Her eyes flicker from face to face, gauging the moods of everyone in the room. She says, a little too brightly, “I sound like the worst kind of mother, don’t I? Stop talking to my kids and bring me my wine!” She forces a girly laugh, then gives me a vaguely pleading look. I glance away and notice that Ivy has taken advantage of the distraction to quickly cram the rest of the Pop-Tart into her mouth. You go, Ivy.
“It’s okay,” Ron says to Mom. “I’ve exhausted my parenting skills for the evening anyway. These girls of yours . . .” He leaves it at that and steers her back into the hallway, where she tosses out another giggle-laugh.
She never used to laugh like that. She used to have this rare deep chuckle that often ended in a sigh. Nothing girlish about it at all. But a lot’s changed since she met Ron and even more since the day she told us she was going to marry him, “because you girls need a father.”
I said, “No, we don’t, and even to say that is an insult to lesbian parents everywhere,” which at least got her to stop saying it, but did nothing to prevent her from going ahead and marrying Ron, a guy she had met through some online dating site and whose profile she had first clicked on because a) she thought he was handsome (meh) and b) he said he didn’t have kids of his own and regretted it. (He’d been married once and divorced.)
Mom came back from their first date dazed and ecstatic. Things moved quickly after that. I think Ron must have liked how pliable she was, how willing to follow his lead when it came to exercise and diet—?and raising kids, even though he had no experience in that last area. And Mom definitely liked having someone around to direct her. She’s never liked to be in charge of anything.
The thing about Mom is that she’s the kind of needy that makes people want to do stuff for her, not the kind that repels them. Ron was basically her white knight, charging in to fix her life for her. But I’m not so crazy about being a part of her life that he thinks needs fixing. And I’m even less crazy about watching him pick apart Ivy, who doesn’t have any anger or malice in her and so can’t defend herself against his attacks.
I’m her younger sister, but I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel like I needed to protect and take care of her.