Jamie Sobrato - Baby Under The Mistletoe

“Can you believe I was conceived and born in this room?” her mother said, shaking her head and giving a bit too much information as usual. “Probably on that exact bed.”

It was true the same bedroom furniture that Gram and Grampa Bishop had left behind was still here. Soleil hadn’t seen any point in moving it, when it suited the room.

This reminded Soleil of something she’d been forgetting to mention for months. “I went through the attic not too long ago and found some of Gram’s things. I’ll have to show them to you later and see if you want any of it.”

“I’ve got enough of my own crap,” Anne answered as she dropped a suitcase on the bed and unzipped the outer pocket. From it she withdrew a silver flask, which surely contained whiskey.

“It’s not even ten in the morning. Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”

“It’s cold as hell out there and I just found out that my only daughter is knocked up. I’ll be having my coffee Irish.”

Soleil sighed but knew better than to argue. Anne had always been a heavy drinker and probably always would be.

Soleil went to the kitchen and made a pot of decaf, which her mother would complain about. Too bad. She’d have to get over it.

Anne followed her. “So, who’s the baby’s father?”

“Not anyone you’d know.”

“Of course I wouldn’t, since you seem to have completely shut me out of your life.”

“Right, Mom. You can spare me the vitriol.”

She got the cream out of the fridge and put it on the table with a bottle of honey.

“I’ve cut all sugar and dairy out of my diet,” her mother said.

“It’s not sugar, it’s honey.”

“I’m seeing an acupuncturist who has me on a cleansing diet. I’m only allowed to eat vegetables and lean protein for the next month.”

“And whiskey?”

“I make allowances for a few necessities,” Anne said with a flourish of her hand.

Soleil tried not to roll her eyes.

“So tell me all about him.”

“The baby? I haven’t met her yet.”

“Her? You know you’re having a girl? That’s wonderful! But you’re avoiding my question.”

“The baby’s father is West Morgan. We’re not in a relationship, but he does want to be involved in the baby’s life.”

Her mother watched her for a few moments, silent, a half smile playing on her lips. “I guess all my feminist ranting really did get through to you, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here you are, a self-sufficient woman, getting ready to start a family all on your own. You’ll be coparents or whatever they’re calling it these days. I’m so proud of you, dear.”

This was the reaction Soleil expected from her mother, so she had no idea why she suddenly felt as if her head was going to explode.

“I just wish you’d told me you were planning to have a baby. I’d have loved to share all this with you from the start.”

“Mom, I didn’t exactly plan this.”

“Honestly, I never saw you as a potential breeder. You pour so much of your energy into saving the world-”

“A potential breeder?”

“Well, now you’re an actual breeder.”

“Thanks. That’s lovely.”

The coffee stopped perking, a welcome distraction. Soleil got out two cups and poured one for each of them, then carried the cups to the table and sat.

“Don’t you use birth control?”

“Of course I do. It’s capable of malfunctioning, you know.”

Anne uncapped her flask and poured a healthy splash into the coffee. Then another.

Soleil winced. “How can you drink that without even a little cream or something?”

Her mother shrugged. “One sip at a time. It goes down quite easily.”

Sure, if you’re used to drinking your whiskey straight from the flask.

“Anyway, you’ll meet West. He’s supposed to come here tomorrow to help me put the baby’s crib together.”

“You know, I’ll never understand you. You’d think you’d want to share this time of your life with me.”

“Of course I want to share it with you,” Soleil said, trying not to grit her teeth.

“But? You’re being intentionally spiteful to punish me for imagined grievances from childhood?”

Soleil halted in the middle of adding cream to her coffee. “I don’t think this is a good way to be starting our visit,” she said as calmly as she could, though it came out sounding as tense as she felt.

Her mother leaned back in her seat, crossed her slender arms over her chest and fixed a narrow-eyed gaze on Soleil. She was ready to battle.

“I’m not going to sit around and pretend everything is okay when my own daughter is concealing the most important facts of her life from me,” Anne said in the not-quite-steady voice of the clinically unbalanced. “Have you ever known me to play nice about such things? How did you think I’d react?”

“I thought you’d react like a crazy person no matter when I told you, which is why I put it off!”

She slammed the carton of cream down on the table and a splash of it sloshed out of the spout. Then she pushed back her chair and prepared to storm out of the room.

But that was her adolescent self reacting. Grown-up Soleil hated to run away and prolong an argument. She preferred to stand her ground and work things out. But that never quite seemed to create peace with her mother. Instead, it was more like an exercise in pounding her head against the wall.

Anne sat silently perusing her response options, one eyebrow cocked as if daring Soleil to leave.

“You have no idea how hurt I am,” Anne finally said, her tone taking on a note of self-pity. “I thought we were better friends than this.”

The guilt trip. One of Soleil’s least favorite of her mother’s weapons. “We’re not friends. We’re a parent and child, but I have no idea which of us is supposed to be the child right now.”

Her mother eschewed the spiked coffee and took a long drink from her flask. “I’m going to my room to rest, and when I come back, I’ll expect an apology,” she said, standing. “And I want to meet this West person sooner rather than later, since he’s going to be part of our happy little family now.”

He’s not going to be part of the family, Soleil wanted to argue, but that wasn’t exactly correct. Her mother was, at least about this, right. As she watched Anne leave the room, doing what Soleil had deemed too immature, she knew she was in for a worse than usual visit if she didn’t find a way to get her mother focused on something else.

It was as if without even knowing it, Anne was conspiring with West to turn Soleil’s life into something she didn’t want it to be.

Conspiring with West…

This gave Soleil an idea. Maybe he’d be the distraction to get both of them off her back.

She drank her coffee, cleaned up the kitchen and once she’d given her mother time to fall asleep for a nap, she crept upstairs to the nursery, where she sat in the middle of the floor to contemplate the view. This room was her favorite in the house now, thanks to the purple wall color she’d chosen. She came here to sit and not exactly meditate, but let her mind trip over all the facts of her life, and speculate about the future.

For a least an hour now, her mother had been holed up in the guest room, napping or, whatever it was she was doing. Composing an angry poem about what a bad daughter Soleil was? It wouldn’t have been the first time.

One of her mother’s more famous poems-one that had shown up in quite a few feminist anthologies over the years-was entitled “Stranger of Mine.”

Stranger not as in strange, but as in, someone you don’t know. As in Soleil, apparently.

She’d never asked her mother about the poem. It had been composed when Soleil was in her teen years, but she hadn’t seen it until thumbing through her freshman anthology in college.

The poem’s theme of alienation between mother and child had felt like an insult all those years ago. As if her mother had announced to the world that she didn’t really know her daughter, without ever telling Soleil herself.

What was not to know?

Was her mother merely being dramatic?

That was a distinct possibility, but the very fact that the notion had occurred to Anne only served to drive Soleil further away.

She wanted to have an entirely different relationship with her own daughter. She wanted to be a loving, fun, strict but kind mother. A sane mother. Someone her daughter could trust to keep it real.

She would be all those things. She was certain she could trust herself to do at least that for her child.

But what else could she do? Could she swallow who she was and give her baby a live-in father? Or give up the farm and go play air force wife in God-knows-where?

No way.

She was just as certain that she couldn’t do that.

A DAY AFTER her mother’s arrival, Soleil was tense and counting the days until Anne would leave. Which would have been a lot easier if she wasn’t in Promise for an open-ended visit.

She’d disappeared in the morning, on her way to a day at the local hot springs, where she’d scheduled a massage and was attending some kind of relaxation workshop.

If it meant she’d learn how to relax without the aid of alcohol, Soleil was all for it. And she was relieved to have her mother gone for West’s visit to assemble the crib.

“So, this is the baby’s room,” Soleil said as she led West into the bedroom next to her own.

It was the smallest bedroom in the house and would work perfectly as a nursery. She’d originally intended to put off creating a nursery until later, once she’d figured out other more important details of her impending motherhood-like how to tell the baby’s father she was pregnant, and how to take care of a baby and run the farm at the same time. Then she’d dreamed of painting the baby’s room purple, so she’d done it.