Page 127 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
“It’s a silly name.”
He heard her set the tray down on the table. “Hold your hands out,” she said.
She placed the bowl of soup in his hands.
“I agree,” she said. He heard her settle down, heard the clanking of her spoon on her bowl. “It is a silly name. I wanted very badly to be called Gus. That, I thought at least was a bit edgy. Sort of a nice, boyish name. Auggie sounds like somebody’s pet dog.”
“That isn’t quite what I thought. But a valid concern.”
She laughed. “I got used to it. It’s just what stuck. There’s not much you can do about that. I always wonder what my mother was thinking, though.”
He took a cautious bite of soup. It was sweet and spicy. There was a hint of curry to it.
“Curried sweet potato,” she said. Which made him aware that he must’ve made a face, and she had responded to it.
“Very good,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Your mother was always single?”
“Yes,” said Auggie. “She never married. She didn’t give me any details about my father, not really. I mean I know I could do a DNA test or something, and find out more about him, but part of me is hesitant to do that. Once you open Pandora’s box you can’t close it again. What if he’s married, I mean, what if he was married when they got together? Or what if he’s a bad person? Or what if he’s dead. And then it’s just more grief that I didn’t have to sign on for.”
“I don’t blame you for that,” he said. “Life has proven to me that it is more often cruel than not.”
“I’m not sure that’s my takeaway. But I’m also not sure that I want to take on any more family members.”
“You had a lonely childhood.”
He felt her stillness. The way that it shifted the air around her when he said that.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I did. I knew other kids who had very strict parents. Who had to be mature because there was some expectation being put on them. Because their mother or father didn’t really like them being children. But that wasn’t what happened with my mother. She needed me to be there for her. She didn’t want that, but at the same time, I think she was very grateful that she had a daughter who could help take care of her. Her own mother lived far away and wasn’t able to help care for her. She died before my mother did. There was just no one else in her life.”
She paused, and he heard her shift in her chair. “It’s funny I... I feel like talking to you about your past, it’s making me think of mine differently. I always had the feeling that she had made a lot of decisions that put her in a very lonely place, and that she regretted it, but I didn’t know how to talk to her about it. I was caught in a place where I still saw her as my mother, and therefore not only human, not fully frail. But she was. I did my best to be there for her, but it meant not being there for myself. But I had limited time with her, so... It isn’t like I could have deferred caring for her until I was older. And if not me... It would’ve been just home care nurses, and a rotating group of them at that. It wouldn’t have been the same. And how much better would my life be if I was off at homecoming or prom instead of at home watching movies with her. They’re memories I don’t have the chance to make up for again.”
She sighed heavily. “And she really was a wonderful mother. She did everything she could. She tried. We went for walks in the evening when the weather was nice, even when she didn’t have a lot of energy. She told me that I was smart, and that I was brave. I was lonely, but I often don’t think that I really have the right to be. Because she was there for me. It’s just not the same as having friends and toys and a social life. It’s not the same as having easy. I think you can have a life filled with all kinds of different love. And when you’re a child often that love is free of responsibility. It’s easy. I never really got to experience that love. For me, it always held responsibility.”
Something tore at him. This image of a child who didn’t know what it was to have a love that didn’t have cost. He was not often moved by other people’s stories, his own was so difficult, it was often difficult for him to find empathy.
But not now. She got beneath his skin. She touched him.
He knew exactly what that was like. To never have love or care feel like something you could take for granted. He knew what that was like. All too well.
He felt undone by this. By the heavy feeling in his chest. She hadn’t chosen that life, and she had emerged from it strong.
So many children were born into loving, easy families. But not her. Not him.
If she hadn’t chosen this, then perhaps he...
He pushed that aside.
“What about your mother?” she asked.
He paused. “I... I don’t even know how to talk about my mother. She is still living. I never hear from her. I guess you could say she was never a major influence in my life. My father took control of everything, my mother sat back quietly. She spent his money...she gave him his heirs. I’m not angry at her. I’m not. She can’t even grieve her own daughter properly because he won’t allow it, because he says she can’t cry for a person who caused their own death. He owns even her thoughts, and I can only pity her. I am not angry with her.”
He sat there for a moment, and wondered if that was true.
But their father had not abused them with fists. He had ruled over them, had manipulated them. But their lives hadn’t been in danger. In truth, they had all been like frogs slowly boiling in water.