Chapter 442: Jo XII—Same Mistakes
Out of the blue, that’s the way she liked it Josefina supposed. Even the color, Jo remembered blue print dresses, sapphires on her throat and around her wrists, but as much as she loved blue she didn’t wear it often, just every now and then. One wouldn’t want to overuse a color. Out of the blue wearing blue, even a pale blue wide brimmed straw hat, protecting her pale skin from the bright Arizona sun, the smile on huge on her mouth, her black eyes sparkling. “Hello, baby.”
Ah she knew she should be angry, and aloof, and bitter but beside herself, Josefina let her body fall into her mother’s tall, smooth, soft body, tight hug and she closed her eyes. “Hey, Mom.”
“Josefina you’ve lost weight since I saw you last,” Monique said, as any mother, straight to the analytical point, she held Jo back at arms length.
“Um, thanks Mom.”
Monique half closed her eyes and pursed her lips, plumper and shinier than Josefina could ever remember them, a little too plump. Collagen, fat injections, whatever the means Jo knew that end. “That’s wasn’t a compliment Josefina.”
“Oh.”
“There’s slim, and there’s graceful,” Monique said sliding her arm around Jo’s waist and guiding her into the café, “Ruiz for two,” she said to the young woman who stood at the reservation book. After all this time she still had not changed from the name her father had given her. “Thank you.” Jo looked into her mother’s smile, “As I was saying, there is a slim that is befitting some women, that is exquisite, but on other women, it serves as only a depletion of natural resources.” Monique’s eyes crinkled a little mischievously and Jo rolled her eyes.
“Mom!”
Mom laughed and they followed the waiter to their reserved table, Jo sat down heavily onto the pale pastel cushioned chair and looked at the flower floating in a goblet of water as the centerpiece. “Iced tea, please,” she said to the waiter.
“Lemon and water,” Monique said smiling, the waiter had pulled her seat out for her and made sure she slid in quite comfortably thank you very much. Jo could already see his eyes completely enraptured with the older woman. As the waiter scurried away to comply with her requests Monique pulled out her compact from her purse and perused her smooth, alabaster nose. “When was the last time I saw you, darling, it’s so good to see you.”
“Two years, I think,” Jo replied.
“I’m terrible,” Monique said with a sigh.
“Sooo,” Jo said and she nodded to the waiter who gave set her drink down in front of her. “What brings you here? You just wanted to see me? On vacation or something? I mean you’re not doing those perfume ads anymore are you?”
“I am,” Monique nodded, “In Paris, but not here, I was tossed over for someone a lot younger.” Rueful smile, “But that doesn’t matter, I came down to see you of course. I wanted to see how you’re doing, spend some time with you is that good?”
“Fine,” Jo
said, and she really didn’t want to sound too grateful either. She didn’t look
at her as she poured sugar into her tea and stirred it. “But Mom you’re lucky
you even caught me here, I mean, I mean I haven’t been spending much time here,
I’ve been in
“I know,” Monique nodded, “I know.”
Jo frowned. “You do? How?”
Monique took a quick sip of her lemon water, lips too plump and shiny. Jo wanted to think of the word, fish, but no, they weren’t that horrible, just a little alien. Piece by piece a girl could lose her mother couldn’t she, until all that remained was the voice and heart, hidden under manipulated flesh. “Your father called me.”
“What?” Jo exclaimed, “He knew how to contact you?” She almost jumped out of her seat with surprise. “Dad?”
Monique lifted one jet black, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “He knows how to use a phone, darling, he even has email.”
Jo wrinkled her nose, and she suddenly felt clumsy and dark and dirty and awkward, probably making a face a child would make, not a serene, placid movement of the features like her mother. She remembered standing in front of the mirror, mother behind her, don’t squint when you smile, don’t wrinkle your nose, try not to frown if you do not have to, when you want to frown, lift your eyebrow. “I know he has email, I just didn’t know you and him keep in contact.”
“Only for a few months now have we been regular with our communication, but we’ve never been completely cut off in the past ten years.” Although her voice didn’t sound heartless or cold, Jo still felt somewhat irritated with it, almost hurt. What she could tell, was lack of affection.
“Are you leading Dad on or something?” Jo said bluntly, and yes she squinted, yes she knew her lips pursed ungracefully.
“We consider ourselves friends,” Monique replied, “And if he didn’t tell you about our contact than I can only assume he was looking to avoid an odd reaction from you like right now.”
“Oh,” Jo sighed and she pressed her fingertips over her brow. “Oh it doesn’t matter. So Dad called you up and you rushed over here to comfort your poor broken hearted daughter or something? Just to be the shoulder to cry on twenty years after I ever needed one of those?”
“If you like,” Monique said curtly and she picked up the menu, “I suggest you order something a little buttery or rich, Josefina, it will put the blush back in your cheeks.” A fight with her mother would be useless, Jo knew that, she would only expect to be frozen with cold stoned silence and end up looking like an irrational lunatic in the process.
“Why do you keep Dad’s name, Mom?”
Lifted eyebrow, “It is a perfectly good name and I have never needed to change it. And before you ask why I left if I like the name so much, I will tell you again, it is something I needed to do, and spiritually it fit me.”
“Spiritually?” Jo exclaimed, “That’s a great way to explain, it, I don’t think I’ve heard you cite religion before as an excuse for ripping us all down.” Now here it came, Jo could feel her temporary excitement and joy at seeing her beautiful mother fade away into that festering worry and angst and anger for her father’s sake if for anyone.
Monique sighed. “Please can we not go through this again, Josefina? I think I remember this the last time we spoke. I love your father, I always have, but we just did not belong together. It happens this way sometimes, I just could not live with him but I could love him.”
“But what about Dad’s feelings? You couldn’t at least have some consideration for…”
“Jo we went through this!” Mom exclaimed in Italian, making her words sound so much more harsh, causing people in tables next to them to look.
“Sorry,” Jo muttered.
“But you seem well nevertheless.”
Jo frowned and looked at Monique. “Eh?”
Monique beamed, “If you’re feeling that all your energy must be directed into rebuking the mistakes I made, then what you’ve recently gone through with this European must not have harmed you so much.”
Jo rolled her eyes, “Yeah well, he wasn’t that great.”
“Oh wasn’t he?” she asked, blink, smile.
Even though
her belly was filled with food, Jo stumbled back into the house, her cheeks
still tingling from Monique’s goodbye kiss, her body still warm from her
mother’s hug, and her ears burning from hearing the words, I have to go back to
Straight to the fridge for a carton of milk, and she took a long swig of it and then grabbed a cookie from the tin. Crunch, gulp, crunch, gulp, and it did little to calm her down like a snack usually could. Instead it only made her think of how Peter avoided cookies and pastries and butters at all costs, and had his body fat measured once a week, even looking at her with horror and concern when she’d snack on full fat ice cream from the carton. Yes to Peter cookies were sin.
You son of a bitch, she thought and imagined a dog limping at the side of the road, the type of animal you felt sorry for but didn’t really have time to stop for. Suddenly she felt as bad as that, later on the guilt always did get to you.
Still loved Dad? How the hell could she hurting him like that?
“Did you have a good talk with your Mother?”
Jo gulped down the rest of the cookie and looked at her father, as he entered the kitchen. He looked so miserable as if given news of a death or tragedy. “How’d you know that’s where I…”
“Sapphire 5,” He said crossing his arms and frowning under his mustache, “Your mother never fails to wear it, I can smell it on you.” He then smiled as if to reassure her that everything was indeed alright but his eyes watered and Jo’s heart sank.
Mom how could you have been such a bitch. He loved you.