That Kind of Mother

by Rumaan Alam

“Just because something is natural doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“A movie with only one black person, and she’s a servant. You don’t think Priscilla thinks of herself as our servant?”

To hire a nanny was to invite into the home a spectator. What did Priscilla see/overhear/imagine/divine/sense/like/dislike/report and to whom (other nannies, neighbors, her own family)?

“I’ve noticed your girl sits with you. When you’re having your lunch.” Elizabeth’s smile was inscrutable. “That wouldn’t have been done, in my day.”

Love faded, that was its nature, but the half-life of maternal love was an eternity compared to anything else Rebecca knew.

“You can’t spend your life feeling guilty about your being white and his being black, about you being alive and her being dead.”

“You need to try something. Talk therapy. SSRIs. Meditation. This isn’t helping anyone, or it’s helping them but not you. You can’t disappear into motherhood. It’s not good for you. And I can see that’s what you’re doing. You’ve vanished.”

Rebecca dressed in black but felt joy. Motherhood deformed your breast and then your vanity.

Only Rebecca and Cheryl sat at the table the duration of the meal, ignoring or soothing the children, and intent on actually eating their food, because motherhood was mercenary and you needed sustenance to survive it.

WITH THE BOYS OFF AT SCHOOL, REBECCA WAS FREE AT LAST, YET she missed them. Motherhood was idiotic.

“Black kids don’t get to be kids much longer than twelve, really.