Mr. Whitlock

8 - Dinner

The sound of silverware clinking against plates grated in Marie's ears. Her gaze shifted constantly between staring at her untouched food, and glancing at the ticking grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Each passing second reminded her how late her sister was, which only marked another moment she was forced to spend alone with her mother.

"Eve must be having trouble with the children." Anne said under her breath, "I remember when you two were little, how hard it was to go out. I lost so many friends, because they would always be left waiting when we made plans. I'll tell you, getting two kids ready and out the door is one of the many challenges of being a mother. Especially when you would throw your horrific tantrums. You'll know one day, Marie, when you have your own children. Perhaps you'll have it easier than me and your sister, if you find a husband who is actually willing to be a father." She poured another glass of wine, again offering it to her daughter, causing Marie to shake her head slowly.

Marie sighed at hearing her mother's words as she felt a throbbing headache start to form. They had only been seated at the dining table for a few minutes, but it had been an hour since she first arrived. Anne insisted on teaching her daughter how to make supper that evening, and Marie reluctantly gave in. She stayed silent all throughout the unclear instructions, while Anne flew aimlessly around the old kitchen and blabbered on about how emotional it was for her to enter her mother's childhood home.

The family dinner was a rather spontaneous event, but Marie knew enough in advance to warn Mr. Whitlock. Marie felt embarrassed knowing that he was somewhere in the house, probably able to hear her awkward conversation. She hadn't told him about her mother, or their unfortunate relationship, afraid of what he would think or say. But there was no doubt he knew by now, hearing the shallow words Anne spoke, accompanied by the occasional "Yes." or "Oh, I'm happy for you mother." from Marie. The words were thick on her tongue, lies and deceit forming every word she spoke as she pretended to be happy. Lying made her sick, but her mother's manipulative words made her sicker.

Marie remembered thinking, as an innocent child, if there would ever come a day when her dear mother would truly love her. She looked up to Anne with wide eyes and admiration, hoping to give her the world, but day by day that love fizzled into a dull ache of guilt and despair.

There are many fates that shall never be wished on any child, but one of the worst fates of all is a child who feels unloved.

And though that was not the case with young Marie, for her mother loved her dearly, those feelings were very much real. Some nights she would lay in bed and cry helplessly, wondering why she hated her life so much. She would plead with the air around her, quietly so her sister would not hear, for some miracle to help her escape her miserable life.

Thus began her interest in the lives of those around her. She suddenly had a passion for fascinating stories, seeking new information about how unbelievable the world really was. She numbed the pain of her own life by drowning in that which was far more absurd.

A lump formed in Marie's throat as those painful memories, which she had worked so hard to push far into the back of her mind, resurfaced. She blinked away the last traces of her daze, slowly being pulled again into the present moment. And finally, three knocks on the door reminded her where she really was.

Anne ran to the door excitedly, pulling Eve into a tight hug and giving gentle kisses to her grandchildren. Then she led them to the dining room table, proudly gesturing to the dinner she had made which was now cold. Marie smiled brightly at Jane and Leo, her heart swelling as their faces lit up. She had a soft spot for her sweet niece and nephew, despite hardly ever seeing them.

Marie also said hello to Eve's husband, Oscar, in an attempt to clear the awkward feeling caused by Anne blatantly ignoring him.

The unpleasant energy in the room did not dissipate, only shifted into something else. Eve and Anne talked incessantly, occasionally pausing to look at how cute the children were being, while Oscar listened earnestly and Marie stared at her plate.

Many things passed through Marie's mind as she tried to make the dinner go by faster, but her thoughts lingered on Mr. Whitlock. She remembered how kindly he had listened to her, the look in his eyes as he watched her. She wondered, a confused smile threatening to show, how it was that a ghost showed far more interest in her than almost anyone else she had met.

With that amusing thought dancing in her head, she rose from the table with her plate and glass. Oscar gave her a puzzled look, so she gestured towards the bathroom in hopes that he would pass on the message. She imagined how offended her mother would be that she left, when she finally noticed that is. 

Marie listened as the conversation faded into faint murmurs, letting out a sigh as she reached the top of the stairs. Then she looked to see Mr. Whitlock standing in the hallway with a concerned expression.

"I'm sorry, my mother is... not the easiest to get used to. Hopefully this will be the only time she'll be here, but I am terribly sorry that-"

"Don't worry, Marie." His voice was almost soothing, and whether or not he had meant to, it was almost as if he was reminding her that Anne was not her responsibility. That she was nothing like her mother, and had no need to apologize. All Marie could think to do was smile.

She then sat on the couch in the hallway, sipping at her water and taking a small bite of food. Nostalgia immediately overcame her, with the taste of her mother's signature Sunday recipe. Suddenly her appetite was gone.

"I understand your want to distance yourself from your mother, but I was surprised to observe you aren't close to your sister either." Mr. Whitlock said. Marie could tell he wasn't meaning to pry, but the question caught her off guard. She was silent for a moment, even considering not answering at all, but knew he had a right to wonder.

"My sister and I were very close growing up. She was all I had, the only comfort in my confusing, hectic childhood. There were days when we heard our parents fighting, and Eve would read me stories to block out the sound of them yelling. She would put on plays to make me laugh, sneak out of our room to get me a snack if I was hungry, and did anything to pass the time as we waited for the inevitable sound of our father driving away and our mother weeping.

"But the older we got, the more we realized our differences. She was swept right into the unhealthy pattern of our mother's manipulation. 

"I suppose the last real time we felt like the sisters we once were, was the day she decided to marry Oscar. She was crying, overwhelmed with a blend of pure joy and guilt. Our mother had never liked him, perhaps he reminded her too much of our own father. But I helped Eve realize that her heart was easier to trust than our mother.

"She thanked me at their wedding for helping her come to a decision that she would hopefully never regret. And I suppose ever since I moved away she's been more like our mother than she ever has been." Marie felt a sense of relief as her story came to a close. She hadn't ever voiced those feelings, and it reminded her how much she missed the bond she used to have with Eve.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that. I myself lost a bond with someone I could have called a brother. Time doesn't lessen the pain, though, it only manages to numb it." He said after a few moments, speaking each word carefully.

Marie felt that he couldn't have possibly said anything better, for his words healed her more than he would ever know.

And as she finished her plate of food, the taste would never again remind her of her mother. Instead it would bring back the fond memories of sitting with a certain ghost, as they talked about anything and everything.

That night hadn't turned out to be such a tragic dinner, after all.