And Then I Knew

My mother began sleeping with Mr. Maxwell when I was 15 years old. Even now, I still only think of him as Mr. Maxwell, someone who slept over at our house a couple of times a week when, I could only assume, his wife thought he was away on business. I liked his wife. She’s wasn’t a typical rich person, not like her husband. Or at least I didn’t think she was. I didn’t know many rich people.

The first time I met Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, I was cleaning their toilet. My mom was their housekeeper, and I helped out one day when she wasn’t feeling well. One Friday morning a week later, Mr. Maxwell walked out of my mother’s bedroom, and I felt my stomach lurch.

I couldn’t understand my mother. She had gotten herself into a dead end situation. Mr. Maxwell was never going to leave his wife for her. I knew that, especially after things continued on the same way for a full year. I also knew that she didn’t love him. She was never enthusiastic about him; there was never a glow. Even at 15, I knew a little of what love looked like, and what it didn't.

But the real kicker? Mr. Maxwell had a daughter who went to my school. She was a year behind me. I don’t think she had any idea what her father was doing; she was the type of girl who had more than enough friends and soon-to-be-more-than-friends to keep her occupied.

When I turned 16, the school held its first father vs. daughter basketball game as a fundraiser. I wasn’t a great player, but I did enjoy being on the basketball team, and I really wanted to play in the game. But my father wasn’t even a memory for me, as he left before I entered the world. I had an Uncle Tommy, but he lived out of state and was in and out of jail. Mr. Maxwell would be participating with his daughter.

My partner for the game ended up being Mr. Thomas, one of our school counselors. My coach set up the whole thing as a surprise. He had his own daughter, but I know he didn’t want me to feel left out. The whole thing was humiliating.

The night before the game, my mother stood at the sink doing dishes. She had taken a bath earlier, she had on nicer-than-usual clothes, and her hair was fixed. I knew Mr. Maxwell would be paying a visit tonight. My frustration gripped me stronger than usual.

“Why are you so stupid?” I asked. “This relationship makes you look like a complete idiot, even if I’m the only other one who knows about it. You’re just thinking about yourself when I’m the one who needs someone who can be a father.”

“I’m sorry about the basketball game,” she said softly. I don’t know how she knew about it. That was clearly all she had to say to me on the issue, and we didn’t speak about the relationship again.

On my 18th birthday, I stepped off the bus to find a new car with a bow attached to the hood parked in the driveway. When I walked into the house, my mother was waiting with a cake, balloons, and an envelope. “Mom. . .” I began.

“Wait. Open this first.” Inside the envelope was a receipt that showed my first full year at Westover College, the college I wanted to attend but knew we couldn’t afford, was paid for. “Each year of schooling will be covered.”

“But, how?”

“How is of no concern. You have what you need to live your life very differently that I have lived mine.”

And then I knew. She had waited to call in her favor for giving herself away, or maybe she had truly managed to make him fall in love with her. Either way, she had gotten what she wanted.

I stepped forward to embrace my mother, who still remains the smartest woman I have ever known.