The Mimosa Tree (25 page)

I wait until I hear my father leave for work, then I walk down the hallway to my mother's room. My mother's room is dark except where a gap in the heavy curtains lets in a slice of sunlight that sparkles with tumbling dust particles. Mum is under the covers but barely visible now that she's lost so much weight. My soft, plump mother has become a mere fold of fabric, and if it wasn't for the wheezing sound she makes as she tries to breathe, I might not even know she was there.

I don't lie next to her. Years of coming to this room every morning have formed such strong expectations of how she should smell and feel and look that it just hurts to be reminded of how much the cancer has changed her. I sit on the chair by her bedside, and focus on her eyes because they, unlike the rest of her, are still the same. When she wakes and sees me sitting there, she smiles and reaches out to touch me. I put my hand on the bed next to hers and she grips it but it's like a pair of wonky tongs.

‘You going to see your friend today?' she says. She, like everyone else around here, thinks I've been going out with
Felicia when really I've been seeing Harm. When I told them I was going out to meet a friend they just assumed I meant Felicia and I haven't bothered correcting them. What's the point? They would just get upset and worried and I can't risk them not letting me see him. My friendship with Harm is the only thing keeping me going. It's clear there is no hope for Mum but all of us walk around like ghosts caught between two worlds, waiting for the inevitable to happen but still hoping for some miracle, still trying to act as though nothing is changing or happening to her or to us.

‘I'm going to stay with you.'

‘No,' she says pushing my hand away. ‘I don't want you missing out because of me. Go and enjoy yourself, Mira. These are supposed to be the best days of your life.' She gives me a quick smile, but she isn't able to ignore the pain for very long. After a moment her eyes close again and her face tenses in concentration, like she's reading a book or watching a movie that only she can see.

‘Do you need some medicine?' I say reaching for the morphine. She nods and I draw up some liquid with the dropper. ‘Here Mum,' I say, and she pushes forward her bottom lip to accept it.

She takes a deep breath and the look of pain on her face frightens me. I turn to the window for distraction but when I see the mimosa tree I start to remember all those mornings we have watched it together, marvelling at how it changes through the seasons. It's too much, and the tears I hoped I could avoid begin to fall. I breathe through my mouth so that I don't snort through my snot and tears. I can't let my mother know I am crying.

‘So beautiful,' she says and I know she is looking at the tree too. It has finished flowering and brown pods are now growing like fringes from each branch, waiting for summer when they will curl up, split and release hundreds of seeds. Then they will germinate and the garden will be full of baby mimosas that Dad will painstakingly remove, frightened that our weedy grass might become a mimosa forest.

‘It's getting old now. Not long to go.'

‘What?' I say trying to speak without giving away my tears.

‘The mimosa grows quickly but dies young. This one is already nearly twenty years old and it will die soon.'

‘The tree is fine, Mum,' I say reaching back to take her hand.

‘Save some seedlings this time. Tell your father, okay?'

After a few minutes her breathing becomes soft and shallow and I turn back, knowing that the morphine is beginning to kick in. Her eyes are closed, and her face has relaxed into a dopey smile as her pain begins to lessen.

‘Mum,' I say. ‘Maybe I will go out.' I don't expect her to respond, but I am pleased when I feel her fingers lift and tickle my hand. ‘Don't worry about me, I'm not missing out on anything.' By now my tears have become sobs, and my whole body is shaking with the force of them but I don't try to be quiet or hide it now because I know that the morphine will protect her from my grief. I sit there, hiccuping and dribbling until I hear Via arrive and I run to the bathroom and turn on the shower before she can see me.

By the time I come out, Siena has arrived too, and my aunts are at the table sharing a coffee.

‘Your mum is sleeping,' says Via taking out her cigarettes.

‘I gave her some morphine,' I say sitting down and picking up a biscuit even though I am not sure I can actually eat it.

‘So soon?' she says looking at the clock.

We have both noticed that she is using more of it lately, and though we don't talk about it, I think we have learnt to gauge the progression of her sickness by the timing of that first dose.

‘She wanted it,' I say, feeling bad about offering it to her. Perhaps she could have gone a little longer if I hadn't been there to hassle her.

‘She needs it,' says Siena looking at each of us earnestly. ‘It's important that she is comfortable now.'

I can't look at her so I start to pick up grains of sugar from the table by pressing my finger on them. Via begins rolling up her sleeves.

‘Enough,' she says. ‘There's a lot to do today so let's get started. You know how Sofia frets about the housework.'

‘I'm sorry, Via,' says Siena picking up her handbag. ‘I can come back later and help, but right now I've got to get to work.'

‘Can I come with you?' I say.

‘To the restaurant?' says Siena looking puzzled.

‘I need to get out.'

‘Of course, darling,' she says looking sympathetic, then we both look expectantly to Via for the final say. Via shakes her head and begins clearing the table.

‘Go on, get out,' she says. ‘I'm sick of screaming at you all day anyway. Today you can be Siena's problem.'

‘Let's go,' says Siena.

‘Let me just say goodbye to Mum.' And I take off down the hallway.

When I get to the bedroom door, however, I hesitate to open it. I put my hand on the door, close my eyes and try to imagine my mother how she has always been. In my mind she is sitting up in bed, her pink nightie flapped open at the breast and her face is smiling and kind. She has her hand raised in a wave, and she is ready to accept me into a warm hug.

‘Goodbye Mum,' I say. ‘I love you.'

I love you too, darling, says the picture in my mind, and I blow her a kiss through the door then run outside to where Siena is waiting.

Siena's driving has thankfully improved. I am hanging onto the door handle tightly, but it's more of a habit than anything else. Siena hasn't run a red light or hit anything in ages, and she's calmer behind the wheel, laid back and steady rather than looking like a kid in a dodgem car.

‘Things at home are pretty rough at the moment,' she says, giving me a quick sideways glance as she drives.

‘They've been better.'

‘It's pretty hard to see her like that,' she says, and her hand goes up to wipe away some tears, but she scrunches her eyes and tries to keep smiling and I know that she wants to hold it together for my benefit. I'm glad too, because right now I really want to be able to get through the day without having another tear-fest. I am sick of crying and I am sick of everyone else crying. All the crying in the world won't change what's happening. Today my Mum is sitting up in bed in her nightie,
pink and plump and waving. And that's how I am going to picture her.

‘How's your dad?'

I look at her confused. ‘My dad? What's he got to do with anything?'

‘Is he coping okay?'

‘How would I know?' I say. ‘He gets up, goes to work, comes home to yell at me for something then he watches TV and goes to bed. I don't think he cares.'

‘I doubt that's true, Mira. Men from that generation don't usually show what they are feeling. You might not realise it but he's having a hard time too.'

‘Is that what your father was like?'

She nods. ‘What I remember of him. I was pretty young when he died. In a lot of ways I don't really remember having a father.'

‘That's how I feel and my father is still alive.'

‘Have you tried talking to him?'

‘Are you kidding?' I snort. ‘He doesn't talk.'

‘It doesn't have to be about solving world hunger or anything serious, but I am sure there is some level you could find to connect?'

‘Sure,' I say. ‘We could discuss dog stories on the news.'

She laughs. ‘I suppose you could consider that a start.'

‘Is this it?' I say as she pulls into a gravel car park at the back of an old building.

‘Sure is,' she says looking proud as she parks the car in front of a group of bins. When I open the door there is a strong stench of rotting fish that makes me want to dry retch, but
Siena doesn't seem to notice. She takes a deep breath and places her hands on her hips. ‘Welcome to La Mamma.'

‘I hope it looks better on the inside,' I say and she laughs and grabs me by the shoulders to lead me through a small gate.

‘This is the staff entrance,' she says stepping me across an open drain. ‘The public don't see this side so it's just functional. We don't spend a lot of time fussing about it.'

We walk past a row of humming fridges then into a courtyard area. There's a sink overflowing with water where lobsters bob up and down like aquatic aliens. Next to the sink are crates of vegetables and bread and Siena picks one up, motioning for me to do the same and we enter the kitchen through a flyscreen door.

‘Good morning,' she says to a man who is busy smashing chunks of meat into flat pancakes. He looks up from his work and smiles.

‘Morning. Who's this then?'

‘Alistair, I'd like you to meet my niece, Mira.'

‘Mira!' he says cheerily. ‘I've heard a lot about you.'

‘She's going to spend the day with us,' says Siena beginning to unload her crates. ‘Hope you don't mind? Everything sorted out the front?'

‘Actually,' says Alistair, putting down his hammer and leaning his hands in a pool of splattered meat juices, ‘we have a problem. Gina has called in sick.'

‘What again?'

‘I don't know how we're going to manage. We have two tables of ten booked, not to mention our usual Friday lunch crowd. Siena, it's going to be a disaster.'

‘Can I help?' I say.

‘Have you waitressed before?' says Alistair looking hopeful.

‘I help serve up at family parties,' I say thinking it can't be too different to that. ‘I helped my mum make ravioli this year. Maybe I can help in the kitchen?'

‘I don't know Ali. Mira's got a lot on her mind at the moment. Working the front might be too much for her.'

‘How hard could it be?' I don't want to be stuck sitting around all day getting bored. ‘It can't hurt to try.'

‘She sounds keen,' says Alistair giving Siena an encouraging nudge to the side that makes her giggle like he's just tickled her or something. I am starting to think they are more than just-see-what-happens friends. When she's done giggling and blushing, Siena takes me by the shoulders and looks at me seriously.

‘If you're sure, you can give it a go. But anytime you want to quit you just say so. I didn't bring you here to work you, okay?'

‘Fine,' I say.

‘There's just one thing,' says Alistair and he points at my hair.

‘What?' I say putting my hands on my head nervously.

‘Relax,' says Siena laughing. ‘We just need to tie it off your face.'

‘Oh my
God!
' I say horrified. ‘Surely there's another way?'

‘You could wear a hair net?' offers Alistair and they start laughing as Siena leads me through the kitchen and out into the dining room.

‘You did really well,' says Siena as we drive home. ‘I'm proud of you.'

We stop at a light and she checks herself in the rear-view mirror. I can't get over how good she is looking. She's happier than I've ever seen her, and she's got all her curves back. It's weird how Siena seems to be plumping out at the same rate that my mother seems to be withering away.

‘I spilt parmesan cheese all over that fat guy,' I say, cringing at how embarrassing it was. ‘Then I gave that poor Jewish man the pork instead of the chicken.'

‘You had some teething issues, that's true. But you came through in the end. How did you find it?'

I think about this. The day has passed so quickly I can hardly believe it. At first everything felt slow and awkward but after a while I found myself chugging along as I developed a kind of style. By the end of the day I was flying into the kitchen yelling out orders and whizzing plates around like I was on rollerskates. It was weird and good and boring all at the same time.

‘It was okay.'

‘You were a natural in there,' says Siena, reaching over and patting my knee. ‘But then you learnt from the best, didn't you?'

I smile. It's been so long since Mum has worked that I have forgotten about those days. She used to take me to work with her during the school holidays, so when I think about it, I've actually spent a lot of time around restaurant kitchens. Maybe that's why I was able to pick it up so quickly. I was just acting out old memories.

‘Maybe I could come and help you some more,' I say
tentatively, hoping that Siena won't laugh at the idea.

‘I would love that,' she says. ‘But your Mum would kill me if I did anything to interfere with your studies.'

‘I could help on weekends. And more when the holidays are on,' I say thinking how great it would be to hang out with Siena more. I liked Alistair too. He didn't treat me like a stupid kid. He just talked to me normally, like Harm does. I am not used to adults being interesting or interested in me, it was a nice change. ‘I'd still have lots of time to study. I'd make sure I kept up.'