They said they wanted to celebrate me. My daughter’s voice was clear on the phone, almost musical. « Mom, you’re 70 years old. »
That’s huge! We want to throw you a party. A real one!
So I believed her.
I booked the ticket. I packed my suitcase, my beautiful navy blue dress with mother-of-pearl buttons. I put hope into it, carefully folded, pressed between tissue paper and reasonable expectations.
Then I landed at LAX, dragged my suitcase into the terminal, and stood in front of the arrivals for 43 minutes before I figured it out — before I pulled out my phone and saw the Instagram story. All the girls: glasses of wine raised, vineyard in the background. Caption: Girls’ Trip Goals.
No party. Not me. It started three weeks earlier.
I was sitting at my kitchen table in Phoenix, my tea cooling, when my phone rang. My daughter, Jessica. She doesn’t call often.
Usually text messages, short. A busy day. Or the children are turbulent.
Laughing out loud. So when I saw his name, my first thought was: there’s something wrong. « Mom.
« Hi. » His voice had that gaiety learned by heart. « How are you? »
« I’m fine, honey. Everything’s fine?
« Everything is fine. »
I was actually calling because Brad and I were talking and we realized that your birthday was coming up. I
put down my cup of tea. « It’s true. Seventy years is an important milestone.
« Mom, you should celebrate. I
smiled on the phone.
« I thought I would make myself a good dinner. Maybe invite Carol, the neighbor.
« No, no, no. We want to do something special. »
How about coming to California? We could throw you a party.
My heart made a strange movement. A small leap.
« A party? »
« Yes. Nothing extraordinary. Just the family. »
Maybe some of Brad’s parents, the kids. We could do it on the weekend of your birthday. What do you think?
I thought back to the last time I was invited to something.
I was really invited, without any obligation. It had been years. Christmas two years ago, perhaps.
And even then, Jessica said, « If you’re not too tired from traveling, I think it’s a great idea. »
I said, « Perfect. »
« Book a flight. Let me know when you land. We’ll come and get you.
After I hung up, I sat there for a long time.
The kitchen window looked out onto my small garden. The palo verde dropped its tiny yellow flowers on the terrace. I had lived alone in this house for six years, since Robert’s death.Silence had become a companion, familiar, generally bearable. But this… An invitation.
I enjoy myself. I opened my laptop and searched for flights. I found one for $340.
Round trip. Not cheap, but I still had some of Robert’s life insurance set aside. I clicked « Buy » before changing my mind.
The next day, I went to Dillard’s. I tried on four dresses before choosing the navy blue. It had a discreet cleavage, reached just below the knee and gave me an irresistible look.
The saleswoman asked me, « A special occasion? »
And I said, « My daughter is having a party for my birthday. »
Saying it out loud made it more concrete. I also bought new shoes – small heels, comfortable but elegant – and a small clutch, because my everyday bag, an old canvas tote, no longer fitted. That week, I went to the hairdresser.
Martha, who had been cutting my hair for fifteen years, noticed it. « You look thrilled, » she said. « My daughter invited me to California for my birthday. »
« It’s wonderful, Dorothy. »
You deserve it.
I called Jessica three days before the flight, just to confirm. She did not respond.
I left a voicemail. « Hi honey. I just wanted to make sure that our meeting on Saturday is still okay. »
My flight lands at 2:30 pm. Let me know if it’s right for you.
I also sent a text message. Same message.
She read it. No answer. But I thought she was busy.
She had two children, a husband, and a part-time job at a wellness center. I was already making excuses for him at the time. The morning of the flight, I woke up at 4 a.m.
It was impossible to sleep. I made coffee, then checked my suitcase one last time. I had carefully packed it: the dress, the shoes, a sweater in case it was cold.
A small packaged package: Jessica’s favorite perfume, Chanel No. 5. I had saved up to buy it. And also, a book for each of my grandchildren.
Ava was eight years old. Mason had six. I had barely seen them since they were very young.
Mainly video calls. Short calls. At the airport, I went through security slowly, carefully.
I took off my shoes and belt, and watched the young people whizz by, their laptops in hand and looking impatient. At the gate, I sat by the window and watched the planes taxi and take off. My phone vibrated once: a promotional email.
Not Jessica. The flight went well. I had a window seat.
Below, the desert gave way to the mountains, then to the mosaic valleys of California. I pressed my forehead against the plastic and thought about the party. Would there be a cake?
Would my grandchildren remember me? Would Jessica have hung photos, the old ones, those of her childhood? At the Los Angeles airport, it was chaos.
I followed the signs to baggage claim, picked up my suitcase from the conveyor belt and made my way to the arrivals area. It was 2:47 p.m. when I went out. The Californian sun was different from that of Arizona.
Softer, as if filtered by the coastal mist. I was standing at the curb, near the B4 sign, where Jessica had last picked me up, three years ago. People were flocking around me.
Hugs. Laughter. A reunion.
A young man held a sign that read, « Welcome home. »
A father with balls strapped to his wrist. A woman of a certain age, perhaps mine, was embraced by three adult children. I checked my phone.
No message. I called Jessica. It rang six times.
I went on voicemail. « Hello, this is Jess. Leave a message. »
I didn’t do it.
I hung up. I tried again five minutes later. Same thing.
At 3:15 p.m., my feet hurt. I sat down on my suitcase. At 3:30 p.m., I called Brad, my son-in-law.
No answer. I texted Jessica. I’m at the finishes.
B4. Where should I wait? Read the receipt.
Still no answer. At 3:51 a.m., I got up and dusted off my pants. I told myself that there were traffic jams.
There were always traffic jams in Los Angeles. But an icy cold ran down my spine, the kind of cold that asks questions you don’t want to answer. I opened Instagram.
I rarely used it. I had downloaded it only to see the photos of my grandchildren. Jessica’s profile has loaded.
The last publication was 20 minutes ago. A photo. Four wine glasses, presented in front of the lens.
Behind them, rolling hills covered with vines. A sunny Sunday. Caption: Finally!
Objective: a girls’ trip. Napa, here we come! Identified: Molen, Brad’s sister.
Carrie, a friend of Jessica’s from college. Shannon, another friend I had met once. I stood there, watching, and then scrolled down.
Another photo taken an hour ago. The four of them are seen in the car, sunglasses on their noses, laughing. Caption: Road trip atmosphere.
Napa. It was four hours north of Los Angeles, maybe more.
I stood there on the sidewalk, my suitcase next to me, my pouch in my hand, and the sun looked different now. Heavier. More cruel.
I called back. This time, she dropped out. « Mom, hello. »
His voice was loud — a background noise of laughter and music.
« What’s up? »
« I’m at the airport. »
Be quiet. Then: « What? »
« At the Los Angeles airport. You said you’d come and get me for the party. »
No more silence.
The background noise faded as if she had moved away from the group. « Mom, your birthday is only next weekend. »
I closed my eyes. « No. »
It is the 16th. Today is the 16th.
« No, it’s the 9th. Your birthday is on the 16th. »
We said we would celebrate that weekend.
My hand clenched on the phone. « Jessica, you said my birthday weekend. Today is Saturday the 16th. »
« No, Mom. »
It’s Saturday 9. I have my calendar right here.
I moved my phone away and looked at the date. 16 March.
« Jessica. »
« Oh my God. » His voice changed. « Oh my God. I confused the dates, I said to myself. »
I swear. I thought…
« You’re in Napa. »
Pause. « I… Yes, but it was planned months ago, even before we talked about your feast day. »
I didn’t realize it.
« When are you coming back? »
« Uh, Monday. Monday evening. »
« What about Brad? »
« He’s at home with the kids. But mom, it’s just a misunderstanding. »
You can stay at home. Brad is there. The children would love to see you.
I felt something in me — something I had been wearing for years — change.
« Did you tell Brad I was coming? »
A longer silence. « I… I thought so. »
« Jessica. »
« Okay. No. »
I forgot. But that’s okay. I call him right away.
He will come and get you.
« You forgot to tell your husband that your mom was flying across two states for a party you promised to throw. »
« Mom, I’m sorry. I did something stupid. But it can be repaired. »
Wait there. I call Brad.
I looked down at my suitcase. To the dress that was there, carefully folded.
To the Chanel perfume that I couldn’t afford. To the hope I had packed as if he could survive baggage handling. « No, » I said.
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