That Spark

HERE

"There she is! . . ."

I plaster a small smile on my face and walk into my mother's open arms as she stands up from the couch. She kisses both my cheeks, and I try not to barf. Her pungent perfume is making me heady. I catch Dean's understanding smile just in time. When it came to my mom, Dean and I were dangerously united.

"Mom--Mother." I greet her with a bigger smile to cover up. She had insisted I call her mother; a term more formal, all part of her scheme of climbing up the ladder.

"Good morning, darling. Oh, I hope you're not sick. You look very pale."

"Um . . . no, I'm fine, mother."

"'Um' is not a word, dear." She pats my cheek and I watch Dean roll his eyes. I try to hide my smile as she turns to Hayden in Dean's arms, keeping a safe distance. She was always worried toddlers would throw up on her expensive outfits.

I am so glad I remember so little of my childhood.

But she wasn't always like this. It had all started with husband number two, after a seemingly serendipitous meet, I think. Right after my father died. It was when I was too young so I have too little to remember of him to miss him, so . . .

Anyway, husband number two was a wealthy and handsome man, and things got better for us. I was actually famous in school. Everyone pointed fingers at me and went 'Hey, look! That's Richmond David's stepdaughter!' And that title on the certificate was as far and comfortable as my relationship with Mr. David went.

My mother was happy, though. And it was then that I had started to see the changes in her.

My real dad hadn't much to leave behind for us; we came from humble beginnings so naturally, my mother chose to forget all about it. She wanted to be all about what she had now. I had heard her telling me once that #2 owned fifteen percent of the businesses in the Tristate area. Not really my playground, but I'm guessing that's a lot now. I don't remember much of the fancy home either. I'm sure it was luxurious, because I don't remember my mother complaining about him.

Until the divorce, of course.

But through the years, my mother has persistently kept climbing up that ladder, dragging me along with her and landing me in Dean's lap by the time I was twenty. Right about the time when she was with #3. And now here she is, recently wed to #4, standing before me in a red executive business suit and playing with my daughter from a meter away. Number four just happens to be a politician. Not my playground either.

"Oh, my. She keeps getting more adorable every time I see her."

Hayden giggles in the cutest way as mother tickles her under her foot.

"You are so beautiful, darling . . . Oh, Jill, come look!"

I walk over with a smile.

"Doesn't she look just like me?"

Dean graciously masks his mockery under a cough, handing Hayden to me and walking into the kitchen. I do the trick with a bite of my lip.

"Sure, mother. The resemblance is uncanny."

Dean clears his throat and I smile. Fortunately, Hayden has all of my unsuspecting mother's attention. Mother's really slow for someone at her place. But that didn't mean she wasn't beautiful. Or that she couldn't hurt.

We are presently distracted by the loud clanking of dishes and we look behind us to watch Dean in his work clothes fumble with the skillet.

"Do you need some help with that, darling?"