19

19

A s Flora boots up the video-calling app, she notes the time. It's not even noon. How is that possible? The days get longer and longer.

She used to wish for more hours. Back when she was working at the hospital, she used to curse the clock for moving so quickly. How would she ever get caught up with all the test results and patient calls and internal emails? Even her remote research job quickly ate up the hours of the day, despite its tendency toward the mundane. But now the days drag imperceptibly slowly, and although she has a mountain of housework to get done, she is usually chained to a small human who renders her immobile. So the days are not only long but also unproductive. It's a deadly combination.

The video turns on and Flora's face pops on to the screen. It's a shocking sight. Her hair is thinning around her face, and the spaces beneath her eyes sink farther inward every day. Even her lips, which are cracked in two places, have lost their color.

She makes a feeble attempt to improve her appearance: pinching her cheeks, licking her lips, fastening her baby hairs down behind her ears. But it's useless. She decides, instead, to apply a filter through the app and play it off as a joke with her husband if he notices.

The ringing tone goes on for almost a minute without an answer. Flora immediately tries again, but she knows the chances are slim that Connor is available to talk. Usually, he's the one to initiate the calls. She doesn't even know what time zone he's in.

Flora opts to leave him a video message that he can view next time he's at the computer. She tells him about the monitor being hacked and having to switch off the Wi-Fi. She also tells him about the falling leaves on her walk, the bloody clog she pumped out, and Wanda's hard-to-digest enthusiasm and newly trimmed (unflattering) bangs.

She does not mention her mother.

She almost does; she considers it, almost allows it to slip out while recounting the walk in the woods, but she stops herself. Connor would be upset—frantic, even—if he knew Jodi was here. He never trusted Jodi, but the wedding was the final straw.

They were married at a farm in central Virginia, not far from where Connor spent his childhood. The wedding itself felt like a huge family affair, since many of the vendors were Connor's friends. Flora loved it. She had always dreamed of having a big family. Both she and Connor were only children, but Connor grew up in a small town with tons of neighbors. It was like having a dozen cousins just down the street. Flora's family never extended beyond their tiny threesome.

Flora knew her mother probably thought the whole home-grown-wedding vibe was tacky. And Jodi said nothing to correct that assumption. In fact, she spent most of the day sulking. At one point just before the ceremony, Flora spotted her mom at the edge of the property looking out at the approaching storm clouds. Her shawl blew behind her in the warm summer breeze, and she held her arms close to her chest. There was a heavy sadness about her, and Flora was drawn to her by an invisible string. She joined her mom by the rotting yet charming log fence and placed her hand gently on Jodi's lower back. Jodi turned and smiled the saddest smile Flora had ever seen. There was no joy in her eyes.

Flora was then whisked away for the ceremony. Just after she and Connor exchanged vows, the rain started. The wedding party grabbed umbrellas and held them over the bride's and groom's heads as everyone dispersed and ran into the barn, laughing and skipping through the torrential downpour.

It was perfect.

Throughout the reception, whenever Flora caught her mother's gaze across the room, it was full of grief and sadness. A small smile would spread across Jodi's lips, as if she were saying I'm so sorry. Finally, when a bus arrived to take the first wave of guests home, Flora couldn't take it anymore. Her mom shouldn't get to ruin this day. She shouldn't get to be all mysterious and sad and lurk in the shadows as a punishing reminder that Flora would always be part of a small, fucked-up family and would never really fit in with this boisterous, huge, loving family of friends to which Connor belonged.

Flora found her mom outside. The rain had stopped during the reception, and Jodi was standing near a puddle attempting to wipe mud from the bottom of her shoe.

"What's going on?" Flora asked, suddenly catapulted by vigorous energy. "What has been so horrible about this day that you haven't been able to smile once?"

"What are you talking about?" Jodi said, looking around to see if anyone could hear them. "I haven't said a word."

"You don't have to," Flora said. "That's the point. It's in your face. You're clearly upset about something, and you obviously want me to ask. Because, of course, you just can't stand that this day is about me so you've got to make it about you —"

"I'm tired, Flora. I'm getting on the bus."

Flora could have left it at that, could have shrugged and walked away, but something about her beautiful white dress and the sparkly lights and the champagne bubbles in her head gave her the confidence she needed to let it all out.

"You spent this entire day wanting to leave! Counting down the minutes until you're free."

"I did not—"

"And I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since that's how you've been my whole life. Always waiting. Waiting to be done with the pesky task of mothering."

"I don't know where this is coming from," Jodi said, looking down to fiddle with her shawl.

"Oh, Mom," Flora retorted with a bite in her tone, "you clearly never wanted to be a mother. It's so obvious. You always acted like you had to give something up to be my mom, some grand life." Flora gestured wildly with her arms, as if finally breaking free from the ropes of her mother. "I don't know what I did to make you so miserable, but you know what? Go. Do what you've always wanted to do: leave. I don't care anymore. I can't. I don't have the energy it takes to be enough for you or to prove to you that I'm worth it. So just go !"

Jodi stared at her daughter. She reached out and took Flora's hand, the first time that entire day she showed any sign of compassion. Her eyes softened, and the moment was intimate. It was what Flora had craved since that morning, since putting on her wedding dress and walking down the aisle and becoming a wife.

"Okay, Flora," her mother said. She reached up and lovingly wiped a stray hair from Flora's face. "If that's what you want."

And then she left.

Flora doesn't blame Connor for being protective. And normally, she appreciates his efforts to act as a buffer between her and Jodi.

But telling him that her mother is here would only worry him. And, perhaps even more importantly, she doesn't want him to tarnish whatever connection she and her mother are miraculously managing to salvage.

Flora can feel it: this time is special. She asked for help, and her mom delivered. She showed up.

This time is different.