Chanel red suit jacket. Her hair, styled in the same silver bob she’d worn for years, had grown out since I last saw her over the summer. However, she looked gaunt. Her cheeks looked pale and sunken, even with makeup.
“You OK, Mom?” I asked when we were seated at our table. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“I’m on a diet,” she said, perusing her menu.
“You’ve never been an ounce overweight in your life.”
“Doctor wants me to cut down on a few things,” she said, and resumed exploring her food options. My mother always refused to commit to conversation until the business of ordering was out of the way.
She ordered the seafood Cobb salad and a glass of wine (what was she cutting out? I wondered). I ordered the chicken portobello and water with lemon in a wineglass.
“So what’s got you so upset, Andrea?” she asked. “You and David having problems?”
I sipped my water. “Everything’s great with David. Better than great. We’re talking about marriage.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time. What took you so long?”
I shot her an annoyed look. “You know what took me so long. Death of a spouse ain’t exactly a
West Wing
episode, where someone says ‘What’s next?’ ”
“It’s clear that you love David. And given that Sam is gone, what’s to stop you from being happy?”
“You of all people should know the answer to that. Look—” I cut off the conversation. “There’s something else. Something… unexpected.”
Mom was about to take a sip of wine and put down her glass. “Oh, God, you’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No!” I said, darting my eyes to see if anyone overheard her.
“Because at your age…”
“I’m not pregnant, Mom. But…,” I started, and took in a breath. “David has a child.”
She looked at me, shell-shocked. “Say that again?”
“David has a child. A daughter, actually.”
She turned angry. “You’ve been back together for less than a year. Did he cheat on you, or did this happen while you two were apart? Either way…”
“No! No, no, no, it’s not like that. She’s fifteen. It happened before he and I met. He didn’t even know. We both found out on Labor Day.”
“What kind of woman doesn’t tell a man that he has a child?”
“I don’t think it’s our place to judge her, Mom.”
She looked away for a moment, processing the revelation. “A daughter…,” she said, her voice trailing off. Then she looked back at me. “How did you find out?”
“She showed up on our doorstep—the daughter, I mean. Her name is Wylie.”
“I assume he got himself tested to find out for sure?”
I nodded. “He did. They’re sure.”
“My God, Andi. What are you going to do about it?”
“That’s why I called you. To ask for advice. I mean, I don’t think there’s anything I can do but be supportive, but I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
I paused to answer the question. “I don’t know. I mean, this changes everything. I’m afraid it’s going to change
us
somehow. And I have no idea how to be a mother to a teenage girl.”
“Assuming you’re going to be. Does the girl want to live with you or something?”
“I don’t think so. Besides, her mother wouldn’t permit it even if she did. We haven’t talked about any of this yet. We all just met last night in Hartford. That’s where they live.”
“You’d better tell David to get a lawyer,” said Mom.
“He’s already on it,” I said.
“I don’t know what kind of advice I could give you,” she said after our food arrived. “It’s not like your father ever came home with an illegitimate daughter.”
Something about the word
illegitimate
rubbed me the wrong way. It sounded so politically incorrect, so 1950s. As if Wylie were less than.
“She is not illegitimate,” I argued. “She’s your average suburban teenager with parents who love her very much and have given her a good home. And she just wants to know who her biological
“You OK, Mom?” I asked when we were seated at our table. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“I’m on a diet,” she said, perusing her menu.
“You’ve never been an ounce overweight in your life.”
“Doctor wants me to cut down on a few things,” she said, and resumed exploring her food options. My mother always refused to commit to conversation until the business of ordering was out of the way.
She ordered the seafood Cobb salad and a glass of wine (what was she cutting out? I wondered). I ordered the chicken portobello and water with lemon in a wineglass.
“So what’s got you so upset, Andrea?” she asked. “You and David having problems?”
I sipped my water. “Everything’s great with David. Better than great. We’re talking about marriage.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time. What took you so long?”
I shot her an annoyed look. “You know what took me so long. Death of a spouse ain’t exactly a
West Wing
episode, where someone says ‘What’s next?’ ”
“It’s clear that you love David. And given that Sam is gone, what’s to stop you from being happy?”
“You of all people should know the answer to that. Look—” I cut off the conversation. “There’s something else. Something… unexpected.”
Mom was about to take a sip of wine and put down her glass. “Oh, God, you’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No!” I said, darting my eyes to see if anyone overheard her.
“Because at your age…”
“I’m not pregnant, Mom. But…,” I started, and took in a breath. “David has a child.”
She looked at me, shell-shocked. “Say that again?”
“David has a child. A daughter, actually.”
She turned angry. “You’ve been back together for less than a year. Did he cheat on you, or did this happen while you two were apart? Either way…”
“No! No, no, no, it’s not like that. She’s fifteen. It happened before he and I met. He didn’t even know. We both found out on Labor Day.”
“What kind of woman doesn’t tell a man that he has a child?”
“I don’t think it’s our place to judge her, Mom.”
She looked away for a moment, processing the revelation. “A daughter…,” she said, her voice trailing off. Then she looked back at me. “How did you find out?”
“She showed up on our doorstep—the daughter, I mean. Her name is Wylie.”
“I assume he got himself tested to find out for sure?”
I nodded. “He did. They’re sure.”
“My God, Andi. What are you going to do about it?”
“That’s why I called you. To ask for advice. I mean, I don’t think there’s anything I can do but be supportive, but I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
I paused to answer the question. “I don’t know. I mean, this changes everything. I’m afraid it’s going to change
us
somehow. And I have no idea how to be a mother to a teenage girl.”
“Assuming you’re going to be. Does the girl want to live with you or something?”
“I don’t think so. Besides, her mother wouldn’t permit it even if she did. We haven’t talked about any of this yet. We all just met last night in Hartford. That’s where they live.”
“You’d better tell David to get a lawyer,” said Mom.
“He’s already on it,” I said.
“I don’t know what kind of advice I could give you,” she said after our food arrived. “It’s not like your father ever came home with an illegitimate daughter.”
Something about the word
illegitimate
rubbed me the wrong way. It sounded so politically incorrect, so 1950s. As if Wylie were less than.
“She is not illegitimate,” I argued. “She’s your average suburban teenager with parents who love her very much and have given her a good home. And she just wants to know who her biological
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