Almost Family by Ann Bancroft

Author:Ann Bancroft
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press

* * *

It took four days for me to reach Marisa. She was in meetings, or wasn’t home, or was just running out the door and said she’d call back. When she didn’t, and the next day her assistant put me through, a guilty-sounding sweetness came through in her voice.

“I know, I’m sorry I’ve been hard to reach, it’s just . . .”

“Don’t worry, honey. I know you’re busy,” I papered over my anxiety and annoyance, then immediately regretted it. It was time for me to stop covering for her when she was inconsiderate. And sure enough, as if she’d just remembered she was supposed to be mad at me, her voice rose, exasperated.

“You’re right, I am busy, crazy busy, Mom, so I really only have a second,” she said. I could hear fingers on a keyboard even as she said that. Multitasking, returning emails, no doubt, while on the phone with me.

“Well, I wouldn’t intrude if it weren’t important,” I said. “And it is important, Marisa. I need to talk to you, and I’d like it to be in person.” The keystrokes stopped.

“Oh, good God, are you getting married?”

“Ha! Oh, Marisa!” I nearly doubled over and had to catch my breath. “No. Not even close!” I needed to sound less loaded, less ominous. Didn’t want her to worry or be upset.

“Just, listen, we haven’t really talked or caught up in such a long time, and our one weekend didn’t work out,” I said. Oh, God, that sounded whiny. I tried to recoup. “Look, I’d like to carve out just a day, no big deal. I could come there if you don’t want to come up here.”

I knew she wouldn’t want me to go to her turf. She’d be stuck with me there. I didn’t know LA or anyone but Marisa who lived there. In Oakland, she had friends, her dad, multiple possible escape routes.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, and she really did sound sorry. It floored me. Silence between us for a moment. This time, instead of jumping in with reassurances, I let the silence be. And then, after more keyboard clicks, she offered me a date, a Saturday twelve days away.

“I’ll come up,” she said. “I’ll stay with Dad since he has more room, but you and I will have the day, okay?”

“Wonderful,” I said.

“I’ll send the flight info soon, okay? Gotta go now, though. Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, Marisa. I love—”

She had already hung up.

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