On a Lake of Memories

I left work a little earlier then usual. I had a vacation to start. It was my older sister Elizabeth’s last weekend away as a bachelorette. My oldest sister Caroline, my mother and I planned a weekend away to Lakes Region in N.H., I couldn’t wait to get away.
I loved my job, I had been there since I interned in college. I somehow managed to work my way up quick and in no time, I had my own afternoon show. I was a DJ for Boston’s hottest rock station, the WROC on 99.9 FM. Lunch hour was the best time for a show, and I dominated the scene. I always had fun things to do to entertain my listeners and everyday was an adventure. I was even a a club promoter, It was easy for me to do and have a high guest list. I would spend every Friday partying at the Phantom, the club I advertised for, it’s one of the best rock clubs near my home. I even got to go to a lot of rock concerts, met some celebrities and interviewed them on my show.
My name is Erika Baker and I live in a small studio in Back Bay Boston, I have been on my own for years and I couldn’t imagine living with anyone. I turned 30 this year, I haven’t found the love of my life yet and since my sister is getting married next Saturday, my whole family has taken it upon themselves to pressure me into finding the man of my dreams.

“He wont come if we go searching for him.” I would remind them, “Remember you used all tell me when I was younger, the right one comes along when you least expect him to.” That would shut them up.

I had a bad smoking habit, I started my first year in grad school; that was the year I broke the leash from my mother and finally left the circle, and started my own life, I was 22 years old.

As I walked to Sonsie’s on Newbury St to find my mom and sisters for lunch I couldn’t help but observe the teenage girl and her mom ahead of me. The conversation sounded like one I had with my mother in high school.
“Your education is the most important gift to you and you must take it seriously,” those were the words I heard and they were the same words my mother once said to me. Except my mother would finish her phrase by saying, “Wellesley College was good enough for my mother, my sister's, myself and your sisters and now yours. You will thank me for this one day.” She said.
I inhaled my Marlboro and remembered how much I hated her for making me go there. Please do not get me wrong, my time there were the best four years I had ever had, but I wanted something different and I was not finding it in Wellesley. I went off to get my masters in Broadcasting and Communications at Emerson College. My mother was pissed. She didn’t talk to me the whole semester, until Thanksgiving, when I came home to show her my work and how well I was doing. She realized then I was serious about a future in broadcasting.

“Hello, Erika!” I heard my sister shout to me from across the street. She walked across with Caroline and I stood there waiting for them.
“Hey girls,” I greeted them in a cheerful voice. “Are you ready to party?” I asked when she finally reached me.
“Ah hell yeah!” Liz answered. She and I were close growing up. She was only two years older and we did everything together. She was my best friend and my partner in crime. She too had a good career in media, except she worked for as a web graphic designer. She had some seriously cool web pages and advertising commercials. I was a little envious of her talent. She worked hard and earned her living. She met her fiancée at work two years earlier. Their future together looked bright and promising.
The three of us finished smoking our cigarettes and talked about work while we waited for mom.
Caroline was ten years older then me. She was the serious older sister, very motherly, and has a good job as an Studio Arts Professor at Wellesley College. She has been married for almost fifteen years and is the mother of my thirteen year old nephew, 10 and 7 year old nieces. Her husband works as a Tax Advisor, they owned a gorgeous home in Wellesley, MA and one could not ask for more. Unfortunately, there was a little trouble in paradise lately and my sister was getting ready to divorce her husband. For the first time in 40 years, I think this was the first time she pissed my mother off. I was proud of her.
Well, not really, things sounded bad. She often would visit me and would cry for hours. I felt her pain and I hope to this day that she and Ed will fix things and go back to their happy life. What I meant when I said I was proud of her, was that she finally stood up to my mom and told her she felt differently and that this was her life and if she divorced her husband that, she would not be a bad person.

Just then, my mother walked up to us. She caught me off guard.
“Hey mom!” I said flicking my butt in the ash tray right outside the door at Sonsie’s.
“Good afternoon ladies,” She said in her deep voice. She had been a smoker since college herself, so it was no surprise her three daughters couldn’t kick the habit either.

We had already requested a table and the hostess was ready to seat us.
“Are we going to sit inside?” My mother asked as she followed.
“Yes mom, it will be good for you to stay away from a menthol cigarette for a whole hour today.” Liz said sarcastically.
My mother didn’t respond. She was used to her always making comments like that.
We sat comfortably at a table and my mother immediately ordered a bottle of Chainti from the hostess.
"My name is Brenda Baker and I would like you to bring over a bottle of your finest Chianti."

Poor girl, I thought as I looked at the hostess, she suddenly seemed fearful of my mothers haughty tone.

I smiled at the hostess and shook my head and mouthed, “don’t worry.”

After our waitress greeted us with the wine and took our lunch orders, we sat in silence for minutes.
My mother sipped her wine and looked at us, something was on her mind.
“I want the three of us to get along this weekend.” Her voice was deep and serious.
I was not sure what she meant because it seemed like we always got along.
“Yes mom,” Caroline said.
I laughed to myself.
“I mean I want us to talk and gossip and spend quality time getting to know each other. I want us to live as though this is the last weekend we will ever be together.”
My eyes grew big as she spoke. She was a 62 year old woman and there were times when her age showed. I wondered if this was one of them.
I bit my lip and looked at Liz and Caroline. They were smiling ear to ear. They seemed relieved that our mother’s mood was in high spirits, and so was I.