Chapter Text
Whoever said motherhood is a joy should be shot in the head and dumped in the river.
Rose’s mouth tips downwards into an ever-darkening scowl as her daughter inspects the bottom of the pot she just burned. She can’t help it; her mood worsens by the second as the cause of her distress prances around in front of her, completely oblivious to the catastrophic harm she’s wrought into her mother’s life.
“Miriam.” Rose levels her voice to be as even and calm as she can despite the storm of a headache brewing behind her temples.
“One sec, Mama.” Midge lifts the pot and sticks her face in it, “I swear I followed the recipe exactly! How could this have happened? I did exactly what Zelda told me to do!”
“Miriam –“
“-It’s not like I’m bad at cooking either! I’m amazing at it. You remember those cupcakes I made for Ethan’s class party, right? Those gremlins wiped those down to the last crumb. And my brisket! I kept Joel’s comedy career afloat with that brisket alone. And that career was barely floating, more riddled with holes than my old stock – well, anyway. He may have been the breadwinner back then, but Mama, I was the brisketwinner –“
“Miriam!” Rose’s voice is shrill and cracks apart like a ginger snap, crumbs and all. Miriam blinks up at her, startled and alarmed, thankfully lifting her face out of the singed pan. There’s a smear of soot on the tip of her nose, and Rose wants nothing more than to evacuate her mortal body for another plane of existence.
Rose stretches her mouth into a tense smile, but Midge’s eyes only widen in wariness and fear.
“Sit, Miriam.” Rose says, motioning to the chair in front of her, “We need to talk.”
Miriam gingerly slides into the chair. “What about?”
“You,” Rose continues in a clipped tone, “are jeopardizing my business.”
Miriam lets out a strained and awkward laugh, “Oh, you’ve found out that I’ve been hiding away the eligible bachelors of New York in our basement.”
Rose leans back, her brows furrowing in confusion. Her daughter has never made sense to her, and makes even less sense as the years go on. “We don’t have a basement. What are you talking about?”
“No, I meant –“
“Miriam, focus. Do you know how poorly it reflects on my matchmaking business that my daughter is a” Rose’s voice drops to a whisper, “a spinster?”
“Careful, Mama.” Midge says flatly, “They almost heard you in the White House.”
“My own daughter, all alone. I can’t even repeat what some of my clients’ mothers have asked me. Don’t you want someone to grow old with, to have – I don’t know, arthritis together?”
“Great sales pitch.” Miriam snorts with a smile, “Besides, I’ve been married before. It didn’t work out, but it did happen, you know? Remember your grandchildren, Mama?”
“And Benjamin,” Rose says waspishly. She can barely say his name without feeling like she’s being pummeled by a hundred fists of guilt and regret, or having a four-story house dropped on her. All those dreams and hopes dashed. Shy Baldwin never did sound the same to her after that. Miriam’s smile falters for the first time, and Rose finds herself pivoting without even thinking.
“What if you hit your head somewhere? Who’s going to take you to the hospital?”
“Susie,” Midge answers without missing a beat.
“And who will buy you food when you’ve run out of it suddenly?”
“Probably Susie, again,” Midge says with a laugh.
“And who will you watch late television shows or go on vacation with, Miriam?”
“Susie again,” Midge murmurs with a strange smile, an odd tone in her voice.
“Your career cannot be your life, Miriam. No one is an island. You need people, you need your people. Or at least a person. You need your person.”
Miriam looks at her, all traces of mirth finally wiped from her eyes.
“Your father and I won’t be there forever.”
Miriam’s lips purse into a frown, her eyes bright and displeased. “Please stop talking about your demise at the dining table, Mama. It’s seven in the morning.”
“Why not? I saw the look on your face when you saw the emerald necklace from your grandmother. You were imagining my demise then, and it was only five in the evening.”
“Oh, for goodness' sakes!” Miriam screws her eyes shut, “I was not imagining your death!”
Rose shrugs delicately. She wouldn’t know. Her daughter has been an enigma to her from the moment she started walking and talking.
Miriam takes her mother’s thin hand — small and delicate, like a bird’s bones.
“I want you and Papa to live forever. Outlive me. Outlive everyone in this building. I want to leave this house to you.”
Rose smirks. “You can’t leave us the house when we bought it for you. That’s not inheritance, that’s repossession.”
Miriam throws her hands up. “Fine. Whatever makes you happy.”
“What would make me happy,” Rose says, leaning in, “is for you to fall in love again. Find a partner. Your father and I won’t be here forever—”
Miriam starts to protest.
“—because we’ll be in Paris, of course,” Rose continues, breezing right over her. “Living our immortal lives. Drinking espresso. Going to the opera. Sleeping in that cramped little bed with one window…” Her eyes go soft. “You need someone to take care of you when we’re gone.”
“I can take care of myself,” Miriam says. The words come out so unconvincing that even the coffee pot seems to gurgle in disbelief.
Rose raises an eyebrow. “Mm-hm.”
Miriam sighs. “Fine. I’ll talk to Susie. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” Rose says. “Now pass me the sugar before I wither away.”