Mary said, “I understand.” Again they were silent. Then Mary said, holding her girl’s wrist, “Don’t tell your sisters how I recognized you when you were born, and how I didn’t recognize them—I don’t like secrets. But you should know.”
Angelina said, sitting up straighter, “Then it must mean—”
“We don’t know what it means,” her mother said. “We don’t know what anything means in this whole world. But I know what I knew when I saw you. And I know you have always made me so happy. I know you are my dearest little angel.” （She did not say, and only fleetingly did she think: And you have always taken up so much space in my heart that it has sometimes felt to be a burden.）
In the kitchen, while they found the pans and pots and boiled the water and heated the sauce, Mary was close to ecstatic. Happiness thrummed through her—she could eat it like bread! To be in the kitchen with her girl, to speak of ordinary things, the children, Angelina’s job as a teacher—oh, it was wonderful. She turned the lamps on in the dining space and they ate the pasta and talked of Angelina’s sisters. A glass of wine in her and Mary said, “My word, what you said about those Nicely girls. My goodness.”
“Oh.” Angelina wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Want to hear some gossip?”
“Oh yes,” said Mary.
“Remember Charlie Macauley? Come on, you have to remember him.”
“I do remember him. He was tall, a nice man. Then he went to Vietnam. Boy, that was so sad.”
“Yes, that’s him. Well, it turns out he’d been seeing a prostitute in Peoria, all the while telling his wife that he was going to a veterans’ support group thing. Wait, wait— Well, apparently he gave this prostitute ten thousand dollars and his wife found out and she kicked him out.”
“Angelina.”
“She did. She kicked him out. And guess who he’s with now? Come on, Mom, guess!”
“Angel, I can’t.”
“Patty Nicely!”
“No.”
“Yes! Okay, Patty won’t come right out and tell me, but she’s lost weight, did I tell you she’d gained weight and the kids at school call her Fatty Patty? Well, she’s certainly been very nice to Charlie, she looks wonderful, and they were friends anyway, kind of. So there you go.” Angelina gave her mother a meaningful nod. “You never know.”
“My goodness,” Mary said. “Angel, that is wonderful gossip, my word. They call her Fatty Patty, the kids at school? To her face?”
“No. I don’t think she even knows. Just once.” Angelina sighed, pushing her plate back. “She’s awfully nice.”
—
When they finished eating, Mary went and sat on the sofa. She patted the place next to her and Angelina joined her, bringing her wineglass with her. “Listen to me,” Mary said. “Listen to what I have to tell you.”
Angelina sat up straight and looked at her mother’s feet. She felt that only now did she see that her mother’s ankles were no longer tiny, as they had always been.
“You were thirteen. I came to pick you up at the library. And I yelled at you—” Mary’s voice suddenly quavered, and Angelina looked at her, saying, “Mommy—” But her mother shook her head and said, “No, honey, let me go on. I only want to say I yelled at you, I really yelled at you, I have no idea what about, but I yelled and you were frightened, and I was yelling because I had found out about your father and Aileen, but I never told you about that—until, well, you know, a million years later, but the point is, honey, I frightened you, I yelled at you, and you were frightened.” Mary looked past Angelina toward the window, and her face moved. “And I am so, so sorry,” she said.
After a moment, Angelina asked, “Is that it?”
Mary looked at her. “Well, yes, honey. I’ve felt terrible about it for years.”
“I don’t remember it. It doesn’t matter.” But Angelina thought she did remember, and inside her now she cried, Mom, he was a stupid pig, but so what, Mom, please, Mom—Please don’t leave, Mommy! After many moments, Angelina said, “Mom, it was so long ago, that stuff with Aileen. Did you leave Daddy because of that? Because it sure took you long enough.” She could hear the coldness of her tone. It was as if the wine had turned on her; she felt that cold toward her mother, suddenly.
Mary said thoughtfully, “I just don’t know, honey, but I think I would not have left.”