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Up late? Read Moonlight Mamas. Inspired writings and poems by moms like you. www.moonlightmamas.com

Chapter 18

November 2, 2009 | Filed Under Meeghan | 4 Comments

Meeghan sat in her black BMW in front of her mother’s Inner Sunset home. She opened her hand and stared at the white pill sitting in her palm for a moment before pushing it into her mouth.

It was almost 5:30. Her mother would be getting the kids ready for a dinner prepared, no doubt, with both skill and love. Meeghan marveled at how she’d managed to get the first part down, but adding “love” was a meal ingredient she never could seem to muster up. It had been chased away by her need to be perfect. For Max.

Somehow during the years they’d been married, all of the things she used to love to do: shopping, cooking, even tidying up their home between housekeeping visits, had become unbearable. It was impossible to buy a novel or pick out a fall trench without wondering, “What would Max think?”

Meeghan rested her body against the steering wheel and hugged its leather curves.

She wasn’t afraid of the meeting before the judge tomorrow even though she knew losing was inevitable. Nobody beats Max. She wondered what he wanted. Her mind wouldn’t let her consider that it was the children.

A tap on the driver’s side window startled Meeghan. It was Melanie. The small girl looked at her mother solemnly. Meeghan began to wind down the window and then thought it better to open the door.

“Hi honey, how was school today?” She struggled to sound enthusiastic.

“Good. When are we going to see daddy,” Melanie asked in a voice more mature than a 6 year-old should posses. Meeghan noticed how her inquiry didn’t really sound like a question at all– more like a patient demand.

“Soon soon. Let’s go inside.”

Meeghan took Melanie by the hand and walked her up the stairs and into the warm home.

“Mom’s home!” Melanie called into the house before collapsing onto the couch and switching on the television. She made it sound like a half-warning.

Melanie’s mother, a petite woman in her early fifties, peeked into the living room from the kitchen.

“Hi honey. Come in and make yourself useful, ” she sang with a smile.

Meeghan reluctantly made her way into the kitchen. Chopped red bell peppers, onions, and garlic sat waiting on a cutting board on one counter, fresh bread cooled on another. Pots sat atop all four burners, bubbling away, releasing different but complimentary scents.

Before she could say anything an apron was being tied around Meeghan’s waist. She thought about the $400 sweater she was wearing and how 2 square feet of polyester wasn’t going to protect it.

Meeghan’s mother went back to chopping vegetables and gave her daughter a wooden spoon. She motioned toward which pot needed stirring. Slowly and awkwardly, Meeghan stirred.

“How was your day, Meeghan?’

“Great mom, I met up with the girls and then had a quick meeting with the attorney…”

“Very nice, how is Dawn? Is River still saving the world?”

“They’re fine.”

“How old is Lisa’s daughter now?”

“She’s one.”

“So cute that Gracie is. Lisa is such a sweet mother, too. And wife.”

Meeghan was starting to feel sick. Suddenly the food didn’t smell all that nice.

“She really is.”

“You know I’ve always told you and your sisters: being a wife and mother is as important as any other job in the world. It takes dedication, commitment.”

Meeghan stared into the red pot of whatever she was mixing, secretly hoping it would start to burn.

“Yep. Yep,” she answered hypnotizing herself with the around and around motion of her spoon.

“Children take a lot of work to raise. It’s why stayed home to take care of all of you. I could have done many other things with my life. Wonderful things, but I realized that the only success that mattered was having a happy home life. If you don’t have that…”

Meeghan had stopped stirring and a large bubble of red liquid burst on to her sweater and face. The hot splatter stung and for a moment she wondered if someone had slapped her.

Her mother rushed over with a dish towel.

“Oh dear, are you okay?” she said as she carefully and lovingly wiped the thick liquid from her daughter’s face and then began to dab it from her soiled top. “I think it’s ruined. I’ll get you another. Where is it from?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to use the restroom.”

Meeghan undid her apron and handed it to her mom.

She stood in the small bathroom staring into the mirror. Red flecks sat on her cheeks. “Just like war paint,” she thought, “but then again, I’ve never fought for anything in my life.”

Warm water splashed from the sink quickly removed any signs of battle. Trashing the sweater required no mourning ceremony as it had been a gift from her husband. It now sat amongst snippets of toilet paper rolls and Q-tips in the trash. Standing in her bra, Meeghan opened the mirror and removed the prescription bottle. She raised it as if initiating a toast at her best friend’s wedding.

“Cheers.”

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