“I read your post the other day. Have you patched things up with your mom?” P asks. I’m wincing at the DJ’s sudden delve into bad ’90s pop while trying to avoid dumping my vodka & soda down P’s shirt. We’re standing by the bar at one of those Chelsea clubs that take me less than five minutes to remember why I usually avoid them like ebola.
“I’m working on it.” I wave to C, the friend who invited us to this party. She’s busy with some pec-covered Adonis clad in a pair of red boxer shorts. I briefly wonder whether he showed up that way, or stripped when he got here.
“I don’t get it, it sounds like all you two do is fight with each other. Why do you keep talking?” P asks, gesturing with his drink-free hand.
“It’s funny, a lot of people have asked me that, and the answer seems so obvious. Why do we keep talking? Because she’s my mother!”
“So? I mean I know girls who don’t communicate with their moms anymore because all they did was fight.”
“First of all, we don’t only fight. Second, even if we were both stocking up on numchucks and chainsaws for our next visit, I would still want to talk to her.”
“Sounds a little masochistic to me.”
“No, I think the opposite is true. You get your parents the way they are. I’m never going to have a different mother. She’s been a big part of my life, shaped who I am whether I like it or not. And cutting her out would hurt me far more than trading barbs right now about how I’m an ungrateful child. The energy it would drain to keep up animosity levels and not talk to her is far greater than the effort it takes to apologize. ”
“I don’t know. Fighting with someone like that is incredibly draining.”
“Sure, for a day or so. But think about it, the longterm effects of keeping a bad relationship in your life, it’s like a vacuum sucking your energy over time. Trying to eliminate a parent by pretending they no longer exist is pointless, because it won’t happen. If I cut out a member of my family, they’ll stick there in my gut every day, whether I realize it or not, and it’ll only end up hurting us both.”
“I guess. I’ve never really thought about it that way.” He steps back as a girl tottering on 4-inch heels tumbles past us, letting the bar break her fall.
I pull him to a safe zone in a corner, as far from the bass-belching speakers as possible. “Here’s an example. I know a woman who didn’t talk to her mom for five years. Now they live fifteen minutes from each other and visit at least three times a week. She said the minute they saw each other after the five-year period she felt like someone had lifted a brick off her head that she didn’t even know was there. While it’s great that they reconciled, I don’t want to end up like them.”
“But you know people never change. You two will just keep butting heads and having nasty scenes.”
“Maybe so. But at least I’ll have my mother.”
“Ok, fair point.”
“Now how about we get everyone together and all flee the building. I need a cheeseburger in a massive way.”
“Sounds like a plan.”