The Mother Tracie Deserves

THE PARTY

It was Saturday, the day of the Halloween party, but still, Tracie and I could barely speak to each other. I focused on running last-minute errands like getting ice and cups for the punch, cans of soda, some hot food, and marshmallows to roast around the bonfire.

When I got home with all that, my stepdaughter approached me.

She was tense. I was tense.

"Mom, thanks for all the work you've been doing for tonight."

I nodded. "You're welcome."

She bit her lip nervously. "I don't want this party to start with us hating each other."

"Tracie, we don't hate each other, do we?"

"Of course not." Her eyes searched mine. "We love each other."

Her words sounded loaded. I swallowed and nodded, then turned my attention to the supplies I'd brought in. I handed Tracie a bag of plastic cups and said, "Can you put these over by where we're putting the punch bowl? And there is some more soda in the car, if you could bring that in?"

As she took the bag of cups with one hand, Tracie took hold of my wrist with her other. She said, "Mom."

I was afraid of whatever she was going to say, but I couldn't escape it. I looked at her.

She set the bag of cups down, and took my hand in both of hers.

It was hard standing there face-to-face with her. I said, "Honey, there's no way we can resolve everything before the party starts. Let's just get through tonight, and then..."

"No, Mom, I don't want to 'just get through' tonight. Can we talk for a second?"

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and listened.

She said, "Ever since I can remember, you've always thrown these great Halloween parties for me and my friends..."

"Well, not last year," I said, focusing on the negative.

Tracie ignored that and went on. "I know it's one of the many ways you've always shown how much you love me."

I shrugged. "It's a holiday. I tried to make it fun."

"You always did. Even this year, when I told my friends we were doing it again, they were all excited because your Halloween parties have always been the best."

I took another deep breath and blew it out, trying to stay calm. "Well I loved doing it Tracie, and I'm glad you and your friends enjoy it. But we should really finish getting-"

"Mom, please look at me."

I did, and the earnestness in my daughter's eyes made me even more nervous.

She said, "Everything that's happened, I know it's been crazy..."

"Honey, can we please not talk about this now?"

"I know it's been crazy, Mom, but the other night, it just showed-"

"Tracie," I blurted, "it just showed what I deep sleeper I am, and how someone can have a dream and not know what's really happening." I tried to take my hand back from Tracie's but she wouldn't let go. Her lips pursed into a tight frown.

"Mom, please just let me say this before this party starts."

I expressed what little defiance I could as we stood there, my stepdaughter holding my hand. I wanted to run away from this conversation, but I couldn't.

Tracie said, "Can you please, Mom, please let go of all your fears and worries about what's right and wrong or whatever, just for a minute? And can you think about how, after all these years of great Halloween parties you've thrown for me since I was a little kid, how tonight could be the best night ever? How we could enjoy this party with fun and friends, and costumes and treats and music, and after, when everyone is gone, we can love each other the way we both deserve?"

My heart was pounding with fight-or-flight adrenaline. I yanked my hand away from my daughter's. "I can't, Tracie. I just can't." I was humiliated by the desperation in my voice.

In the space of two seconds, Tracie's face appeared to switch from frustration, to deep sadness, to a firm stoicism tinged with simmering anger. She said with a robotic steadiness that disturbed me, "Fine. But I'm going to have some fun tonight."

I sounded shaky and pathetic as I said, "Th- That's all I want."

Tracie solemnly closed her eyes and I could only imagine what was going through her head. I stood frozen, watching and wondering. She took in a slow, controlled breath. As she deliberately exhaled through her nose, an unreadable, impassive expression came over her face, hiding whatever was going on inside.

She slowly opened her eyes, and said flatly, "When we get in our costumes, do you still want to help me with my whiskers?"

That should have made me smile. It should have been a highlight of the Halloween fun. Instead, I wanted to cry. I took a deep, uneven breath. "Of- Of course."

In the last hour before we expected her friends to start arriving, my daughter and I got into our costumes.

For myself, I had a 1980s aerobics instructor getup - a shiny silver unitard, with a bright pink tank top and cyan athletic shorts. Plus, I had a pair of rainbow-colored leg-warmers and a thick yellow headband to top it all off. Just days before, Tracie and I had laughed and had so much fun shopping online for those things. Now, though, as I adjusted the headband in my bedroom mirror, the outfit did little to cheer me up.

Tracie arrived at my bedroom door, and when I turned to look, I gasped. There was no denying her black-clad figure looked amazing, but I couldn't escape my motherly concern. "Modest" was not the word for the costume - the bodysuit was like a second skin - with nothing else but the belt, tail, and pussycat ears. She certainly wasn't wearing a bra, and I wondered if she was even wearing panties. But I held my tongue. The last thing I wanted to do was argue with her about anything, with a bunch of guests on their way.

She held up an eyeliner pencil. She had come to me to help her with her cat face makeup. I knew she could have done it herself - she had already painted on eyeliner in a dramatic, winged-out cat-eye like some sexy comic book villain - so it felt like a peace offering that she still wanted me to help her.

I nodded. She walked over to me and when she handed me the pencil, I saw her sharp, black fingernails, like claws.

I tried to be polite. I cleared my throat and said, "You look really good."

"Thanks. You too."

Neither of us could even fake a smile.

She held her perfect, young face still for me and closed her black-painted eyes. As I prepared to draw on her cat whiskers, the heat of her body felt both magnetic and frightening. Her beauty nearly brought me to tears.

To be so close to my stepdaughter's face, after what had happened in my bed a few nights before, it was difficult to keep my hand from trembling, especially when her eyes opened. Our eyes met, and my heart skipped a beat. I looked away, focusing exclusively on her lower face. Even that was hard, being so close to her beautiful lips.

I tried to suppress all the feelings inside me while I drew a black spot on the tip of Tracie's nose, and some dots and lines on her cheeks for whiskers. "Okay, that should do," I said.

She looked in a mirror, nodded, and said, "Yeah. Thanks."

She sounded like she was at a funeral. It nearly brought me to tears that we couldn't enjoy ourselves more.

Our life together had been such a roller coaster over the last couple years. I loved my girl more than anything, but everything had been so crazy after I ruined it all with my drinking. Since then, the ups and downs had felt non-stop. At times, I felt closer to Tracie than ever - and some of those times, definitely too close - and at other times, I feared we were destroyed as mother and daughter. The crazy cycle kept happening. Deep down, I was terrified it would never stop, but only get worse, and maybe the only way to stop it was to separate completely. But to lose my Tracie? I'd rather die! But at that moment, being near her just hurt.

I hated that I wanted her friends to arrive, just to break the tension of us being alone together. It all felt wrong.

The night started to darken, bringing life to the Halloween lights and decorations. I thanked god for the distraction as the house finally began filling with guests. They were mostly Tracie's teammates, plus some other female friends, and a handful of boys. Most of their faces were familiar, but some took me a minute to recognize, either because of their costume makeup, or because they had grown up so much since the last time I'd seen them.

Most of the girls arrived looking like they were competing for sexiest Halloween outfit. I would be keeping my eye on the boys to make sure they didn't get out of line.

I was prepared to be busy all night, keeping the food table stocked, keeping the bowl of "monster punch" full (complete with gummy candy eyeballs floating in it), and cleaning up as the party went on. I was glad to have lots to do, to keep myself from thinking about my beautiful bird-angel dream that had turned out to be a waking nightmare.

Tracie was playing music from her phone on the little speaker she had used for sunbathing the summer before. She had mentioned that a friend was coming to run music for the party, but apparently, they hadn't shown up yet.

Speaking of summer sunbathing, I was a bit surprised when Mackenzie McClintock showed up with a few of the other volleyball girls. I kept a close eye on her, too. When Mackenzie saw me looking at her, she gave me a quick, sheepish smile. She and Tracie interacted a little bit, politely, but Mackenzie didn't stay long. I guess she felt she needed to make an appearance as co-captain with Tracie on the volleyball team. I was glad to see her leave. One crisis averted.

A couple hours into the evening, I was cleaning up some used dessert plates and empty soda cans when I saw my stepdaughter letting someone in the front door. It was a boy with a full-head rubber mask on, one of those disgusting gory kinds, who had made no further effort whatsoever to dress up.

Almost immediately upon entering, he pulled off his mask, and it was Raymond, her supposedly "ex" boyfriend. I crushed a soda can in my hand.

Tracie noticed me glaring at him. With a stern look, she hurried over to talk to me. She took me by the arm and guided me to the far end of the kitchen, away from the party-goers.

I couldn't hold my tongue. "What is he doing here, Tracie?"

"I invited him, Mom. He's going to deejay."

"With what? Does he have any equipment or anything? Did he think about maybe showing up two hours ago?"

"Mom-"

"Let me guess. He doesn't have any equipment. He's not going to play any damn music. The only reason he's here is he wants to get in your pants again."

"Mom, just stop talking. I'm not having this conversation with you now. It's my party, I invited him, and you're just going to have to deal with it."

My daughter and I stared hard at each other. My heart was pumping with anger.

Finally, I blinked and took in a deep breath. I decided I wouldn't make a scene. But I quietly said, "Girl, I just pray you're not going to make a fool of yourself for this guy again. That's all I'm going to say."

She squinted at me, her nostrils flaring. She put her mouth to my ear and said, "Well I'm done making a fool of myself for you." She shot me a last glare and walked away to rejoin her friends.

As the party went on, my stepdaughter and I avoided each other, and Raymond knew enough to keep out of my way. Like I expected, he never did set up any deejay equipment or anything, though he did take over the playlist running on Tracie's phone. I don't know what the other kids thought about the heavy hip-hop music he started playing, but I hated it, almost as much as I hated Raymond himself.

Mainly out of stubbornness, I endured the music and I kept playing my role as hostess. Part of me wanted to just give up on the whole evening and lock myself in my room. But I wasn't going to leave Raymond alone with my girl.

Sure enough, a little while later, while I was bringing some more cupcakes to the food table, I caught a glimpse of Raymond trying to kiss Tracie. From what I could tell, she was trying to humor him with a little kiss back, but of course, he was trying to get more. His sleazy hands groped her, right in front of her friends. She was obviously embarrassed but tried to laugh it off.

I wanted so badly to get a baseball bat and take care of Raymond once and for all. My fury was getting so intense, I knew if I didn't do something to calm myself down, I would end up making a scene - maybe not with a baseball bat, but it would be loud and memorable. And Tracie would never forgive me.

Just then, I saw a couple boys lingering by the big bowl of monster punch. One of them had a metal flask, and the other was telling him to pour it in the bowl.

I stepped up and said, "Don't you dare."

"Oh, um, we weren't gonna," said the boy with the flask.

I said, "Yeah, I know you weren't gonna. Give me that." I held out my hand for the flask.

The boys looked at each other.

I said, "Neither one of you are old enough to drink. Give it to me now and I won't call your parents, or the cops."

The flask appeared in my hand and the boys moved off to another part of the party.

I looked again toward Tracie, who had Raymond's lazy, no-good arm around her. He looked drunk or high. It was like looking at the beauty and the beast. He reached for her boob like it was a big joke and she batted his hand away, but stayed next to him.

I cursed him under my breath for degrading my daughter. But it was her choice too. I grabbed a cup of punch and went to the kitchen. If I saw Raymond touching her for one more second, I would lose it. I was so mad, I was shaking.

I went to the sink to pour the flask down the drain, not knowing how I was going to get through the rest of the party.

Then, I saw what was in my hands: all the ingredients for a monster punch cocktail. No one was watching. I poured out half the punch, and filled the cup back up from the flask.

I took a deep breath, reconsidering. But then I heard Raymond shout out some obnoxious, foul-mouthed comment, and anger made the decision for me. It tasted like cheap whiskey. But good enough to take the edge off.

I drank the whole cup down in seconds, and for good measure, drank another half-cup of straight whiskey.

It had been a long time. The alcohol went straight to my head. And sure enough, the edge smoothed right out. Over the next half hour of tending to the party and avoiding Tracie and Raymond, I drained the entire flask.

As it turned out, that was a terrible, terrible idea.

The night went on and the kids were having fun. I was feeling quite good myself. What I was feeling was the whiskey. I told myself I deserved it, for putting up with Raymond and his loud, ugly music in my house.

My nerves were tested when I caught another glimpse of him and Tracie together, and I could see they were already arguing about something. My anger flashed hot, but respecting my stepdaughter's right to make her own mistakes - and respecting that she still had blackmail on me - I walked away from the urge to jump that pimple-faced Raymond prick and strangle him. Hopefully, Tracie would learn her lesson quickly that a dog never stops being a dog.

I decided to get some fresh air. I put on a jacket over my aerobics costume and went out to the backyard. I figured it was time to get a little bonfire going for the kids.

It was good for me to get outside, away from the teenage drama, and into the cool, dark October night. I took a few minutes to just sit in a folding chair by the fire pit. I breathed in the chill air, and enjoyed the first buzz of alcohol I'd had in quite some time. Then I worked on getting the fire ready to light. Tipsy as I was, it wasn't so easy.

Who was I kidding? While I fussed with kindling, I couldn't stop getting more upset about Tracie in there, making a fool of herself for that trash Raymond. With a growl, I snapped a stick in half. I stood up with a wobble, and walked toward the house to look through the windows.

I saw my daughter crying.

Something snapped in me like a dry stick.

The next thing I knew, I was streaking into the house straight toward Tracie and Raymond. I heard him calling her a "slut."

Next was a jumble: I tackled Raymond, beating and scratching the hell out of him. A crowd of teenagers were shouting and screaming around my attack.

Raymond stood no chance against me. He was a skinny wimp, and I was in a full mama-bear rage. Plus, my aerobics costume was great for kicking butt! He wailed like a little girl as I kicked him in the nuts and punched and slapped him in his pimply face.

Tracie shrieked, "Mom! Oh my god, Mom, stop!" She pulled me off him.

Raymond scrambled across the floor to escape me, knocking over a chair. He yelled insults at me, but the only reason he was able to get up onto his feet was because my stepdaughter was holding me back.

There was lots of yelling and name-calling between us, while the obnoxious music kept pounding. Half of the kids took off, the other half circled around to watch.

I said to Raymond, "Get out of here before I kill you, you little piece of shit! And don't you ever even speak to my daughter again!"

Bent over and holding his wounded face, he said to Tracie, "Your mother's crazy! You're both crazy fucking bitches!"

I lunged at him, yelling for his blood, and getting another good kick in his groin. He screamed in pain and fear.

Tracie regained her hold on me and pulled me back from him. She shouted, "Everybody get out! Just go! Party's over!"

A couple of her friends helped herd everyone out, and within two minutes, the house was empty and the last guest slammed the door as they left.