“It’s fine, Jane. I’m doing your brother’s laundry.”
Jane’s mother held an important position in the finance department at Northwestern University, which involved the oversight of all kinds of budgetary and investment decisions. Her mother had gotten a CPA certification before Jane was born, then had gone back to school to get an MBA while Jane was in elementary school. Spreadsheets and numbers were her happy place. She worked full days and usually brought work home. Her obsessive focus on work and ongoing concerns about Jane’s brother monopolized her life. She seemed characteristically distracted, as if doing complex analytics in her head, and flitted about like a nervous bird, as if stillness could be lethal. Jane realized she must have FaceTimed in an attempt to make their interchange feel less tenuous, a little more substantial.
“You shouldn’t have to do laundry.”
“I really don’t have a choice,” her mother replied.
“Can’t one of John’s aides do some of it for you?”
Home health care aides assisted Jane’s brother almost full-time. It was an extravagance, but a necessary one.
“I wish they could, but—John likes the way I do it, and it’s one thing I can do for him, so...” Her mother propped the phone up on a shelf and continued folding.
“You do a lot for him, Mom.”
“No, I really don’t.” Her tone implied that Jane was foolish to even have that idea.
“How is John?”
“You know, the same.” Her mother sighed. “It’s difficult.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“Difficult for him, not for me.” Was she rejecting Jane’s sympathy? Or only deflecting?
“I worry about him all the time.... I want to come for a visit.” It was true, she was overdue for a trip home.
“No need to worry, but yes, please come, John would likethat.” Her mother picked up a T-shirt and folded it haphazardly. “So how is work going, Jane?”
“Mom, there are better ways to fold a T-shirt.” Jane regretted the words as soon as they flew out of her mouth.
“I’m sure there are, but this is good enough. You certainly do take to all the rubrics of neatness and organization, don’t you? I hope your job is a good outlet for you.”
“It is. Usually. I mean, today was a bit much.”
“I don’t know how you do it, but if you enjoy it....” Jane’s mother shrugged as she pulled fraying underwear out of the hamper. Talking to her mother still made her feel like a petulant little girl. Like an incompetent, helpless child.
“I usually do,” Jane answered, truthfully.
“You are such a smart girl; it seems like you would get bored with it.” A compliment?
“Oh, every day is different, with different people. That keeps it interesting.”
“Do you have to do a lot of filing? It’s my least favorite activity.”
“No,” Jane answered as evenly as possible lest she sound defensive, but it was irritating how little effort her mother made to understand what she actually did. “That’s really not the sort of thing I do.”
Her mother, focused on folding, stole a look back at the phone. “Did you do something to your hair?”
Jane bristled. “Nothing, Mom.”
“Did you color it?”
Jane ran her hands through her hair. “No, Mom, you don’t know my hair color? This is my natural color.”
“It looks very dark.”
“Maybe the light is funny.”
