Close to Destiny (A Magical Love Story)

Chapter 35

May 2, continued

My mother called. Blanche had told her everything, and she wanted to see me. She would be expecting me on the 10:05 train the next day. That way, she could pick me up from the station on her way back from the perfectly scheduled biweekly trip to the greengrocer.

"I think you should spend the night at the house," she said, her voice firm.

"A night in prison sounds great," I mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Well, don't sound so excited about coming home. I never see you any more, Kat. You hardly ever return my calls, and when I do get you on the line, you're in a rush."

I could see her sitting in front of the soap opera that she wasn't really watching and winding the phone cord anxiously around her fingers. Preferring the dimness of the browns and beiges of the living room to the sunshine beyond. The house was claustrophobic. There were too many memories of tears, nightmares and loneliness. She had to feel it too, yet she basked in this type of environment.

"If you want to see me, Mom, why don't you take a train into the city?" I said, throwing the bait that I knew would be refused. "I'll meet you at Grand Central."

"No, no, you know how I hate the city. Who needs that dirty mess anyway? Ever since you've been there, you've had nothing but trouble. You should be happy to spend some time at home, Kat. I don't understand you."

I rolled my eyes. I could feel the familiar knot forming in my stomach.

"Sharon Goldstein next door—her daughter comes home every weekend. They go out shopping together. Or lunch. I couldn't even hope for that with you. I guess I have to accept it."

"Yeah, I guess you do," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look Mom, I don't have time for this..."

"What else do you have to do, Katherine? You're not working."

"Well, I have to look for work, and that takes time too."

The conversation was going nowhere. As usual. I could have strangled Blanche right then and there. Why did she have to open her big mouth and tell Mom about London and my breakup with Paul? I'm sure her excuse was that since she was about to leave, she wanted to make sure someone else knew what I had gone through and was prepared to look out for me. Another suicide-watch.

"Mom, I thought you'd want to see Blanche before she takes off for another part of the world."

"I saw Blanche last weekend, when she came to say good-bye."

My mother sighed on the other end of the line. Then, a few seconds later, she was cooing after her poodle, Mimi. That was a good sign, meaning her interest in me was waning.

"Please make sure you get to the station on time to catch the right train—not like last time. I'm not driving all the way up to New Haven because you got on the express. I'll see you tomorrow, Katherine."

"Yeah... tomorrow."

I sank into the couch and scowled. I felt like calling Blanche immediately and giving her a piece of my mind, but I couldn't do that to her on her last day of work before the move. It wasn't as if she'd told Mom everything because she wanted me to be miserable. But sometimes I wondered how Blanche—who seemed so practical and sharp—could accept the dysfunctional nature of our relationship with our mother. She didn't seem to mind making the efforts to see Mom. And the constant criticism of our clothes, hairstyles and ways of life didn't bother my sister either.

"I listen to her with one ear, and then I go home and do whatever I want," Blanche had told me once. "I would rather go see her—that way, at least she doesn't have the opportunity to criticize my apartment."

I could understand Blanche's point, but in the heat of an intense conversation with my mother, I had trouble remembering such logical, calm ideas. Even after a few months of keeping my journal, it was only at this point that I could transfer my feelings about her to paper.

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