Now you See Her

Zoe never stopped loving her daughter, but she stopped liking her the day Missy sided with her father in a longstanding dispute over potato salad. They insisted the potatoes should be mashed with mayonnaise only, but Zoe preferred chunky with mustard and mayo. The light-yellow hue reminded her of sunshine, and the Lord knew she needed some sunshine. The other way, she thought, was bland both in taste and texture.

Missy was thirteen, plenty old enough to express her preferences in salads. Still, her daughter’s choice felt like a betrayal. Even worse, it seemed downright ungrateful. Who did she think cooked her lousy potato salad anyway? Shouldn’t the chef get to decide how the food should be prepared?

It wasn’t just poor food choices that united father and daughter against mother. Every time there was a family stalemate that required Missy’s input as the deciding vote Zoe lost. She wanted to go to Disneyland; they chose Disneyworld. She bought tickets for the ballet; somehow, they ended up at The Monster Truck Rally.

Ever since Zoe found out she was carrying a girl, she dreamed of gymnastics gold. She’d fallen in love with the sport watching the Magnificent Seven spin, tumble, and cartwheel their way into the hearts of America and the world. Zoe envisioned Missy as the next Mary Lou Retton, a gravity defying artiste with a bubbly personality.  Her husband, Jim, decided his daughter should be the next Kareem Abdul-Jabbar instead, and after one Lakers game with her father, Missy traded in her leotard for gym shorts and forewent the graceful aesthetic of gymnastics in favor of flopping around on a hardwood floor bouncing a rubber pumpkin.

Movie nights were the most excruciating letdown of all. Zoe loved silly, lighthearted romcoms. Jim and Missy were into bloody, gory slasher shows. Of course, Jen Anniston never stood a chance against Freddy Krueger.

Each time Zoe was outvoted, disappointment welled inside her and resentment grew, lighting a little spark of hatred in the pit of her stomach that was slowly becoming a raging inferno. She knew it wasn’t Missy’s fault. Jim had hijacked her relationship with her daughter just as he had hijacked all her hopes and dreams. It wasn’t that Jim loved Missy more than Zoe did; that would have been impossible. He just had an incessant need to win, especially against his wife, and by winning Missy’s affection, he defeated Zoe in the most important competition of all. Of course, Missy’s love was not a game to be won or lost, but to Jim everything was a game.

Now seven years after the infamous potato salad debacle, Zoe was fed up with acquiescing to her family’s wishes. Just once she was going to do what she wanted to do. The only problem was she no longer knew what it was she wanted to do.

“I’m going out for a while,” she told Jim, who had his head buried in the sports page.

“Can you get me one more cup of coffee before you go?” He never even looked up from his paper.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, Zoe muttered, “You know where the pot is.”

Unaccustomed to such blatant rebellion, it took a minute for Jim to process what had happened. By the time the shock wore off, Zoe was gone.

She arrived at Willow Park at a quarter after noon. A slight breeze mitigated the effects of the midday sun making it a perfect spring day. Jim would be angry if he knew she was spending so much time with Philomena again. He once threatened to have her committed if she kept indulging in the bizarre relationship she had with the other lady, but Zoe saw no harm in visiting a lonely old woman.

Besides, it seemed Philomena was the only person who truly understood her these days, It seemed as though everything she experienced, the older woman had been through herself. And Zoe couldn’t explain it, but she felt like she knew Philomena better than she knew anyone else, almost like she knew her from the inside out.

She found Philomena on the bench by the water fountain. The sound of cascading water and the smell of blossoming lilacs created a peaceful ambience. Zoe sat next to her friend and took the woman’s hand in her own. It felt velvety soft and warm, and Zoe longed to put it on her face and hold it there forever.

“I’d given up on seeing you again,” Philomena’s voice was comforting, even when she was scolding.

“Well, you know how Jim feels about me coming here.”

Philomena scoffed. “I don’t know why you don’t leave him.”

“Why didn’t you leave your husband? He treated you the same way Jim treats me, like you were invisible. Like your feelings and hopes and dreams don’t matter. You stayed with him until he died.”

“It was a different time back then, Zoe. Now women have options. You don’t have to depend on any man for your survival. You have a degree. Use it. Start teaching again. You loved teaching. I still can’t believe you let him convince you to give that up.

“He didn’t exactly convince me to,” That was true. Jim hadn’t had to convince his wife to leave her career. He simply told her to, and she acquiesced, because that was the dynamic of their relationship.

Zoe looked around the park. There were a few stragglers walking around carrying bouquets of plastic flowers and stepping reverently over little mounds of dirt. Willow Park was a place of quiet reflection for those who visited and sat beneath the cool shades of its namesake trees. Zoe thought she could be at peace here forever.

“I wish I could stay here with you,” she looked at Philomena, hoping for a sign of approval.

“But you know why you can’t.”

Zoe nodded. “I’m just so tired, I need to rest.”

Philomena tightened her grip on Zoe’s hand. “Tell me, darling, what are you most tired of?”

“Being invisible.”

The old woman chuckled knowingly. “I remember being invisible. You’re always invisible until you’re gone. Then they see you. They finally hear you. They know who you were and how much you sacrificed for them.”

A single tear broke through Zoe’s right eye and slithered down her cheek, blackened by the mascara it carried with it and coming to rest on the collar of her blue silk blouse. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel invisible. I wish I’d known how much that hurts.”

“Oh, child,” a pained expression crossed Philomena’s angelic face. “That’s just the way it is. It’s not right, but that’s how it’s been for generations, and it will take many more generations before we correct this situation.”

“So, I have to wait to die before they see me?”

“No. Not you. Not anymore. You just pack your things and go. He will see you when you’re not there.”

“What about Missy?” Even though Zoe didn’t like her daughter all the time, she always loved her, and she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her.

“She’s in college now,” Philomena reminded Zoe. “She’s learning independence already. I have a feeling it won’t be long until she starts appreciating how much you’ve done for her.”

“She has a boyfriend, and I think it’s getting serious. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want Missy to ever feel invisible. Should I discourage her from seeing him? Should I tell her the truth about what happens to woman when she gets married?”

Philomena shrugged and smiled softly, “What good would that do? All you can do is be there to sit with her in the quiet moments when it all falls apart. And who knows? Maybe it won’t fall apart. Not all marriages are bad, you know.”

Zoe dabbed at her wet cheek with a Kleenex. Things always seemed so clear after talking to Philomena. She wondered if Philomena had always been so wise, or if that wisdom was the result of a lifetime of heartaches and disappointments, a consolation prize for women who sacrifice themselves so others can achieve greatness.

“I love you so much,” Zoe attempted to put her arms around the apparition next to her. “I wish you were real.”

“My darling,” Philomena reassured her best friend. “I’ve always been real. I am the realest thing in your life.”

“Yes, you are, Mother,” Zoe agreed. She stood, kissed the tips of two fingers, and traced them lightly over the “m” in Philomena’s name. on the granite gravestone. She quelled the anxiety that crept up in her stomach and recalled a little cottage she’d seen for rent near Willow Park. She thought that would make a nice place for a fresh start, and she’d always be close to Philomena. The realtor’s sign said it was a two bedroom, so there would be space for Missy to come and rest when she needed an escape from the realities of womanhood.

Tomorrow, she’d call her friend, Agnes, who was the principal at Missy’s old elementary school and see what positions were available there.

She was no longer going to be some meek, invisible, subservient woman with no life of her own. She was Philomena’s daughter. That meant she was strong. She was capable. She was intelligent.  She was ready.

Tomorrow, she’d be gone, and he’d finally see her, but it would be too late. She’d never again pour his coffee, or watch another slasher movie, and from this point forward, the potato salad would be chunky with mustard and mayo.