Читать книгу Marrying Mom - Olivia Goldsmith - Страница 15

Forget it. I’m not even considering it,” Phyllis told her children. They were sitting in Bruce’s apartment, crowded into the front room of his tiny brownstone flat. Boxes of greeting cards towered above them, threatening to collapse, just as Bruce’s business was. Phyllis paid no attention to either the disorder or her children’s arguments.

“Mom, you don’t understand. It’s not that we don’t want you here or staying with us,” Sig lied, “it’s just that you don’t understand the realities in New York anymore. It’s not as safe as it used to be. And it’s not as cheap.”

“Since when is a hotel cheap?” Phyllis asked.

“Not cheap, but safe. New York has changed,” Bruce said. He was desperate to have her out of his already crowded space.

“Don’t worry about me,” Phyllis said. “I can take care of myself. I always have. I don’t plan to be a burden on any of you.” She paused. It was hard for her to admit her mistakes to anyone, much less her children. “Listen,” she said, “I haven’t come for a visit. And I haven’t come for myself. I’ve come for you. I know that your father and I were so busy with the business that I didn’t give you all the attention that you needed. If I had …” She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, things might be different.”

“Mom, you—”

Phyllis held up her hand. “I couldn’t stand those women at the PTA. I wasn’t a Brownie leader or a den mother. I didn’t help you with your homework. And I’d like to make up for that now. I’m here for the duration,” she said as bravely as she knew how.

“The duration of what?” Sig asked. Her mother had been in Manhattan for only two hours and it already felt like a month to Sig.

Sharon let out a whimper, while Sig thought she heard her brother groan. “You mean you’re serious about living up here permanently?” Sig asked.

“Well, at least until you straighten out your lives. I’m your mother. I’m here to help. And I’m not staying at some expensive hotel.” She patted her purse. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I have a little put away, and my Social Security check. And I still get some of Ira’s pension money. I’ll be fine.”

Sig smacked her forehead. Despite how often she’d begged her mother, she’d never gotten into TFIs or any other bonds. “Your Social Security check is six hundred and sixty-three dollars monthly,” Sig said. “Daddy’s pension is … what? Three hundred? Four hundred more?”

“Three eighty, but it’s all tax-free.”

Bruce covered his eyes with his hands. Sharon looked away. It was only Sig, as always, who had to continue relentlessly. “Great. So you have less than a thousand a month to live on here in Manhattan, the most expensive city in the world.”

“No, Sig, I think Hong Kong and Tokyo now rank as slightly more expensive,” Sharon corrected.

“Yes, Sharon, but Mom isn’t thinking of living in Hong Kong or Tokyo,” Sig said through gritted teeth.

“In my dreams,” Bruce said under his breath.

“I heard that, Bruce,” his mother snapped. “Susan, a thousand dollars is still a lot of money. And I do have a little something put aside,” she repeated.

Sig shook her head bitterly. If her mother had only let her put some money into Paine Webber’s Select Ten Portfolio, her yield could be twice as high. But no. “Mom, you just don’t get it. Do you know what the rental on a small studio apartment is here? A very small studio apartment?”