Marg sighed and released the death grip on the phone. “Is there a reason you called?” she finally asked.
Again, there was another pause, and Alice’s gaze darted away from the screen. “I was planning to come to Oak Harbor for a while. That is until the divorce is finalized,” she answered.
Marg’s heart plummeted, and her mouth suddenly felt dry. “Why can’t you stay in Burlington?”
“Because it doesn’t feel right staying here with your father. I wanted to give him his space to process everything,” Alice responded.
Marg wanted to refuse her mother’s request, but she didn’t have the power to stop Alice from coming to Oak Harbor if she wanted— along with Marg and her sister, she was still part owner of the house.
“When are you thinking of coming?”
Alice tapped her chin, and she looked heavenward as she contemplated her answer. “I was thinking about next weekend,” she answered.
Marg gulped in fresh air. “Okay, Mom, I’ll see you next week…”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday then,” Marg finished.
“Please say hello to that son-in-law of mine. Although, I don’t know if I should even be classifying him as such,” Alice said.
“What do you mean by that now?” Marg asked with a raised brow.
Alice looked at Marg for a while without saying anything. “When is Ben going to propose?”
Marg’s brows furrowed at her mother’s question. “How would I know that, Mom? It’s usually an unexpected moment.”
“Hmm,” came Alice’s response as she looked her daughter over. “Has he talked about you becoming his wife then?”
Marg shook her head in annoyance. “We have talked about the future, Mom. Why are you so invested in whether or not he proposes?”
“Because I don’t want to see him string you along, Marg. I don’t want you holding out hope that he’ll propose soon, then poof, it’s five years later, and you’re still being called just the girlfriend.”
“Ben is not like that, Mom.” Marg sighed frustratedly.
“Rob wasn’t like that either, was he?” Alice stared pointedly at her.
“Mom,” Marg spoke in a warning tone. She slipped the covers off, slid out of bed, and headed for the bathroom. “That was a long time ago, and I was a different person then, plus you grew to love Rob even more than you did me,” she continued to say as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her brown eyes were dull, and there were bags under them from having to wake up before daybreak.
“I did not love Rob more than I did you, Marg,” her mother refuted, shaking her head vehemently.
“No? Didn’t you? I guess I must have imagined it all then. How you picked up for him, made excuses, and always put me down, telling me how I wasn’t setting a good example as a wife,” Marg seethed.
“You are exaggerating, Marg. Besides, I only did and said what I did to help you be a better wife to your husband,” Alice defended.
Marg scoffed. She couldn’t believe that her mother was making excuses for how she had treated her in the past about her marriage. She wondered if the woman was delusional or if the divorce was having an adverse effect on her. “Look, Mom. I really don’t want to argue with you. I’m still fatigued, and I have a date in a couple of hours, so can we do this at another time? Maybe when you get here on Thursday?” she asked.
“Okay, Marg. I guess I’ll see you next Thursday then,” Alice replied.
Marg gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Bye, Mom.”
“Bye.”
After pressing the end button, Marg placed the phone on the bathroom countertop and released a heavy breath that caused her shoulders to sag. She splashed cold water on her face. She could not go back to sleep, with her head now throbbing. After turning off the pipe and exiting the bathroom, she went downstairs and into the kitchen.
Marg turned on the percolator, sat at the island, and rested her head on her folded arms. When the machine’s alarm went off, she rose and made herself a cup of the rich, dark liquid before sitting back down and sipping it gratefully.
Satisfied with the kick she got from the coffee, Marg decided to bake some muffins for her excursion later in the day with Ben— at least that would run down the time and keep her busy while she waited. She went and took down the mixing bowl and the ingredients she needed. A half hour later, the batch was ready, and she stuck her baking tins into the oven. The smell of cinnamon and blueberries permeated the kitchen and, in an instant, lifted her spirit. She had an idea to make a lasagna, and for the next hour, that’s what she did. By the time she was finished, the light had shone through the chiffon curtains brightening the space.
