Here was mom. Here was Bette Porter. And they were actually talking to me, and telling me I could ask questions. For a second I was ready to pinch myself. But heck, it was all real.

And I would have tried to look kind of impressed or something, but I didn’t think they quite earned that, not yet, anyway. But maybe I’ll cut them a little slack for at least figuring out that maybe it’s worth our time to talk.

Still, I’m sure my surprised showed, just for the fact that I was quiet. Mom always acts shocked about stuff like that. Sometimes it’s so far past annoying.

Fortunately, she’s behaving herself, now. I think she’s just hungry, since she made sure that she filled my plate. Then I noticed she served Bette, and then herself. I’m kind of used to that, but it seems kind of weird when I notice her doing it outside the house, I guess.

Anyway, my brain was churning at like a thousand miles per hour. What did I want to know? Where to start. Who? What? Where? Why? Answers to next Tuesday’s math test? Ok, so, while I really did want to know the last thing on the list, I know that mom, at least, is not the one to ask; the jury’s still out on how Bette handles trig.

“Umm.” Yeah, smooth start, Jess. Impressed ‘em both, I’m sure. “So, you and mom.”

“We were together.” Yes, mom, thank you for that bit of confirmation.

Now, details. “For?”

That earned this really strange smile from both of them. Finally, it was Bette who spoke. “About eight years.”

“So, when?”

Mom’s voice had gotten kind of quiet. “When did we break up?”

I nodded rather than spoke.

“You were young.”

This time I looked at Bette. “So you met me?”

She smiled. “I was there when you were born.”

“Really? Mom never talks about stuff like that.”

Bette looked over at mom. “I don’t remember much about the birth itself.” She gave a shrug. “I We tried to have a home birth, but there were some complications, and they had to perform an emergency caesarian at the hospital.”

Yeah, I’ve seen that scar. “Sorry, mom.”

Mom tossed me a wink.

“So, you picked Marcus Allenwood so I’d kind of look like Bette?”

“So you’d look like both of us,” Bette confirmed. “We wanted a family that would reflect who we were.”

“That explains the name, huh?”

Mom gave me a nod on that one.

If they were so gung-ho to be the complete-demographic family, though, something about all of this wasn’t adding up. Something to do with Bette Porter. “But, you didn’t stay.”

I started poking my fork at the stuff they put on the plate. So, maybe the sandwich didn’t deserve it, but it gave me something to do.

Mom and Bette did another one of those looking at each other things. I guess it’s to decide who psychically drew the short straw. Must have been Bette.

“We had been having some problems between us.”

“Before you were born,” mom quickly interjected. “Before you were even conceived.”

It’s kind of strange to be hearing all this history, and wondering what it must have been like for them at that time. “So, you decided to be a single mom, mom? But that doesn’t make sense,” I pointed at Bette, “since you said you were there at my birth.”

“Like Bette said, we’d had some problems.” Mom was starting to get that sniffly thing going. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this. “Things got worse after my miscarriage.”

The confusion must have been written on my face, since mom reached out and grabbed my hand. “We lost the baby early on in the pregnancy.”

“So, I’d have had a sibling?”

Now mom gave me a little smile. “A brother. But the loss brought made a lot of the problems we were already having worse.”

“Neither of us handled it well,” Bette agreed. “I also had issues going on at work.”

Mom shot her a sharp look. Guess I’m not finding out what that was for.

“Anyway, as your mother says, we were already having problems.”

Something was still not quite falling into place.

“When we separated the first time, I didn’t realize she was pregnant.”

Ok, I’m fully aware of how I came into this world. And I’d always been told this was something mom did on her own. But, on her own, while she was with someone?

Another squeeze of the hand. “I hadn’t told Bette. We’d talked about taking another chance, but I wanted to be sure you made it through the first trimester.”

The edges were a little less fuzzy. “So during that time?”

“During that time, we separated, and later, I found out your mother was expecting.”

“But you said you were there for the birth.”

“Bette and I tried redefining our relationship. We’d planned to be co-parents to you. So yes, she was involved during my pregnancy. We had reunited shortly before your birth.”

And then Bette Porter left shortly after. Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had changed in the world. I mean, I can tell by the way Bette’s looking at mom that that old flame hasn’t burned itself out.

But it doesn’t all make sense. She seemed like she liked me. And Alice said she’d been keeping track of me? What’s up with that? Was I best as some abstract concept? Some simulated child that you just watch it grow, like the orphans on TV where you get a kid’s picture when you send in money?

“Then after?” I might as well hear the truth.

“Afterward” Mom started it, but then she looked back to Bette.

“After, I had to come take care of some things out here on the East Coast. My father had just passed away and I had to deal with his affairs. On top of that, I received an opportunity for a short-term assignment with a museum.”

“And you just stayed?”

“It’s a little more complicated.” Mom patted my hand. “But, our reconciliation didn’t last, and Bette ended up moving out here.”

Away from the crying annoying mom-depriving thing, you mean. “Oh.”

“So now, you guys don’t even talk?” Which, I have to admit, I was liking the sound of. Im not sure I’m keeping such a high opinion of Bette Porter, after all.

“It was tough, Jess.” Sure, Bette Porter, talk to me now like you know me.

Mom, however, is always the one for understatement. “Our separation was pretty complete.”

I guess I’m not so good at the poker face, either. At least, not if I were playing with mom. “Jess?”

“My stomach’s a little upset.” That wasn’t a total lie, either.

Bette actually made a show of being concerned. For mom’s benefit, I’m sure. “You can lay down, if you’d like. I’ve got plenty of space.”

Go sell it somewhere else, Porter. I’m not buying. “Can we go back to the hotel?”

Mom gave me a smile. “Of course.” Then to Bette. “You’ll excuse us?”

Gotta give it to mom for the manners. Something I’d forget right about now.

Bette was looking a little confused. Guess what? Welcome to my life.

She walked with mom and me to the door. I stood a little outside, but mom held back for a second. I could hear them again. I’m not sure if they cared about that. I’m not sure if I did, either.

“T, I always waited for you to call for me, to ask me to come home.”

Yup, I was right about that hung up on mom thing, that’s for sure.

“You were my wife, Bette. If I had to ask, you weren’t ready.” You go mom.

She joined me outside the loft and we headed back to the hotel.

Back in the room I laid down on the bed, rolled up on my side. It felt a little better that way.

Mom lay on her side, beside me on the bed, rubbing my back like she used to do when I was a little girl.

“We’re going home, right mom?”

“I think so, Jess. Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

Sometimes it is nice that mom and I are so close. Makes some conversations so much quicker.

“So, do you want to talk about this?”

Other conversations, meanwhile. Well, I’m not sure anything would help.

“Not yet.”

Knowing I was the reason that mom lost her wife? Maybe not ever. How can she stand having me around, a constant physical reminder of what I cost her? How much worse that I look like Porter?

I am now, officially, sorry for any grief I caused my mom in the last few days.

“I was going to tell you about Bette someday,” mom continued. “I just was never sure how to start that conversation.”

Jess, I’m single, and you’re why. Yeah, I can see that being a little tough.

I rolled over to where I could give mom a hug. So maybe I’m not quite her little girl anymore, but she’s still my mom, right? I still get to do this. “Thanks,” I whispered.

“For?”

“Everything.”

And most especially, thanks for picking me over Bette Porter.

(tbc)