Sometimes protecting someone meant holding off information because knowledge could kill. Proximity to that knowledge could be deadly. She knew I was trying to establish my own business and that was all I was willing to share right now.
I reached my hand across the table to hold hers. Her hands had aged with time, but they still bore the unconditional lines of love that she had for me. I’d been fortunate to have good parents and more than blessed to have a mother who always chose me before anything else. She’d been the star of Germany’s music scene yet when she became pregnant with me, my dad said that she had no qualms about moving back to the States where he was deployed and raised me here.
She went back to her love for the arts when I was old enough to walk and take a shit by myself. She deserved the best and it gave me peace that she was surrounded by her best friends on her special day.
“I’m going to try to come back over a weekend,” I promised. Along with the feather yarn scarf and gloves I bought for her birthday, my presence was one of the rare gifts I could always give her.
Mrs. Waterford spoke, “This is why I’d love to have you as a son-in-law, Webb. You’re a good guy. You’re not like the guys that Chloee dates from that swipe thing on her phone.”
Tinder. Zoosk. Swipe.
It could be any one of those, among many others. Thanks to Liam, I was updated as to what they were even if it baffled me as to why anyone would use them.
If I were a woman, I’d want a background check, complete with criminal history on my date. At a minimum, a satisfactory result from the National Instant Criminal Background Check System (NICS) would be warranted. You can’t predict loose cannons, but you can have a tight grip on the reality of who you were meeting if you at least knew if they had a protective order or a criminal arrest on their record.
“Dee would love to be reacquainted with you too, Webb,” Mrs. Messing asserted. Her eyes lifting from the Chicken Parisian to give me an approving appraisal.
My mom’s best friends were hilarious. I would never be involved with their daughters because first they weren’t my type and second, there would be unending commentaries about how our relationship was going.
So…fuck it.
Now’s as good as a time as any.
“I’m dating someone.”
The silence after my bomb dropped would be funnier if my Mom would have had actually said something…after a minute or two.
Her eyes were so wide that I could fit the butter server located to her right.
For all the chatter that they were dishing out earlier, her friends were suddenly at a loss for words.
“I haven’t really asked her out yet, but I’m going to. She’s younger than me…and I made it a problem, when in fact she’s wiser than her years and hell, she’s got more balls than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s been through so much yet she makes it sound as if all the sh—stuff was a walk in the park. She’s beautiful...when she smiles, I swear I’m brought back to Dresden, when all the lights converge to bring life to Frauenkirche.”
In all my twenty-nine years, I’d never spilled my guts about a girl to my mom.
Definitely not in front of her friends.
Maybe this was what old age did to you, diarrhea of the mouth became a common malady.
“Would anyone like some dessert?” Atif had excellent timing. After my unexpected confession, a reprieve was more than welcome to reduce the level of awkwardness that would ensue.
Mrs. Waterford, God bless her excellent ability to bring back the conversation to a neutral ground, said, “Two coffee crème brûlée’s and a cappucino crepe cake, please. We’re celebrating our dear friend’s birthday here.”
I seconded her request and Atif left to get the desserts.
My mom finally blinked and slowly, she said, “Dresden?”
I nodded, we frequented Dresden in Germany whenever we flew back to her birth country. At a young age, I’d told her that it was one of my favorite places, the architecture of the Frauenkirche could shock a person into awe, but for me, it was always about the lights outside of the cathedral that made it stunning, especially if you saw it while the sun was setting in the horizon.
“I’ve never been to Germany.” Mrs. Messing’s had now regained her voice. “I keep telling Magdalene here that I want to go with her the next time she goes back.”
My mom responded, “You keep telling me, but you never go through with it. The next time you run out of excuses not to go, I’ll bring you.”
“I’m busy every time you go,” Mrs. Messing remarked, the grin on her face letting me know that it was all in good fun. “If you scheduled it in January, then I have a ton of free time.”
Mom shook her head, “Sylvie, I won’t dare go back there in the winter. The best time to go is in the summer…”
“During museum summer nights,” I finished for her. She loved visiting the museums where her parents often took her when she was a child.
“I’m surprised you remember lieber Sohn.” Her native tongue always came out when she was trying to make a point.
“Of course.” How could I forget? Those were the times that sustained me in war – the memories of how loved I was as a child, by my mother and father.
“This woman, this junge Dame, she’s nice?” The eyes that held my heart from the day I was born assessed me.
My head bobbed, shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. What was I thinking? Now my mom was going to interrogate me in front of her friends.
“I’d love to meet her.” Not a request nor a command. It was a statement cloaked in curiosity and concern.
“You will, Mom.” It was only a matter of time before I introduced Athena to her, I wasn’t going to renege on the possibility of them meeting. It would be interesting to see how my mom would react to the first woman I’d ever introduced to her. I had friends, girlfriends, that my mom met throughout the years, but none of them were anyone I was serious with. I wasn’t like my friend Markus who had a regular parade of women in high school, I just had casual relationships, so casual that I never bothered to bring them home or introduce them to Mom. And the only woman I had a serious relationship with, I couldn’t introduce to my mom because of our circumstances back then.
“Maybe…” Mrs. Waterford sighed as she inhaled the crème brulee that Atif had brought. “Maybe you can introduce my daughter to one of your friends, Webb.”
“I’d like that,” Mrs. Messing seconded. “I’m sure you got tons of nice guy friends.”
My shoulders shook in amusement. “With due respect ma’ams, my friends are unavailable.” They’re either behind enemy lines or running away from women who hinted at a smallest chance of a relationship. They were all allergic to commitment. Markus often said that it was the nature of the job, that he wouldn’t want to put anyone in that position where uncertainty was the norm.
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Waterford lamented though her eyes said otherwise. I’m sure she was already thinking of the next guy to hoist her daughter with.
“Are you sure you can’t think of anyone who would be nice enough to date Dee?” Mrs. Messing wasn’t giving up. I got to give it to these women, they were relentless. No wonder my mother was friends with them. She was as indomitable as they were, not necessarily when it came to my dating/love life, but on the aspects of her music and career.
“Sylvie. Madeline. My son just told me about this girl, a woman whom he likes enough to tell his mother about, and he’d just agreed on me meeting her. Can you allow me to savor this moment?” There was a special gleam in her eyes, the kind that should have had me running towards the ocean and staying underwater for an hour or two. It was as if she was already dreaming of her future grandchildren right before my eyes.
“Mom, we’re just dating,” I said, shifting in my seat, really hoping that she wasn’t going to go overboard when she met Athena. “We haven’t even started dating. I’m just going to ask her out. She hasn’t even said yes.”
Mrs. Waterford raised her champagne glass in the air, “Happy birthday, Magdalene. May you have many more.”
I welcomed the segue and raised my own glass in the air, clinking it with mom’s then with her friends’ glasses. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
“Cheers!” Mrs. Messing exclaimed. “To many more birthday candles!”
My mom smiled, accepting all the well wishes and with a flash of shenanigan in her eyes, she said, “Here’s to wishing my son would give me grandbabies before I turn another leaf.”
If I could go backwards in time, I would have told myself: Shut up, Webb. Don’t say anything about Athena to your mother.
But even if I wanted to take it back I couldn’t.
And when I glanced back at her, she had a radiance that I hadn’t seen in a long time. The last time I caught a glimpse of it was when my dad was still around. It was as if someone had plugged life back into her…
That was something I wouldn’t want to take back.