Serial: Down the River – Chapter Fifty-Two

I’m finally revisiting the characters from The River City Chronicles nine years after their original timeline. I’ll be running the series weekly here on my blog, and then will release it in book form at the end of the run. Hope you enjoy catching up with all your faves and all their new secrets!

Today, Ben goes to see his long-estranged mother at a local Czech-Italian restaurant – and it’s not at all what he expected…

< Read Chapter 51

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Chapter Fifty-Two
Between Pizza and Schnitzel

Ben stood outside the restaurant, hand resting on the door handle, unsure if he wanted to go in or flee. It was a rather strange place—plain looking on the outside, except for the plastic green “plants” that were wrapped around the stark wrought-iron fence that surrounded the restaurant’s modest outdoor seating area.

The place was called “La Trattoria Bohemia,” and it occupied the end of a very plain looking, low-slung blocky building in East Sacramento on J Street, not far from Mercy Hospital. The sign on the side of the structure featured a woman dressed in puffy Renaissance gear, her head tilted to one side, and proclaimed the restaurant home to “Czech and Italian cuisine.” He had passed it many times on his drive up J Street, and is it always struck him as kind of strange. Was it a fusion place? Did they serve goulash pizza? Schnitzel ravioli?

He supposed he was about to find out.

He’d called Emily, that morning at the number the private investigator had provided to him—the Sheraton downtown. She had answered immediately, as if she’d been waiting next to the phone for his call. And maybe she had. After all, she’d come all this way just to see him, and what else would she have to keep her busy here in Sacramento?

Even though he was literally standing outside the door of the restaurant with Emily—he refused to call her his mother—waiting for him inside, he still wasn’t all that sure that he wanted to see her. After all, she had made his teenage life a living hell—always insisting that he wear frilly dresses, brightly colored blouses, and tapered skirts, and those awful shoes that he hated so. They were tapered at the end, crushing his toes, and they were pink, but not just any pink—that awful shade of pink usually reserved for Pepto-Bismol, and covered in sparkly sequins. And when he finally come out to her at the age of seventeen, she had thrown him out with the trash.

Did the fact that someone was dying entitle them to forgiveness for all the horrible things they did to you earlier in your life? Do I owe her that?

He took a deep breath and exhaled, closing his eyes and calming his frazzled nerves.

He had discussed it with his therapist that morning on Zoom, and she had been unequivocal about it, blue eyes fixed on him over the top of her stylish turquoise-framed glasses.

“You don’t owe her anything. But consider this. How will you feel if you don’t go to see her, and then she passes away without you ever having a chance to tell her what you think about her?”

The question had left him stunned. The whole night before, he’d been thinking about what Emily wanted or needed from him, and it had never occurred to him to think of what he might need from her. Or what she might owe him.

He opened his eyes and pushed open the door.

The place was empty. There was only one person waiting, an older woman with silver white hair, pulled back and tied with a bright blue ribbon. She wore a pale blue chiffon sweater and an ankle length gray skirt, just allowing a pair of pretty, blue sequined shoes to show under the descending cascade of fabric. She was staring up at some things on the wall—a picture of an old, white, scowling and presumably Czech man; some beer paraphernalia; a bottle of wine on a shelf; and some classic movie posters, including one for something called Hey Mambo, which certainly sounded Italian.

It was quite nice inside, a pleasant surprise after the unassuming exterior.

At his entrance, the woman turned, and her mouth fell open in a tiny moue of surprise.

“Hello, Emily.”

It was definitely her, but she was older than he remembered, which, of course was no surprise. Age had softened her, even as fine lines around her eyes and mouth robbed her of her youth.

She stood up and just stared at him for a minute.

Ben swallowed the bile that had risen up in his throat. “Go ahead and say it. You don’t understand why I would choose this. You miss your pretty little girl. You wish I had never been born.” The last one came out as a growl. It was the most painful thing she had ever said to him, and it still cut him to the core.

She grimaced, as if she too was in pain. Then she shook her head. “It’s not that at all. You look so… handsome. I just didn’t expect…” She stepped forward and took his hands in hers. “I’m so glad you came. I know I don’t deserve it.”

This time it was his mouth that fell open. This wasn’t what he expected. Not at all. Where was the woman who had second-guessed every life choice he had made? Who had questioned his grasp on reality? He had come to the meeting expecting to see that person, but this woman. This stranger, unnerved him even more.

She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Come. Take a seat. Please.”

He let her lead him back to the table and sat down next to her, unsure what to say next.

She carried on as if nothing strange had happened at all. “I’ve been looking over the menu. It’s not what I expected at all. I thought they might serve goulash—”

“Pizza?”

She nodded, laughing nervously. “Jinx. But look, it’s actually two separate menus. There’s the Italian one, and the Czech one. Jade was telling me that the original chef and his wife were Czech and Italian. Did you know parts of Czechoslovakia used to be in Italy, and vice versa?”

Ben shook his head. “I didn’t know that. Who’s Jade?”

As if she had been summoned, the waitress appeared at the table. “Hello there, I’m Jade. I’m so glad you made it. Your mom has been telling me all about you.” She was young, with a very friendly, open face, and the brightest green hair he had ever seen.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “She has, has she?”

Emily waved it away. “Oh nothing serious, I was just telling her how you love to cook with me when you were a child.”

He remembered it very differently, but he didn’t correct her. “We haven’t seen each other for a long time.”

Jade smiled. “Oh good, a reunion. Can I get you something to drink?”

He considered ordering something alcoholic, but then decided he needed his wits about him. “Do you have ginger beer?”

“Of course. River City. Is that okay?”

“Perfect. In the bottle with a glass of ice?” He hated it when it got all watered down.

Jade winked at him. “You got it. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

He waited until she walked away, and then turned back to Emily, impatient to get this strange meeting over. “I’m here. Your private eye said you were dying, but you look just fine to me. So tell me, why are you here?” He hated being that guy, but he had no patience for bullshit and small talk.

In response, she picked up her glass of white wine and drained it in one go. She set it down, took a deep breath, and turned all her attention on him.

Here we go. He steeled himself for the inevitable barrage.

When she spoke at last, her voice was matter-of-fact, as if she was reading the ingredients in a recipe. “I have end-stage cervical cancer. My doctors have given me three months to live, at the outside. Being told you have such a short, defined time left to live really serves to focus the mind on the things that are most important.” She reached up and put her fingers under her bangs. And then in one smooth movement, she lifted it up and off of her head.

He gasped.

“They have these new drugs and treatments, including these cold caps that you wear, that are supposed to stop the hair loss when you go through chemotherapy. Unfortunately, none of them worked for me.” She rubbed her smooth head. “I think I look a bit like Sinead O’Connor. What do you think?”

Ben was stunned that she could find humor at such a dark moment. He looked at her more closely, really seeingher for the first time. Her cheeks were hollow. Almost gaunt. The skin of her hands was nearly translucent. She was wearing a lot of makeup, probably to cover up the ravages of the cancer and the chemotherapy. “I am so sorry. But I’d say more Yul Brynner?”

She flashed him a feeble smile. “I’ll take it. And so am I. So am I.” She reached out to take his hand, running her fingers over his palm. “During my chemo sessions, I had a lot of time to reflect on the choices I’ve made. I found a new friend who helped me think about things in a different way.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” His heart broke for her, but he still carried with him the burden of all the horrible things she had ever said to him and the awful way she had treated him. The shaming. The deadnaming. The withdrawal of her love. What kind of mother does that?

She nodded as if she’s been expecting the question. “Her name was Dolores. She was going through chemotherapy and radiation at the same time I was. Did you know that trans women are at an elevated risk for breast cancer, because of the estrogen they take?”

He had known that. But it was absolutely the last thing he expected to hear come out of her mouth. “Dolores is transgender?”

She squeezed his hand. “Yes. She and I talked for hours and hours. I realized she was like you right away. Well, not like you, but—”

“I get it.”

Emily nodded. “She told me that she transitioned later in life. She said… I think this is how she said it… she was never been able to pass. Is that right? She hated that word but…”

He nodded. “Many transgender people have a love-hate relationship with the idea of passing.”

“She was very clear about that, but she seemed… settled with who she was. What she was. Far more than I was. As I listened to her story, I started to think about all the ways I tried to force you to be something that you weren’t. All the times that I didn’t support you. I told her about you, and she didn’t judge me. She just listened. She asked me questions about you, questions I should have been asking myself. She made me see what a fool I’ve been.” She pulled her hand away and hugged her body tightly. “So many times I wished—”

“Have we decided on something for dinner?” Jade appeared at the table, unaware that she had interrupted something deep.

“Another minute?” Ben lifted up the menu. “We haven’t really had a chance to look yet.”

The waitress read the table and stepped back. “Of course. You two let me know when you’re ready.”

The doorbell chimed, and she went to greet the newcomers, leaving them alone again.

Ben returned his attention to his mother. “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was.” Emily Hamil—his mother—was shaking. “She passed away last week. The last thing she said to me was “Go to your son. Make it right before the end.’ He reminded me of something I forgot a long time ago. Love really is all that matters.” Her eyes were wet. She picked up the cloth napkin and dabbed at the corners. “Look. I have no right to ask you this. You have become such a beautiful, strong, kind man. Mr. Braxton told me that—he watched you for days before he approached you. And I know that’s all in spite of me, not because of me. You should throw me out of here. Tell me all the things you’ve been holding inside of you all these years, and then toss me out on my ear.” She picked up her wig and settled it back on her hed, fitting it into place and rearranging the bangs.

Ben closed his eyes. By all rights, I should. He’d given up on her when she disowned him.

But didn’t true regret deserve some kind of recognition? Didn’t her effort mean something? Can I give her a second chance?

Honestly, he didn’t know. She had hurt him badly, broken his self-esteem in ways that had taken a decade to repair, and sometimes even now it was still a touch and go thing.

But she was here. She was trying. And she was dying. If not now, when?

He took a deep breath. Then he reached out and took her hand, pulling it back across the table gently. “I don’t know how much I can give you. But I can try.”

Her relief was palpable. “That’s… that will do.”

He nodded. One step at a time. “There’s so much you missed in my life. But there’s one thing in particular you should know about.” He closed his eyes and pictured the woman he’d loved and lost. “Her name was Ella. She was the love of my life.” And he told her all about the beautiful spirit who had shared a time on this green Earth with him—the joys, the tribulations, and eventually her sad passing.

One thing led to another. She shared details of her own life since he’d left. Little things. Bitter things. Beautiful things.

They laughed, they cried, and finally got around to ordering a pepperoni pizza and a Chicken Paprikash. Because when would they ever have the chance again?

And somewhere halfway between pizza and paprikash, between Czech and Italian, they found their way back to one another, and Emily became Mother once again.