Body Language. Millie Criswell
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Ellie adored her mother, but she was happy and relieved that the woman lived in Florida and not New York. No way did she want to deal with Rosemary Peters on a regular basis. She’d had enough of that growing up.
Anal was the word to describe her mother, or maybe it was obsessive, as in obsessive-compulsive. The woman made Mr. Clean look like a pathetic pig! Rosemary carried a can of Lysol around with her wherever she went; germs didn’t stand a chance in her presence.
And neither did daughters who had no boyfriends.
“So, are you and Ben still considering buying a house on Long Island? If you do, I won’t be able to baby-sit Jonah, which would be awful.” Ellie liked feeling maternal, as long as that feeling didn’t last for more than three or four hours. She loved kids, but knew her limitations.
“I bet you guys will miss the excitement of the city if you leave.”
Becky nodded, not looking at all happy about the prospect of moving to the suburbs. “Ben is determined to live closer to his parents. He thinks the city is lacking in child developmental activities and wants to raise Jonah in a more ‘normal’ atmosphere, whatever that is.”
Taking another bite out of her turkey sub, Ellie mourned the lack of mayonnaise and her friend’s possible move. “I suppose there are good and bad points to living in both locations. You’ll be far from the madding crowd, but also far from the great restaurants and theaters.”
“Ben promises that we can still come into the city for our social activities.” But Becky’s skeptical expression indicated she knew that wasn’t likely to happen.
Once Ben got a taste of suburbia, with grocery stores that had more than two aisles and streets with more than one tree for every sixteen thousand people, he’d be hooked. Casseroles and carpools would become a new way of life for Becky Morgan.
It was probably fortunate that Ellie hated casseroles, especially tuna, and didn’t know how to drive.
And it was also very fortunate that she didn’t have anyone, especially a man, telling her what to do.
And the most fortunate thing of all was that she was finally getting her shit together, not to mention her life.
THE PHONE RANG and Ellie’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. “It’s my mother, Barn,” she told the dog. “I can feel the negative energy surrounding me. There’s a dark aura emanating from the phone. Can you see it?”
The bulldog, who was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, amidst dozens of rumpled packing papers, covered his muzzle with his front paws and whined pathetically.
“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, you silly boy. That’s Mom’s role.” And did Rosemary ever play it well. Had the woman been a real actress she would have won the Oscar. With a sigh, Ellie picked up the phone.
“Oh, Ellie, there you are. I was beginning to think you weren’t home.”
“Hi, Mom! I’ve been unpacking. My new apartment is still quite a mess, but I love it. Or I will, as soon as I finish getting everything straightened out.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
Visit alert! Visit alert! Take evasive action.
Ellie did not want her mother visiting. “I’m sure it’s going to take me a while to get the apartment decorated.” Like about ten years or maybe never.
Ben Franklin said that fish and company stank after three days. In her mother’s case, it took about three hours.
“The apartment looks like shit right now, and I don’t have enough furniture to fill it. I’m really lacking in the bedroom area.”
Wasn’t that the damn truth!
“Such language, Ellie. Ladies shouldn’t swear.”
Sticking her head in the fridge, she debated ending it all, but decided against it and reached instead for the closest thing edible: a moldy piece of cheese. She bit off a hunk from the least offensive end.
Her mother’s visits, threatened or real, were always good for at least ten pounds. She prayed the woman wouldn’t be coming to stay any time soon. She really needed to lose weight.
And keep her sanity.
“How’s Dad? Has he been working a lot?” Her father, Theodore, or Ted, as he liked to be called, was a certified public accountant who worked out of his house. March and April were his busiest months, and the rest of the year he just coasted, doing books and reports for a number of firms he’d serviced over the last twenty-five years.
“Your father spends every waking moment on that computer of his. He’s on the Internet constantly. I don’t think that can be good for him, Ellie. He’s become a recluse, not wanting to go out shopping or to a movie, or do anything that remotely smacks of fun.
“I’m going nuts. We’ve lived in Florida for five years and I haven’t been to the beach, even one time. My friends, especially Estelle Romano, are starting to talk.”
“Have you considered going by yourself?”
“What fun would that be?”
Ellie could hear the agitation in her mother’s voice and it worried her. Rosemary Peters was usually in control of herself, others, and any given situation. You could even say she was a bit…uh, controlling.
“You need to calm down and think about this rationally, Mom. You know Dad’s the quiet type. And now that he’s found the Internet it’s only natural that he’d be drawn to it. A lot of people have given up reading and television in favor of being online.”
“It’s not healthy, I’m telling you. The man needs exercise. He’s not getting any younger, and he’s developing a paunch. Why, the other day he could barely lace up his shoes.”
Ellie patted her stomach, and then tossed the cheese in the kitchen sink. “Yeah, well I can relate. I’m trying to lose a few pounds, myself.”
“Stop! You’re skin and bones.” Her mother’s tone bespoke horror. “Why would you want to lose weight? Men don’t want to take a skeleton to bed.”
Diet wasn’t part of any card-carrying Italian’s vocabulary, unless, of course, an annoying husband was involved. Then all bets were off. Any Italian woman worth her salt had a ready exception for every rule.
“I’m hardly a skeleton, Mom. Skeletons don’t have cellulite. And since I’m not sleeping with anyone at the moment, that’s not a factor.”
“Don’t tell me about your sex life. I don’t want to know about such things.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who brought it up. And I’m hardly a child. You must have figured out by now that I have sex with men.”
“Well, at least it’s not with women. For that I should be grateful, no?”
“And I don’t do drugs or sell myself on the street, so you should be grateful for that, too.”
“You’re a naughty girl, Ellie. I should have washed your mouth out with soap more often when you were little. Maybe then you’d show some respect to your mother.”
Aretha Franklin had nothing on Ellie’s mother when it came to demanding R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Rosemary felt her exalted position as mother superior, so to speak, rated treatment from her family equal only to that bestowed upon the pope.
Rosemary probably would have loved everyone to genuflect in front of her, but she hadn’t made that request as of yet.
“Lighten up, will you, Mom? I was only kidding. You need to learn to take a joke.”
“Maybe you’re right, dear. I’m sorry. I’ve been a little tense these past few weeks. Your father…”
“Will be fine. Dad is Dad. He’s got