LOVE BY CHANCE
Chapter Eight
Sunday, September 9, 2001
"Hello?" Rose groggily answered the
phone, all too aware that it was five o’clock on a Sunday morning. If it was a
telemarketer or a prank caller, she swore she would scream.
"Rose, this is your mother."
Even worse. Rose held the phone over the
cradle, contemplating hanging up, but knew that she’d never hear the end of it
if she did. And it wouldn’t help in any case, since Ruth would simply call
right back--and keep calling, until Rose talked to her.
"Mother, do you know what time it
is?"
"It’s--oh, my goodness. I guess it is
only five o’clock. But since you’re awake, you can talk to me."
Wonderful, Rose thought. Ruth had jet lag,
and was curing it by waking Rose up at an ungodly hour.
"What is it, Mother?" Rose’s voice
was ruder than she intended.
"Don’t speak to me that way, Rose. I
went to all the trouble to take some vacation time and fly out here--first
class, too--so the least you could do is be polite. Ever since I got here,
you’ve acted like my presence was a burden, like I was taking up your precious
time. I haven’t received one word of welcome."
Rose felt guilty for a moment, knowing that
her mother was right about Rose not wanting her there, but stopped herself before
she could admit it. That was just what Ruth wanted--an admission of guilt. It
gave her power.
"Jack has tried to be friendly to you,
Mother," she pointed out, ignoring Ruth’s other words. "He even took
us to dinner last night, in case you don’t remember."
"I remember. And the two of you spent
the whole evening in your own little world, making small talk about people and
places I know nothing about. That was extremely rude, Rose."
"You were doing the same, talking about
your real estate deal and gossiping about the people who were buying and
selling the property. Mother, we know nothing about those people, or about
their lives, and it’s unethical of you to spread tales about them."
"Oh, so I started it, did I? Rose, I
wonder if you’ll ever really grow up. You’re always looking to place the blame,
just like you did when you were a little girl. You started it. It’s your
fault he left me. When are you going to learn to accept
responsibility?"
"I’m behaving like a child? If I am,
it’s a trait I learned from you."
"There you go again, Rose, trying to
place the blame on someone else--"
"Stop it, Mother!" Rose lowered her
voice, aware that she could be heard out her slightly open window.
"Mother, what exactly was your reason for coming here? Sometimes I think
that your whole purpose in life is to make me miserable!"
"Rose, how dare you say that, after all
I’ve done for you?" Ruth went on in a hurt tone. "I’m sorry if I
wasn’t a good enough mother for you, Rose DeWitt-Bukater, but I always did my
best, and I’m the only mother you’ve got."
"Mother--" Rose gritted her teeth,
having heard this argument more than once already. "We’re going to stop
this, right now, before I say something I’ll regret. Now, what was your reason
for calling me?"
"I want to come by your house this
morning. I’ve never seen it, and since you couldn’t be bothered to let me stay
there for a few days..."
"Why do you want to see my house?"
"Why else do you think I came all the
way to San Francisco?"
"I thought it was to see me." Rose,
in spite of her wish that Ruth hadn’t come at all, couldn’t keep the hurt out
of her voice.
"Of course it was, Rose. There you go
again, insinuating that I’m just trying to ruin your life."
"Mother..."
"I’m not trying to ruin your life, Rose.
Why would I? You’re doing a perfectly good job of it yourself."
"What?"
"You insist upon staying in a
relationship with a man who abandoned you years ago. Don’t you realize that
he’s going to hurt you? I’m only looking out for your best interests."
"How? By trying to set me up with any
eligible bachelor with money, regardless of how he might treat me, like Cal?
Mother, I’m an adult. I can take care of myself. I love Jack, and if things
should go wrong--and I don’t think they will--I’ll pick up the pieces and move
on by myself. I don’t need to be mothered."
"Rose, you never change. You’ve always
been ungrateful, never caring about the sacrifices I’ve made for you. You could
have so much if you would just listen to me."
"You mean you could have so much. That’s
what it was always about, wasn’t it? What you could gain. It never mattered how
I felt, if you stood to gain something."
Ruth drew in her breath angrily. "Rose,
how dare you say that. You’ve never thought about me in the slightest. All you
ever think about is yourself."
"Mother, you have no idea what I think
about, unless it makes you upset, which almost everything does. I do think
about what you and other people feel. Why do you think I put up with your
demands for so many years, even after I’d started college? It was because I was
trying to make you happy! But it was never good enough for you, and trying to
live my life to please you made me unhappy. I’ve started my own life, and I’m
much better off."
"Rose..." Ruth’s voice was icy.
"We will discuss this later, when you are capable of being more rational.
I will be at your house at nine o’clock, with breakfast. I expect you to be
dressed, pleasant, and cheerful. Do I make myself clear?"
"Mother--"
"Good-bye, Rose. See you in a few
hours." Ruth hung up the phone.
Rose slammed the phone back down in its
cradle, beating her pillow angrily with her fists. "Damn, damn,
damn!" she swore, throwing the pillow against the wall in frustration.
If a simple phone conversation turned out
this badly, how would she handle having her mother in her house, where she
didn’t have the option of hanging up to cut her off? She already knew how
things would go--Ruth would pry and manipulate, while Rose would try to fend
off the guilt trips and accusations. Rose would lose her appetite, and Ruth
would accuse her of being unappreciative of her efforts to provide breakfast.
Then, Ruth would begin a tirade of all the things Rose had done wrong, was
doing wrong, or might do wrong in the future. There would be angry words
exchanged, and Ruth would stalk out, ostensibly upset but actually pleased at
having manipulated Rose into another corner. Rose would call her later, feeling
upset and guilty about the argument, and Ruth would wring another concession
from her, one that would later make Rose angry that she had agreed to it at
all.
It always worked that way. Ruth was a master
manipulator, and Rose was her daughter, trained since infancy to obey her
mother’s whims. All of the freedom and independence she had gained meant
nothing when Ruth decided to take matters into her own hands. Rose tried to be
strong, but it was hard, and only recently had she begun to truly assert
herself where Ruth was concerned--and Ruth had responded by growing more
manipulative. Rose knew that she needed to stand firm, but it was hard--very
hard.
Rose pulled the blankets over her head,
wondering how she was going to face her mother alone and still stand up against
her manipulations. She sat back up, pushing the covers back as she realized
that it might be easier to be strong if she wasn’t alone.
Reaching for the phone, she punched in Jack’s
number.