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Being back in the States is kind of nice kind of not. O’Hare is strangely comforting in it’s chaos, and because her first flight ran late she gets a little orange sign to hold up and skip the queues for her domestic flight, which is kind of nice kind of not because some guy yells that he’s been queuing an hour and forty minutes, could she not fucking cut the line – not even a please; welcome home – but she does have a message waiting that she reads while she’s queuing to go out the door into another queue, and that’s definitely kind of nice kind of not because –
Oh yeah. Before anything else, remember! Text Dad.
Claire types out a message in a hurry. She landed, flight was fine, long, boring, watched four movies, tante Beth is fine, cousins are fine, see you soon.
Back to The Message.
It’s a capital letter message, for sure.
Out of the 17 she received over the Atlantic, it’s the scariest, best, least expected, she should have seen it coming, her Dad’s going to freak out, she kind of wants to tell everyone but it’s a secret Jesus, whatever, she’s an adult she can do what she wants fuck fuck fuck.
‘Hi,’ Claire types out, because it’s better to just do the scary thing and otherwise she’ll be stuck for another forty minutes unable to reply because planes. ‘Wow that’s really cool. I just landed at O’Hare, getting 2nd flight now, would be there in an hour. Sushi is my fave so yeah great. Meet you there? It’s close enough I can drag my luggage.’
It’s not, but for some reason Claire would like it known that she’ll be putting work in here, not that she minds or even wants it to be a competition or read badly or – fuck it she’s pressed send already, was that the right thing? Phone off off off. Claire shoves it into her handbag.
Through the gates.
Another plane.
Nearly there.
Claire taps her fingers on her wrist.
At least this flight’s on time.
When she lands – this time, Claire takes the long route to the luggage because it’s not going to appear in a hurry and she’s just going to get pointlessly anxious and annoyed waiting. Instead, she fishes out her phone, turns it back on.
There’s a follow-up.
Shit. Read Dad’s message first.
Ok sweetheart. You need cab money let me know. Call me once you get back to your digs. Going anywhere tonight or jetlagged?
Claire picks out a response on auto-pilot, ‘Thanks Daddy I will. Don’t know, will text later maybe call tomorrow.’ And then she adds, ‘Love you xxx’ because she does and he’ll pay her cab fare and probably send her more money tomorrow when she mentions the bills that will be waiting at her place even though it’s a shared apartment and she doesn’t need it. And he’ll probably drive down to see her because it’s been a month and a half and he’ll want to check in. And he’s so great but there’s one of him and the thing is her Mom has just text her, and there’s no comparing them even though she’s comparing them, and her Mom wants to meet face to face for sushi, just the two of them, which is not usual at all – and Claire has never just got sushi with her Mom, where is this coming from?
Maybe she text her Mom a lot while she was back in France? But they’d been messaging each other more anyway since they met up – what was it? Six months ago? - and her Mom had text her a lot first and shit shit shit she’s overthinking this so much.
There’s a response to the pre-plane capital letter Message. Claire clicks it open.
Fabulous. Will be great to see you. Have a safe flight. xx
Claire stops walking and slides against the wall. Is she supposed to reply to that or not? Is it too needy to respond? What would look more adult and independent and like this isn’t a big deal at all? Her thumb hovers over the keyboard, she doesn’t know which one she’s supposed to be.
And – oh, shit, she should be there in… ten minutes! Jesus Christ the time. Luggage. It’s a small airport compared to the other two she’s been through so far; this will be easy and she can drag her bags down the road and – actually, Claire thinks guiltily, she’s – yeah she’s going to get a cab, because she’ll get the money back tomorrow and she’s kind of gross from the plane and – fuck, is there a bathroom around here? Claire needs to sort herself out in one, immediately.
American public bathrooms were weird the first time she met them; the stalls seemed barely there and the toilet bowls were weirdly too full of water. Weird things to notice, but Claire thinks of the first time she landed in an airport as an adult – the USA wasn’t her Dad’s first choice for college for reasons he wouldn’t really explain but Claire was born here and lived here a little bit and she had wanted to see what it was like, see if she felt connected. There’s always been something deep in her that felt little disconnected in France, despite being surrounded by family and friends and barely remembering being five and younger, but coming back to the USA seemed to soothe her soul a little somehow.
It’s the little things.
Like... the bathroom stalls.
Try not being weird, she reminds herself sternly, listening to her own thoughts.
It’s definitely a time for the two minute freshen-up routine.
Having been caught out exactly once with lost luggage, Claire’s handbag contains everything necessary to de-plane – face wipes, deodorant powder, a variety of combs and cute hair accessories, tiny make-up essentials and a miniature perfume that will last approximately four sprays by her estimation but will get her through… this.
Applying it all feels like cancelling out at least a few hours of sitting in a cramped chair.
Her hair is good. Her skin is good. She smells good.
It’s going to have to do. She’s got – shit, oh well, five minutes. Lateness is fashionable. Time to get the luggage.
By the time she’s out of the airport and using an app to grab a cab, Claire is definitely late. She can’t get stressed about it, there’s nothing she can do, she gives the cab driver the name of the restaurant – two minutes in the car – and jumps out of her skin when her phone rings.
And feels strangely relieved when she sees it’s just her Dad. Because. No reason.
“Allo Poupou,” she greets, trying not to annoy the cab driver – is it rude here? She can’t remember. Two minutes.
“D’accord, petite filoute.”
“Papa?” she blinks.
“Are you in a cab by any chance?”
Okay… “Daddy-”
“I put your old tablet on charge. You left it signed in with your message alerts on screen.”
“Er… je ne capte pas tres bièn!” Claire improvises, unable to think.
“Claire.”
“Ça coupe!” She makes a couple of crackling sounds with her voice.
“Claire, you are twenty-one-” Oh fuck she knows that!
“Je ne t’entends pas love you bye!” She blurts, and hangs up.
There being little point thinking about the conversation they’re going to have later – oh, wait, maybe she’s glad she didn’t text Mom back after all, not that she minds Dad reading it but not right now, she has enough to think about and he’s just going to remind her that she gets in a funk or whatever he thinks after she sees her Mom in person and she’s not going to be weird about this, she’s normal and it’s sushi and the cab is here, she’s cool, she can be cool, she’s a bit late but she fucking made it and she looks cute and okay, time to just be cool.
Cool.
She pays on the app for the cab and heads inside with her luggage.
It’s checked for her, along with her coat, with a kind smile and Claire makes a mental note about tipping because it makes a difference, and she can walk in to the restaurant and recognize her Mom from thirty feet – they look so similar it’s uncanny, apparently, but Claire just sees this woman who is obviously rich and healthy and comfortable and content and knows who she is, and it still gets her, even after five meet ups so far – this is her Mom.
Claire taps her wrist twice and walks on in.
“Mom,” she greets, trying to smile the right amount.
“Oh my gosh,” says her Mom on seeing her, standing up, “Claire, you look so great,” and she comes in for a hug, and Claire returns it for a minute and then waits for when she can pull back and determinedly does not even think about even a tiny bit of cry because she’s being normal.
“Thanks,” she says, “you too, I love your pantsuit.”
“Honey, thank you,” her Mom says. “Oh, wait.” She smiles. “I got you something.”
It’s a folded piece of fabric. Claire opens it out a little, still standing. It’s a sort of wrap around coat but soft, with patterns and tassels. It’s... luxurious and stylish whilst having an air of no-nonsense I’m-a-person-who-goes-outdoors I-don’t-need-coddling – it’s just soft and lovely.
“I love it,” Claire says, “thank you so much!” And immediately worries that she has nothing to give her Mom in return, and immediately resents that worry, and immediately squashes all of those thoughts because they aren’t helpful. “Thank you,” she says, again.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” says her Mom. “It’s from Michigan, I picked it up in this cute little town. Called Holland, like the place in Europe!”
“Oh I’ve been there,” Claire realizes absently, looking at the detailed edging. “With the big shopping outlet?”
“Yes!” Mom says, seeming happy. “It’s gorgeous there. Such a cute little place.”
“I only drove through,” Claire amends, sitting down and carefully folding her gift over her handbag; it’s too big to fit inside.
“That’s right, you drive,” says her Mom. “That’s so great. You know I was thirty six when I learned.”
That’s… she didn’t know that, Claire thinks, determined not to let any weird reaction show on her face. She thought everybody in the states just got a licence at sixteen. All her college friends did. She isn’t sure what to say, looks about for the menu instead of responding.
“Anyway,” her Mom says, “I remember when I used to fly for ten hours at a time. Do you want a little pick me up? Are you hungry? I adore that little charm in your hair by the way, that’s so beautiful!”
“Thank you,” Claire smiles, automatically going to touch it. “Uh. My friend got it for me.”
“That’s so sweet,” her Mom says, seeming really moved by the fact. “One of your college friends, or?”
“Um, no, someone I went to school with in Les Gets,” Claire tells her. “He said it reminded him of me, so. I have to wear it when we facetime apparently.”
“Oh a boy?” Mom leans forward conspiratorially. “Who is he, why haven’t I heard about him?”
“Uh, Matthieu?” Claire blinks. “I mean. He’s a guy I guess. We went to infant school together. He lived two streets over. Well, he still does live with his Mom.”
Is this awkward? Is she reading it wrong? Is it-
“Hi, can I get you any drinks?” Asks the server, and Claire hadn’t even noticed her approach.
“Could I get a rice beer?” her Mom says. “Asahi?”
“Sure! And what what would you like?”
Claire feels the weight of temptation like nothing else. She needs to calm down. “I’ll have a sake, please,” she says with a smile, unhappily noting the tilt of her Mom’s head.
“You sure? That was a long flight,” her Mom says.
“Yeah, it’s my favorite to drink here,” Claire says quickly, smiling at the server still.
“Okay. I used to be so wiped after transatlantic flights. I could never have drank spirits with dinner.”
“I mean, I do this twice a year,” Claire says quickly, because – it’s normal, she wants to say, don’t make a big deal out of it! The alcohol will help. It always does.
“Sure, I mean, I used to travel for filming all the time so I know what it’s like,” her Mom counters, and Claire wants her to stop a little bit, or change the subject.
“How was your conference?” She tries, because Mom had text about it, the thing in Michigan – it was a thing about feminism and female employment in the film and entertainment industry and Claire has no idea why it was in Michigan or what is going on in the film and entertainment industry but it’s a fair bet for a change in conversational direction.
“It was so great.” Good. Claire tries for an encouraging expression. “We had a great turn out and it was filmed and I think there’s an unauthorized copy on YouTube but that’s really just good for us, getting people interested and involved,” Mom says, looking passionate. “It’s so important, you know, getting women equal pay but at the same time getting them involved from a young age so they know their options and their rights from the get-go and when they get into the wider industry, I mean, Hollywood is a hard egg to crack but it will crack – we need equal rights to be the norm and I’m so pleased at how many people turned up and the speakers were amazing. It gave me hope for the road ahead.”
“That’s amazing,” Claire says, sincerely. “That sounds great.”
“It is,” Mom says. “I just want to try and help make a better world for… well, your generation. Your kids. You know?”
Claire nods. “That’s so great,” she says. She’s actually seen the little snippets of her Mom on YouTube and Instagram, and people posting thought provoking clips of her speaking on Facebook. She can never bring herself to re-share, even if she finds herself hitting the like button every time. It’s great, even if she doesn’t really grasp what the talks are affecting.
“It’s important. I mean – are you looking to go into the workplace any time soon?”
Oh, that’s a fun question. “Yeah I mean, I have an internship, possibly? I’m doing a masters this year and I’m doing the elective work experience because I think it’s easier to understand in context sometimes, our textbooks and reading material can be a little generic and it would be great to see how the real world works, you know?”
“Sure,” Mom says, smiling. “That sounds great. You know you have to be really good at timekeeping for those things though? Internships are tough, I hear.”
Claire blinks. Then the drinks arrive. She’s almost inhaling the smell of the warm sake as it’s deposited in front of her.
“Did you know what you wanted to order?” The server asks, as Claire takes her first sip, under the guise of trying it out, seeing if she likes it.
“I don’t know if you had time to read the menu Claire?” Her Mom says, smiling. “I know what I’ll order, but we can wait?”
“Oh, no, no, could I please get a spicy kani bowl, vegetable gyoza and a tuna avocado hand roll?”
“Alright, that’s fine – you know they come out as they’re ready?”
“Yes,” Claire says, “That’s fine, that’s great, thank you.”
“Calamari salad and short ribs please, then,” Mom says, smiling. “You did say sushi was your favorite.”
“I always order the same thing,” Claire confesses. “It’s kind of boring.”
“Not at all,” Mom tells her.
The server leaves them to it and Claire wonders where to get back to in conversation.
“So a masters?” Mom says, then. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, uh, data science,” Claire tells her, suddenly feeling more like she’s on solid ground. “My undergrad didn’t cover much in the way of AI and machine learning and I wanted to learn more; I guess it’s the way forward for industry now.”
“Oh, data,” Mom says. “Computers and things?”
“Uh, yeah,” Claire says, “you know, data driven business models, forecasting, predictive-” she stops herself abruptly at Mom’s expression, which is kind of – she’s nodding, but… Claire seems to have lost her, which isn’t unusual. “Yeah, so IT I guess,” she says. “Mostly men there!” She adds, because that’s what they were talking about earlier. “I mean, so it seems? I haven’t really had a real job yet so I don’t know. Maybe it’s not.”
“Just be careful you don’t get swept up in a fad,” Mom offers, “you know, computers and the internet. It moves really fast. Your uncle Luther – Spaceboy, you always used to call him – he was telling me about cloud computing and how it’s really just another computer, just a huge one buried in the ocean off of Australia.”
“Oh,” Claire says, “you mean like hosted services? Like AWS or Azure?”
“I don’t know honey, he’s really interested in that kind of thing though. He was just saying it cycles around every decade or so. Maybe make sure you keep a broad skill set.”
“Uh.” Claire looks at her sake. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
That’s her world. That’s her entire world. That’s her future. She can’t argue with her Mom but she doesn’t understand, and now Spaceboy is somehow involved and Claire takes another sip, and she can feel herself sinking down a little into that mood that her Dad always ends up on the phone for, the one where he ends up telling her repeatedly that she’s good enough and he loves her, and it’s such an overreaction to nothing, she’s twenty one, could she just not please.
Claire pours a whole glass and drinks it.
“If you’re thirsty, water would be better,” Mom says, looking sort of amused but also sort of not approving.
“I’m fine,” Claire tells her, wishing the single serving bottles were bigger but knowing it’ll kick in any minute. “This is really nice,” she insists. “It was such a long flight and this is just what I needed. So lovely.”
“Oh your accent is so sweet,” Mom says, out of nowhere. “I love it. Have I said that? I love it!”
“Oh, I still have that?” Claire asks. She spent the first year of college trying to speak like everybody else! It had been such a success that Dad had made fun of her for changing how she talked – and now the accent is back? Was it going to France? Or has it been back this whole time?
“I mean, it’s barely there,” says Mom, “it’s just a little – you know? I love it.”
Great, great, great, great –
“It’s not a bad thing,” Mom is saying, leaning towards her. “Hey. Are you alright? I know how tiring it is, travelling like that.”
“No I’m fine,” Claire says, automatically. “Just hungry. I can’t wait for food.”
“Me either. So.” Mom sits back, settles back in her chair. “Talk to me. Matthieu? Boys? Are you dating anyone?” She looks kind of excited, kind of happy, and this is a thing girls talk about with their Moms, Claire thinks, and the sake is kicking in and she’s cool, god knows why she was having any kind of idiotic fit about this earlier.
“Matthieu,” she says, thinking for a moment before it clicks. “Oh, Mom, no, I mean, he’s gay,” she says, “so that’s – I mean, that’s what you meant, right?”
“Oh,” Mom says, “oh okay, so you two are just friends?”
“Well yes,” Claire says, “he’s not always the best friend. But he’s nicer to me now that he doesn’t get to see me all the time.”
“So he’s your good friend?” Mom says, sitting back. “Do you talk about boys? Which boys? I need some gossip, my life is so dry. Let me live through you!”
“Uh.” Claire thinks about the current status of her love life. “I mean. I’m not dating anyone. But. I don’t want to settle down. You know?”
“Oh honey, you’re twenty-one,” her Mom says. “Play that field. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart – just keep being smart and don’t let anyone take advantage of anything, I bet you have your pick of the boys,” she says, taking a delicate sip of her beer. “I bet you’re smart enough that you don’t fall for their silly games.”
“Vegetable gyoza? And calamari salad,” comes a voice to their right, and Claire is taken by surprise yet again by the server. She needs to get a grip. She’s starting to feel like her ears are full or something; she’s not noticing things she ought to be noticing.
“Yum,” Claire deflects, dipping a gyoza and biting off the end. It is extremely good, like always. She chews a while while her Mom smiles and picks through the salad, and then the ribs and kani bowl and roll all turn up at once and they have to rearrange the table to make everything fit.
Claire drains the last of the sake so she can hand it back to the server, and is about to ask for another when Mom interrupts with,
“Honey no, just get a water, she’ll have a water please,” and Claire doesn’t know what just happened.
“Hey, I know you’re tired! I just wanted to have a chilled dinner with you. Just us girls,” Mom is saying. “We never spend any time just us. I know your Dad likes someone else to be around when we meet.” She looks down at her plate, then, moves some food around.
Claire stops chewing; it’s just kind of coincidence that they’ve never met up alone isn’t it?
“What do you mean?” She asks, before she can stop herself, sake making her tongue a little looser than it might have been without.
“Oh, nothing, just,” her Mom looks away a second and then back at her. “It feels like he’s having a little trouble letting go of the past, with us. You’ve always been my daughter,” she tells Claire, looking her in the eye. Claire feels like she should know something that she doesn’t. She’s missing a crucial piece of information about something and she doesn’t have a clue what.
“I mean, the past...” Claire tries. “I mean. You split up fifteen years ago didn’t you? And you’re in America and I guess college changed things but I don’t think he’s… I mean.” Where’s she going with that sentence? Anywhere? Jesus, Claire thinks, please think before you speak, stop being weird, get another drink.
“You have to understand that things were so different back then,” her Mom says, and for some reason Claire just really, really needs a drink now, and she tries to catch the eye of a server again. “I was different,” Mom continues, as somebody walks over.
“Hi,” Claire says, “could I get a small white-”
“Hon, no, your water’s on the way,” Mom interrupts, and says to the server, “she’s fine,” and then back to Claire, “are you a little tired? Water will help, you know. I’ve been there, trust me.”
No you haven’t, Claire thinks, stabbing at her kani bowl, no you haven’t no you haven’t, no you haven’t. “How is Uncle Luther?” She blurts, instead of saying what she’s thinking or feeling, because they need to change the subject.
“Oh, he’s doing great,” Mom smiles a little differently, then, like she’s actually really happy about something. “He’s had a rough few years but the family has pulled together and – you know, he’d love to meet you sometime, if you ever wanted to come and see us. You could visit our old mansion, see where I grew up!”
“Does he still live there? At the Umbrella Academy?” Claire has seen photographs. Calling it a mansion is slightly inaccurate; the thing covers almost an entire city block. She has read old news articles but it hasn’t been in the news for a long time. Klaus Hargreeves was a popular figure a few years back for stopping some natural disaster from happening, but other than that the Umbrella Academy is just a fad of its decade, left in history.
“He does, it’s a lot to maintain. He does a good job,” Mom tells her. “Oh, here we are.”
A glass of water arrives. There’s a slice of lemon in it.
Claire sort of isn’t thirsty. She takes a sip anyway.
“So you’re going back to – do you live around here?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, I share an apartment in town,” Claire says. “Some college friends.”
“Oh an apartment? That’s lovely. How many of you?”
“Four,” Claire says, thinking about their cozy little three bed.
“Oh wow. So. You must have enjoyed getting away for a little while!”
“It was good to see my tante and my cousins and old school friends,” Claire tells her, honestly. “I do miss them. But I love my room mates too.”
“Well, room mates come and go, family is what’s forever,” Mom says, and Claire thinks about growing up and that time she tried asking tante Beth where her Mom might be and hearing that she stayed in America when Poupou and her came to live in France. “That’s why I’m so glad we could do this.” What does she say? “I think about you all the time, you know.”
So… should Claire have text her more? Should she have got in touch with her sooner? Was twenty too late to ask Dad if he had any contact details?
“How’s your food? This is excellent,” Mom gestures to her ribs.
“Great, really good, thanks,” Claire manages, and this could be so much easier if she could just get another drink.
Maybe then she’d be brave enough to ask the questions she can never ask when somebody else is there with the two of them. Stuff that’s too much for a text or phone call, but so difficult to muster up the guts for. Stuff that’s in the back of her head all the time.
Stuff like – why did you leave me? What was in America that was better than me? Did I do anything wrong? Do you have another family? Do people you know know about me? Why weren’t you there, why did you leave Dad to do all the hard stuff, the teenage stuff, the anxiety stuff, the money stuff – the shit Claire put her Dad through when she was a teenager she kind of looks back and cringes, and will be forever grateful that Dad made her start going to counselling and work through some of it, but.
There are some things that a counselor can’t tell you and there are some things that you just really need to hear from another persons mouth.
Her heart’s pounding a little too much and it needs to not be doing that.
“We both deserve some good food after all that travelling,” her Mom says, with a smile, and Claire hears the word deserve and makes a decision she hasn’t made for a while. She catches a server’s eye for the third try, and simultaneously leans forward and beckons her Mom towards her.
“Hey,” she says, as Mom looks intrigued. Claire takes a breath. Then,
“I heard a rumor you ordered me some sake.”
She holds her breath for a moment.
Mom’s eyes clear. She blinks, looking puzzled. The server is at their table.
Mom says, “of course, sweetheart,” and then orders a bottle.
Claire lets out a breath until she feels steady.
“Thanks Mom,” she says.
They smile at each other.