Chapter 61

Still Cindy's turn:

Toward lunch I asked Mom if she'd ever had Indian cuisine and if she liked it.

"I can do it," she said. "Why?"

"You get to meet my adopted grandma. My Hindi name is Chandra."

"Chandra?"

"Mmm-hmm," I said, smiling. I remember how happy that evening, my Hindi naming, was. "Indian moon goddess."

"Whose idea was that?" Mom asked.

"Oh, I guess I hung out around there too much trying to learn how they cook those wonderful things. Grandma Desai sort of took me under her wing. Her own grandkids are college age. They're at Auburn, too. I was a natural addition."

"Then I have to meet her," Mom said.

"DO you have any preference for a certain dish, or you want the lunch tray?"

"You do what you think is best," Mom said.

I made the phone call, gave 'em fifteen minutes, and we, me, Mom and Dan walked over. I suspect that the others were holding back to keep from overloading Mom with our crew all at once.

Walking into the restaurant we got seated by one of the waitstaff and fawned over by Grandma Desai, who, considering me her granddaughter automatically conferred 'daughter' status to Mom.

"Your mother, my Chandra's mother, is beautiful," she trilled.

Okay, when Mom tries ... or in this case, DOESN'T try, at least in her old skillset, she is pretty. When she's not trying to look like a bargirl, shoving her medium to small tits (that's where MINE came from) up to look bigger, laying on makeup in bizarre patterns, yes, okay ... I can buy 'pretty'. Of course, then I have to admit that Dan's not deluded when he calls ME pretty or cute or adorable or anything like those terms in the rest of the thesaurus. (And do NOT mention the term 'thesaurus' in front of the pTerri-dactyl)

Mom hears it from Grandma Desai, who's female, and therefore not on the make, and not one of her fellow bargirls, and it takes her by surprise. Mom melts. Speechless, then finally, "Oh, dear lady, thank you so very much."

What's this 'genteel and gracious' mom going to do to me? Don't get me wrong. I liked it. I often wondered what it would have been like to have a mom like Susan or Jason, but in those universes where do I end up with my Dan?

We ate lunch, bade Grandma Desai to sit with us for a while, enjoyed the meal immensely, then we took Mom to that cheap motel to gather her luggage. We went to her room to help her carry things out.

Yep, I looked. Non-smoking room. Just maybe...

Another piece of the puzzle on the ride back to the apartment. "Do you go to church?" she asked.

This from the mom who used to shove me out of the door on Sunday mornings so I could catch the church bus to Sunday School. And the answer is 'yes', maybe not every Sunday, but they know who we are at a Baptist church up the road. Dan says that one of the keys to recovery is changing who you hang around.

I wondered how tattooed Mom was going to fit in. After all, there are some really snotty types hanging around churches, too. I'd experienced them in the past.

"Just because you're in the oven doesn't make you a biscuit" was Mizz Helen's take. "People go to church for lots of reasons. Some of 'em never get it right, not even close."

In discussions with the sisterhood over the 'religion' thing, we have Susan and Jason, both of whom were brought up in the Baptist church, and the rest of us, who were on the periphery. Alan was an on and off again Methodist, my Dan is a Baptist, and Nikki's Dan was kind of iffy, not a member of a denomination, but still, in his words, a believer.

Non-compliance or not, Mom was more likely on better ground with church groups than the denizens of the local bars.

We brought Mom back home and left her in the apartment while Dan and I went back to tie up things for Friday. Some short time later I heard the back door open and Mom's voice interacting with other people. Make that Mom's new voice. None of the brass or the forced laugh. I remember this voice, too, it's just that in the last years we lived together, the other was much more in evidence.

She showed up at my office door. I looked. She'd changed clothes.

"I wanted to be a little more comfortable and I wasn't sure what to wear, so I thought I'd try to imitate my daughter."

I know some kids who, up on hearing that, would want to curl up and die. Those kids were afraid that their moms would be trying to act like a teenager again. Since I'd NEVER tried acting like a teenager in the first place, Mom was dressed in a nice pair of conventional jeans, NOT skin-tight, and because it was bit cool, a long-sleeved shirt. The sleeves served the purpose of covering a couple of tattoos. And instead of what Dan explained to me were called 'fuck-me heels', she was wearing a pair of cross-trainer athletic shoes.

Who are you and what did you do with my mom?

Okay, we made a pot of coffee and sat in the little kitchenette and nibbled cookies. Tina came in, trailed by Terri and Rachel.

"Hi, Mizz Smith," Terri said. "Are you settled in?"

"I'm getting that way," Mom said. "I have a place to stay for a little while until I get my own place."

"At Cindy's, I suppose," Terri said.

"Terri, do NOT press people with questions," Tina said.

"Oh, it's okay," Mom returned. "I'm new ... Interesting." She paused. "Why aren't you two in school?"

"Uh-oh," I thought. Mom just uncorked the pTerri-dactyl.

And Rachel charged in first. "We're being home-schooled."

"We don't fit the public school system, Mizz Smith," Terri added. "I don't know if I'd even be in high school."

"I would," Rachel said, "and can you imagine me in high school? 'Cuz I can't."

"Neither can I and Beck," Tina injected. "The local school board's trying to get approval to award Terri a high school diploma. She's too young to take a GED test under the normal rules, but she took it anyway."

"And passed it?" Mom asked.

Terri went into her 'I'm just a young, tender little girl' mode. "Yes, ma'am."

"And you're nine?"

"Just about."

Mom looked up at Tina.

"I know, right?" Tina smiled.

"Somebody stored their teabags at a nuclear reactor," Mom said.

I caught my jaw before it thumped on the tabletop when it dropped. My mom making a joke about nuclear reactors?

Tina, however, giggled. "Yes, ma'am! Something's definitely responsible for this. We figured a neutrino shower..."

Mom smiled, and it wasn't that 'I don't get it but I'll smile anyway' smile.

"I'd run down the list of things these two are into, but it'd sound like I'm bragging. And I'm just the step-mom," Tina said.

"My evil step-mother," Terri said, over-acting. "Cinderella has a life of luxury compared to me. Sometimes they flog me."

Rachel giggled at her friend's joke. "And then they force 'er to eat Cindy's cookies."

Mom's eyes flicked over to me. "You bake cookies?"

"Dan commanded me to become a domestic goddess. I bake cookies."

"Chandra's magic spice box," Terri popped.

"Is that an Indian thing?" queried Mom.

"When Grandma Desai conferred my name and my bindi, she gave me a beautiful Indian spice box. Said a mother gives one to her daughter when she becomes a wife."

"Oh, gosh, Cindy..." Mom's voice sank.

"Oh, Mom, don't go there. We were in different places in our lives, okay. I didn't mean it like that. I meant it as an honor presented to me by a friend."

"You have to show me when we're back in the apartment.

"And Cindy makes sugar cookies and she dips into that spice box and magic happens," Rachel said. "My Bubbe even said so."

"'Bubbe' is a Jewish grandma," Tina added helpfully.

"Oh," Mom said. "You're Jewish?" she asked Rachel.

"Mmm-hmm. Yes, ma'am. We try to keep kosher 'n' everything, Dad says, but it's hard. We do have a mezuzah on our door, though."

"A what?"

"Mezuzah. Little box with a Scripture phrase in it. Dad says it's supposed to remind us that when we come and go every day, the Lord watches over us."

"That's a wonderful explanation, Sweetie," Mom said. "And I understand it better now." She smiled at me. "In a hundred yards I go from a statue of Ganesh to a mezuzah."

"And a casserole. We're Baptist," Tina laughed.

"You people," Mom said. "Cindy ... I'm trying not to start crying again. How did all this stuff happen?"

Terri took Mom's right hand in both of hers, looked up in that 'innocent little girl' thing, and said, "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..."

Rachel added to it. "Once upon a time..."

And then I heard another voice saying "Sounds like a happy bunch here."

"Mister Billlllll!" I squealed. "Mom, this is Mister Bill. Mister Bill, this is my mom. Mom, Mister Bill's another reason I'm an engineer. And he's my adopted grandfather."

Mom started to stand.

"No, don't stand. I always wondered who might be Cindy's mom." He smiled. "I can see some resemblances. I've very pleased to meet you, uh ... let's see if I remember. Oh, yeah, Mizz Smith."

"Donna," Mom said. "If Cindy's this excited about you showing up, I'm pleased to meet you as well."

"Coming home to this gang is the high point of this job," Mister Bill said. "Although the young lady standing behind me is going to deal me misery."

The young lady in question was Maddy, our #2 bean-counter. She's responsible for tracking the billing and invoicing and other financial matters for Bill's current project, some substation upgrades in Western Georgia. Dan says that bean-counters are the minions of the devil, and Maddie and Beck make a pleasant pair.

"Come on, Mister Bill," Maddie said. "I have a list."

Mister Bill feigned misery. "Just what I wanted to hear. 'I have a list.' Are we having a gathering this evening? I could use some laughter and music."

"We'll see who shows up, but I'm sure we will," Tina said. "You're coming, right?"

"Oh, certainly," Mister Bill said.

"So. This gathering Bill talks about. That's that singing thing you wrote about?" Mom asked.

"Uh, I'm just a tiny little part of it. Let's see, Stoney and Johanna are out, so we're missing one banjo and a flute, but we have Sim – that's Rachel's dad – on violin, and two more violins, Kara, for sure, and Bert, maybe..."

"Bert'll be there. Him and Kara..." Tina interjected.

"So, okay, three violins. Dan's guitar. The other Dan's Cajun accordion and Nikki's triangle..."

"Triangle?" Mom asked.

"It's musical and it's a Cajun thing. Don't get Nikki started," Tina laughed.

I had a happy picture of Kara on violin, Dan 2.0, his brow knit with concentration as he played his accordion, and Nikki behind him grinning, tinkling away on her triangle as they worked through a Cajun two-step. I told 'em we needed a REAL Cajun who could sing the lyrics in French.

Bill was smiling. "That's a pretty good place to be on a Friday night. I'll bring some chips and drinks."

"You don't have to," my Dan said.

"Oh, I'm going to contribute something besides my old butt sitting in a chair soaking up the happiness."