She’s 12, he’s 22, and her mother is 32. Yesterday, he became her mother’s husband. They told her today.
The girl shut herself in her room and didn’t come out all day. They called to her, her mother came to the door, suggesting they go to the movies, rides, the park, or visit friends. She remained silent. She lay on her sofa. At first, she cried. Then she fell asleep. Later, she just stared at the ceiling, thinking. By evening, she was very hungry and went out on her own.
It took a couple of years to get used to it. She met every word from her mother with hostility. She sneered contemptuously while watching them together. She was sassy, rude, and full of hate.
Her mother’s younger sister tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She thought about running away. And one day, she did. She sat on the stoop of the house next door until nightfall, on the stairs leading to the attic. Eventually, she got too cold and went to her aunt’s house.
By the time her mother arrived, the girl had warmed up and eaten dinner. Her mother’s hands trembled slightly, and her eyes were red from crying. Her mother came alone to pick her up.
They went home in a taxi. The girl watched her mother’s profile. Her mother looked old. But he was handsome.
Then, for the first time, he disappeared for a whole month. The girl didn’t ask her mother anything, and her mother didn’t tell her anything either. But the home felt just like before, with just the two of them. Their relationship even warmed a little. The girl felt at peace.
Then he reappeared in their flat. Her young stepfather. She soon accepted that he had become a permanent part of their lives.
She was 18, he was 28, and her mother was 38. One afternoon while passing a knife across the table during lunch, she deliberately held onto it a moment longer than usual, looking him straight in the eye. He looked back into hers. Her mother paled and lowered her head. They finished their meal in silence.
Later, when her mother wasn’t home, she approached him, pressed her forehead against his back, and held her breath. For a second, he froze, then turned, gently pushed her back, slightly shook her by the shoulders, and asked her not to act foolish.
She broke down hysterically. Why, why, why?! What did you see in her?! She’s old! She’s got wrinkles on her neck, can’t you see? Why would you want someone so old?!
He brought her water, settled her into a chair, covered her with a blanket, and left, slamming the door. She sat, sniffling, and realized that she should move to a dorm or her own place. She felt tossed aside like a kitten. Rejected. Humiliated. Pushed away.
He was handsome. She dreamt about him. He didn’t come home. Her mother said nothing. They drifted around the house, like ghosts.
He returned a few days later. Her mother was out, and she was home alone. She sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and studying. When he sat across from her, her heart skipped a beat. Looking tired, he told her, “I love your mother, accept that. Not you, your mother, and let’s not drag this out. We’re both adults here.” He never looked away while he spoke.
The grown-up girl lay awake the whole night with dry eyes and an empty head. The next morning, she bumped into him and her mother in the kitchen. They were kissing. She felt sick and just managed to make it to the bathroom in time.
She found a spot in a dorm. Her mother asked her to come back. A little while later, she gave her money for a flat.
She was 25, he was 35, and her mother was 45. Oddly enough, relations had almost healed. She started visiting as a guest. They shared meals, chatted, and laughed together. Her mother’s sister once said to her, “Thank goodness, you’ve grown up.”
Her mother was happy and calm. He remained as handsome as ever. No, he had become too handsome. She often caught herself comparing all her admirers to him, and she didn’t like the thought.
Then she experienced an unrequited love. Desperate. He was married with no intention of leaving. But she loved him. She waited for him near his workplace and wept. She didn’t want to be a “lunchtime wife.” Everything was happening painfully and chaotically. He took her to the seaside, bought her gifts, and wondered, wasn’t it enough? Did it all absolutely need to fit into some kind of format, with a veil first? And toothbrushes together in a cup. He’d been there before. Even the greatest love turns tedious when people are constantly in each other’s faces, dealing with everyday problems.
She disagreed, stubbornly shaking her head. And remembered how her mother’s husband kissed her in the kitchen. And how stupid she was to run off to the bathroom in revulsion. Why didn’t she understand that living together could be different? Beautiful, serene, genuine.
That year was tumultuous for her. She rarely popped back home. Occasionally, she’d meet her mother for coffee, and sometimes she’d stop by. Her mother had lost some weight, understandably, as she’d always taken meticulous care of herself. Her mother still had a handsome husband, and she, now mature and understanding, finally understood her mother.
She was 28, he was 38, and her mother was 48. A job opportunity came up in another city, and she took it. Or rather, she sought one to escape the past relationships that had drained nearly three years of her life.
She settled down at the new place. Calmed down. Even started a romance with a colleague, unmarried and pleasant. Seemed like she should be settling down, having kids. Figuring out her life.
Her mother’s husband visited her new city on a business trip. They went out for lunch. She felt happy and light-hearted. She shared everything about her new life, asked about mom and his work. He answered. She looked at his hands and felt a sharp, physical longing for him to hug her…
He seemed to understand. Fell silent. Fished for words. Feared offending her. But he spoke. He loved her, the little quirky girl, he understood her pain, resentments, desires. They’d always be good friends, and she could always count on his help.
Both felt awkward. She shook her head and laughed: what did she really want from him?
Then he called and informed her that her mother was feeling unwell and asked if she’d visit. She called her mother at once, who sounded tired but cheerful. Of course, my dear, you can visit over the weekend. Not this one, sure, finish your work. How about the next one? Yes, I’ll be glad to see you, I’ve missed you a lot. Have you forgiven me, her mother suddenly asked. For him, have you forgiven me? You liked him, I saw and knew it immediately. I’ve regretted how things turned out a hundred times. Please forgive me. Hurting you was the last thing I wanted…
Then he called again and said her mom was in the hospital. And she needed to come. She’d wrap up her work in two days and arrive. Two days isn’t long, right? Not long, come, we’ll have the test results and diagnosis by then.
She arrived, but it was too late to see her mother. He stood in the hospital corridor with empty eyes. Handsome and distant. Gave her a hard look. Then turned to the window.
After the funeral, she roamed the flat like a ghost. Rearranging things, rewashed clean dishes, brewed tea over and over, only to pour it out, cleaned windows.
He kept himself occupied with something too. Came home late from work. Didn’t have dinner. Silently slipped into the bedroom.
Once, when he wasn’t home, she peeked into the room. It smelled of her mother’s perfume and past happiness. Her heart ached when she saw her mother’s pictures on the dresser, walls, bedspread… She quickly shut the door.
She thought about how she never really understood them. And realized she never would.
