Sean Dietrich
I saw the mother and daughter in the hotel breakfast area. They were eating hotel breakfast; that uniquely American fare made of commercial plastic that will turn your bowels into stone.
Mom was middle-aged. Maybe early fifties. Her daughter was maybe 18. You could tell it was her daughter because of the way she kept rolling her eyes whenever the middle-aged woman opened her mouth.
“Aren’t you going to eat any fruit?” Mom said.
Eye roll. “Mom.”
“Maybe you should go get an apple.”
“I don’t want fruit this morning.”
“They’re pretty good apples. I had one.”
“Mom.”
The mother smiled. Mom went back to her breakfast. She stabbed her plate absently.
“Did you finish setting up your dorm room last night?” Mom said, eyes still on the plate.
“Yeah. We hung colored lights.”
Sean Dietrich
“What color?”
“Pink.”
“Where’d you get them?”
“Target. They have great stuff for dorms.”
Her mom smiled again.
Mother and daughter favored each other. In many ways, they were almost identical. One of them merely looked a little more tired than the other.
“Have you activated the credit card I gave you yet?” said Mom.
“No.”
“You need to do it before I leave town.”
“I will.”
“You have to do it on your phone, it’s kind of complicated, you need my help?”
Eye roll.
“Maybe you should do it now,” said Mom. “While I’m sitting here. In case you need me.”
“Mom.”
The girl went back to playing on her phone. The mother was just looking straight at the girl. There was a lot of love in Mom’s eyes. But it was being aimed at a kid who wasn’t paying attention.
“Do you need me to gas up your car before I leave town?” said Mom.
“No.”
“What about the oil? Doesn’t it need to be changed soon?”
The girl shrugged.
“You have to look at the sticker,” said Mom. “They always write it on the sticker.”
“What sticker?”
“It’s in the corner of the windshield. It tells you when you need an oil change.”
The girl kept thumbing away on her device.
Mom went back to her food. She spoke without looking up from her plateful of scrambled plastic. Her voice was small.
“I’m going to miss you, baby.”
The girl was still looking at her tiny screen.
Mom said, “The house isn’t going to be the same without you. I won’t know what to do with myself.”
The daughter just looked at her mom. They both held their stare. They reached across the table and held hands. Mom was crying now.
“Are you sure you don’t want to eat an apple? They’re good for you.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”