"Really, Kaylis, be more like your namesake. Do you think the Klingon God of War would have heaved upon his intended?"
My mother, Willow, named me after a Star Trek character.
Not an actor, but a fictional character in that particular universe. Was I supposed to be war-like? Complete with ridged forehead and knife strapped to my side? The perpetual chip on my shoulder, a preference for Romulan Ale and penchant for squiggling live food that would make both a Korean and bushman blanch in disgust? I suppose I should be grateful that I won the gender lottery lest my name would be James T. Kirk, Scotty, Spock or even the revered Cochrane. I never understood her fascination with sci-fi, which was only dimmed by her fascination with all things hippie and new age.
"Willow, please. Do you honestly think that I would intentionally puke on Dmitri? It was an accident. Hell, it could have been something I ate that didn't agree with my stomach." I told her of the proposal, but not of my initial reaction faux pas from last night. Dmitri told her of the vomit volcano with a measure of humor. And now I get to deal with the fall out of this awkward conversation. This was not how I wanted to spend my Saturday morning.
Dmitri and I were at Willow's house. Cottage, really. The house, straight out of the English countryside, seemed dwarfed by the size of the back yard. She and I sat at the glass and wrought iron table out on the deck, sharing a pot of green tea while Dmitri worked on tilling a patch of ground for her medicinal herb garden. Patches of veggies grew among herbs. Purple foxglove mingled with lavender and calendula as an improvised fence around the railroad-tie lined garden beds. There were trees laden with immature fruit that would end up either as wine, preserves or baskets of fresh-picked goodies for the neighbors. Hops strung from the eaves of the house's backside acted as a curtain shading the deck.
A profusion of blooms scented the air and helped to attract all manner of insects that seemed to find me irresistible. I don't care if ladybugs do eat aphids, I just don't want the damn things crawling on me. Beneficial bugs are still bugs, and her back yard jungle was teeming with six-legged critters.
Her turquoise caftan sleeve caught the breeze like a kite and she raised her voice above the rototiller's din. "You know, it must stem from some incident in one of your past lives. Dr. Neilsinhaur can help you get to the bottom of it, I just know he can... Some past life regression is just what you need!" Willow's enthusiasm for past life regression was legendary. Give her enough time on the subject and she'd mention her "favorite" past life.
And then as if on cue, she continued on her train wreck of thought. "I mean that's why I can't be in a relationship. My past life as Lady Jane Grey has caused me to distrust any man who has an interest in me because I was used so horridly. Can you imagine what it was like for a sixteen-year-old girl to be placed on the throne by greedy, manipulative men? Married to a repulsive toady? Beheaded!" She paused and heaved a deep sigh. You'd think that after making such a discovery, she'd be able to process it and move on. Not so. And I bet her reading all those historical romance novels set in the Tudor Era doesn't help one iota.
"You know my stance on that quackery, Willow. I don't need anyone to plant ideas in my mind to justify actions in this life. If I were to see a doctor, it'd be a therapist to help me cope with my mother." There. Gauntlet thrown.
She made finger-quotes and mouthed the word "quackery" with a sarcastic shake of her head. "It's not bullshit. You simply don't understand the nuances of regression. And Dr. Neilsinhaur is a therapist, too. Certified, licensed, accredited... all the good things one should seek in a mental health professional." She stopped for a moment and looked like she was in deep contemplation. "I propose a deal. You see Dr. Neilsinhaur, and I'll stay out of your way with wedding planning. I'll help only when asked."
Dammit! She had me by the throat. Give her an inch and she'd plan the whole thing, probably even include Jumping the Broom-- something she did at her own four weddings. "Very tempting, I will grant you, but..." I really didn't want to encourage her in the madness she chose to pursue. And she knew that I couldn't cut her completely off from helping with the wedding, so it's not too even a trade... but if it kept her from decorating the alter to look like a holodeck with a Ferengi as the officiant, it was worth investigating. And I sure as hell didn't want her handling the guest-list and inviting my father... if he ever made it out of the Mexican prison... I never asked and if he did, she never mentioned it.
"You see him once. Only once. And I'll keep my nose out of your wedding. Promise. I'll even pinky swear to it." Her faded blond braids swung to and fro as she tried to contain her excitement at getting me to do her bidding. She held up a pinky and wiggled it, as if a pinky swear were as legally binding as a contract. "C'mon... you know you want to." She reminded me of a happy puppy, bouncing with glee. "Come on, Kaylis...."
My mother is quirky. I was encouraged to call her by her first name when I made the momentous growing up moment of going to the bathroom by myself for the first time. "We are now equals, so you can call me by my real name. You can call me Willow instead of Mama." or something like that. I suppose being able to use the toilet levels life's playing field. Willow doesn't know how to take No for an answer. She'll wheedle her way to a Yes, even going to the lengths of doing it on principle. This pinky swearing thing is one of the obnoxious yet adorable moments my quirky mother uses because she knows it works on me. It's my life's goal to not be the head-perpetually-stuck-in-the-clouds-go-with-the-flow-kind-of-person. This is the bane of my mother's existence, hence her use of emotional bribery.
"I don't like the idea of someone planting ideas in my head. I'm not cool with that in the least." A glance towards Dmitri revealed him raking the newly churned earth even. Wheelbarrow of compost stood at the ready to be forked into the patch.
Willow sighed. "The first visit is more like an interview. You get to know him, he gets to know you. No head tripping. At least not with me. If you are lucky, he'll use the Forest Room. It's beautiful." A look of rapture made her glow. "And I'm only asking one visit out of you for our little deal..." her voice trailed off and her pinky waved ferociously anew as a smile spilled across her unwrinkled face.
Dammit.
My mother is good.