White Walls by Judy Batalion

Author:Judy Batalion
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-11-16T05:00:00+00:00

• ELEVEN •

COMMENCEMENT

London, 2007

We woke to the powdery London light that existed only in the mornings, before the days became gray and smoggy like a Dickens Christmas even in July. Mom was nestled into my pillows, her elbow propped up. My parents had come for my doctoral graduation, and were staying with me. It was fun to have them here, sharing my space, even if it meant they’d had to take the shelves out of my tiny European fridge to fit their stash of budget groceries.

I’d woken once in the night to listen to the chorus of breaths. Her breathing, Dad’s breathing from the futon in the next room. Little blusters and burps; a symphony of genealogy. Would I ever hear this again? I always wondered if it was the last time.

“I just don’t see why she dumped him,” Mom now said. “Aiden was so good for her.”

“Maya recently broke up with a guy who was like Aiden,” I said. The night before, we’d met Maya for dinner at a gastropub. Minutes before Maya’s arrival, Mom had disappeared into the bathroom. I’d feared the worst—a mood swing, an inconsolable episode—and had to distract Maya while I figured out how I’d manage the rest of the evening. But just as I was about to go looking for Mom, she appeared, fully made up in cosmetics and a scarf, neither of which I had any idea she owned. I hadn’t even changed, and there she was, a surprise transformation, a soft smile adorning her visage. I was relieved, but also upset that the grin wasn’t for me. Maya had thought she seemed incredibly sweet.

“Why?” Mom asked, turning to me in the bed. “Maya seems smart.”

“Maybe she’s not ready,” I said, enjoying our chat session in this SATC pidgin, feeling like we were two teenage girls who kissed pillows and did must-increase-their-bust exercises. I’d reported several of my recent dates to Mom. When I didn’t know how to progress things with Tim, she said, “Drink some red wine.” When Ian had been aloof, canceling dinners but inviting me to his choir recitals, she’d said: “He sounds gay.” Now she smiled. “Aiden was so grounding,” she said. “Carrie needed it. Does Maya?”

“Good morning,” Dad called to us from the other room.

“Morning,” I called back. “How did you sleep?”

And then.

The person shifting in an instant, as if clicking on a new effect in Instagram, immediately changing the tone, the coloring, the sharpness of the lines, and thus, the whole meaning of the picture.

I felt Mom’s body tense on the bed next to me. The sheets became taut. “What do you want to do today?” I asked, generally, to the stifling air around me. “The Globe?”

“Sure, the Globe,” Dad answered and closed the door to the bathroom.

Mom rolled away, her back to me. She pushed the blanket between us. “Sure, the Globe,” she mocked.

I breathed, trying to stay calm. My tiny apartment felt like it was shrinking. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are you mad? Are

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