Condemn Me Not (9 page)

“He
doesn’t have any, does he?” Simone quipped.

“This
isn’t about the money,” Mariah said, staring out the window, her back turned in
silent condemnation.  “This is about
him
.”

“That’s
what I thought.”  It was no longer a question in Simone’s mind.

Mariah
turned her head to the side, but didn’t look at her.  “For your information,
Logan has some money saved up.  We’re doing this together, in
every
sense of the word.”

“What
if you get pregnant?”

“What?” 
Mariah whirled around.  Disgust wrenched her features.

“It’s
a possibility.”  Simone punched a hand to her hip and repeated, “What if you
get pregnant?  Then what?”

“I
can’t believe you.  Now you’re just making stuff up to argue about.”

“It
happens, Mariah.  Can I assume you won’t get an abortion?”

Mariah
took several steps toward Simone and said, “I wouldn’t abort my baby!”

“So
then you’d keep it.  Do you know how much babies cost?”

Mariah
stopped in her tracks and glared, furious at falling into her mother’s trap.

“Food,
clothing, education...” Simone itemized, ticking up fingers with each
category.  “It all costs money.  Look around you,” she said, indicating the
elegant furnishings of their home.  From the polished wood-flooring to the
expensive silk draperies, the hand-crafted stone appointments and original
artwork adorning the walls, Simone knew exactly how much life cost.  She
enjoyed the finer things in life, as did her daughter.  Only Mariah didn’t
fully comprehend how they were acquired.  “This doesn’t come cheap.  Not only
will you and Logan be struggling with the bills at work, but you’ll be
struggling with them at home, too.  You’ll be reduced to shopping at thrift
stores, eating frozen dinners.  The stress of living paycheck to paycheck will
drive a wedge between you, and the next thing you know, you’ll be twenty-eight,
divorced, years behind your contemporaries in the job market, and on your own
with a child to raise.”

Hatred
scored jagged lines through Mariah’s expression.  “You are so wrong.”

Simone
inwardly recoiled at the animosity staring back at her.  She didn’t want to
inflict pain on her daughter.  She just needed her to see the realities at
play.  Mariah needed to get an accurate picture of the road ahead.  “It sneaks
up on you, Mariah.  It’s how the cycle of poverty works.  You don’t think those
millions of women out there planned on raising their kids alone with barely two
dimes to their name, do you?  Of course not.  It began with young love that
would beat the odds until real life collapsed their dreams, revealing them for
what they were—ill thought-out plans based on a rush to judgment and a desire
to feel mature and independent.”

Mariah
became a stone, as gray and cold as the mantle beside them.  “I’m starting this
business with Logan whether you approve of it or not.”

“Okay,”
Simone said.  “Fine.  You’re set on it.  How about you delay it for a year? 
Take some courses at Amherst in business and learn how to run your recycling
company, the finances, the contracts, etc.  Then, if you still want to start it
after a year, I’ll help you with the money.”

Distrust
clawed at Mariah’s eyes.  “You know I can’t take any business classes the first
year.  They require freshmen to take a basic repeat of high school—which is a
waste of time.”

“No,
it’s not,” Simone countered.  “You have electives you can take.  Make them
business, accounting.”

“You’re
just trying to put me off in hopes I’ll change my mind.”

“And
what if you do?  Is that so bad?”  You’re so young, Simone hammered silently.  You
have no idea.  You’ll change your mind about so many things over the next ten
years.  But if she spoke her thoughts out loud, Mariah would consider them an
insult.  “Maybe it would mean you found something better,” she offered.

“You’re
only saying that because you think Logan would break up with me.”

“No,
I’m not.”  But now that she mentioned it, the idea was definitely appealing. 
“Why would he break up with you?”

“Because
Amherst isn’t in Boston.  It’s two hours away.”

And
the boy couldn’t hack a little separation
?  Sadness poured into Simone,
soaking her heart in despair.  Was his relationship with Mariah that tenuous? 
The bond that professed to be strong enough to start a business together wasn’t
tough enough to hack a two-hour drive?  Simone didn’t know what Logan would do
if Mariah went to college and he stayed in Boston.  Maybe they’d grow apart,
meet new people, maybe they wouldn’t.  All she did know was that she was
failing her daughter, failing to protect her from herself and her youthful
idealism.  There was so much Mariah didn’t know, didn’t understand—but how to
get her to listen?  How to get her to grasp the hard reality she was going to
be living?

Boston
wasn’t cheap.  It was expensive to live here and if you lived outside the city,
the commute would cost you.  Simone sharpened her gaze.  Maybe a stronger dose
of realism would succeed.  As much as it pained her to force her daughter’s
hand, it was for her own good.  Mariah needed to consider the consequences of
what she was doing.  “Have you picked out your apartment yet?”

“What?”

“You
heard me.”  Simone wrestled with the angst seizing at her breast, tearing
through her heart as she continued, “You’re going to need somewhere to live. 
Have you checked into rent?”

“You’re
kicking me out?” Mariah asked, gripped by sudden and total shock.

“Well,
if you’re going to be making adult decisions, you need to live like one which
means paying the bills on your own.”

Mariah
shook her head, the movement slow and stunned.  “I can’t believe you...”

“What’s
not to believe?” Simone asked, the mild elevation in tone the only hint as to
the fear splintering through her chest.  She didn’t want to push Mariah away,
but she wanted her to see the whole picture. 
Needed
her to see it so
she would quit this fantasy play.

Mariah
appeared to stumble, and placed a hand to the cream-colored wingchair.  She
rolled her weight backward and cupped its wooden frame, leaning her body against
it.  The fight went out of her.  “I thought you’d be supportive of my venture. 
I mean, once you got past the shock of my not going to college and all.  But
then...”  She paused and peered at her mother, a stabbing disappointment in her
eyes.  “I thought you’d be proud of me.”

The
cut was so quick and deep, Simone struggled to maintain her composure.  She
clutched hold of the nearby sofa table, the glossy edge hard within her palm. 
“I
am
proud of you, but not like this, not throwing away your education
so you can go off half-cocked on a business venture with your boyfriend—”

But
her daughter had shut down.  Mariah wasn’t listening anymore.

Simone
tightened her grip and eased toward her daughter.  Her pulse pounded. 
“Mariah—you have to see this from my point of view.  I’m not trying to ruin
your life, I’m trying to save it.  One day you’ll understand and appreciate my
efforts but for now you’ll simply have to trust me.”

As
though operating on a separate channel, Mariah mumbled into empty air. 
“Rebecca’s mom said she believed I could do it.  That if any young woman could
go out and make her own way it would be me.”  Moisture glistened in the whites
of her eyes, the green growing fluid as Mariah turned to face her.  “Why can’t
you say the same?”

Resentment
seared a reply clear off Simone’s lips, but her thoughts were loud and clear.  Claire
should keep her thoughts to herself.

“Maybe
it’s because she was always there and you weren’t,” Mariah went on, evidently
misreading Simone’s silence for a lack of rebuttal.  She turned, and plunked
herself down onto the damask-upholstered chair cushion.  “Maybe that’s why she
can see the real me and you can’t.”

“I
was there for everything important in your life, Mariah.”  Simone maintained a firm
hold of the table, the only thing keeping her solid and upright.  “I never missed
a play, an open house.  I never missed a sports game or a dance recital.” 
Through the years her daughter had tried her hand at a wide variety of
activities and she had busted her butt to attend every event.  She was proud
not to have missed a one.  Not a
big
one, anyway.  But she couldn’t be
expected to watch every soccer game, every tennis match.  Tournaments yes, but
every game, every match?

No
one could boast that record.  No one but Claire.  Annoyance percolated.  But
Claire
didn’t have anything else to do,
but
attend her daughter’s games and
dances.  It probably helped pass the time, but it wasn’t fair to compare the
two of them.  They dealt with wholly different obligations.  She
was
a
good mother.  And a successful career woman.  She was disciplined and caring. 
To assert anything to the contrary was inaccurate.  But that’s exactly what her
daughter was doing.  “It’s unfair of you to claim that I wasn’t around, because
it isn’t true.”

“You
weren’t at my tenth grade spelling bee, the one where I won runner-up.”

“What?” 
Simone’s surprise was swift and complete.  She released her hold of the bed and
approached Mariah.  “I most certainly was and do you know what it took me to
get there?”  She remembered the day clearly.  Len had scheduled a late
afternoon meeting and demanded all senior VPs attend.  Simone attended but
begged out early.  The move earned her a scathing dismissal from her boss—one
most unusual for him—but Simone understood and accepted her lot.  When your
largest client announces it is withdrawing its capital, tsunamis of pressure
steamroll through the corridors of a banking firm, wiping out everything but
the need to retain and regain.

Simone
ran the numbers three times before the meeting and twice during, but
unfortunately still came up short.  Len was not happy with her, but she would
have to implore forgiveness later.  Her daughter had earned a place in the
competition’s finals and she was
damn
well going to be there for it.

“Really?”
Mariah challenged.  “You weren’t sitting with Dad and the Atkins.”

Well
Dad
had the luxury of time, garnering a front row seat with a half hour
to kill.  She on the other hand, was lucky to snag a spot in the back.  It was
standing room only in the dark shadows along the auditorium wall and almost too
far from the stage to see her daughter’s face.  But Simone craned and tiptoed
and watched every second of her daughter’s performance—which had been priceless. 
She had had that title until one word slipped her up.  One, foreign word her
daughter had never heard of.  Simone wasn’t sure who was more crushed over the
defeat at the time.

Trampled
by longing and regret, Simone heaved a sigh.  “I was there, Mariah.  I may have
been late, but I was there.”

The
girl shrugged in what Simone felt to be the most insulting gesture, unleashing
a wave of guilt nearly choked her.  A day didn’t pass when she wasn’t torn
between the obligations of work and home, leaving no time to “just be.”  Yet
here her daughter couldn’t care less.

And
why?  Where was it written that she should bear this burden when her male peers
did not?  When her own husband did not?

Mariah
didn’t whine and complain when Mitchell went out of town.  She didn’t mope or
sulk or make snide comments about his whereabouts.  Her father could be gone
for days without the first peep from her.  About to make it crystal clear
exactly how hard she worked, Simone stopped herself from uttering the first
word.  She and Mariah were on brittle ground.  Pushing now would only break the
fragile connection beneath them.  “I did the best I could, Mariah.  I tried to
be there for every one of your events, your big days and now for your
graduation.  I’m sorry if sometimes it seemed like I was absent, but looking
back”—she drew out the sentiment—“I think my track record was pretty good and
should speak for itself.”

“Whatever,”
Mariah said dully, discarding her insidious claim as though it were a
meaningless observation and not a biting attack on the very core of her
mother’s existence.  She slumped to the armrest.  “It would have been nice to
have your approval at least once in a while.  Maybe one day I’ll be able to
prove to you that I’m worthy.”

CLAIRE
AND REBECCA

Seated
on the edge of the arm chair, Rebecca shook her head.  “Mom, La Sorbonne is the
best in the world.  I thought you’d be happy that I was accepted.”

“Oh
honey, I
am
,” Claire insisted.  “You’re a wonderful artist, gifted in
fact.  All I’m saying is that maybe college in another country is a bit
extreme.  Especially when there are very fine schools right here in the
states.  If you’re not happy with Rhode Island, we’ll find another one.”  She
tried to inject cheer into her proposal.  “With your grades, you’ll have your
pick.”

Turning
hands in her lap, Rebecca held firm.  “Paris is what I want.”