Tales of the Blood Moon

The Talk

I stop for amoment to check the text that has just appeared on my phone. Lookslike the rec center needs another donation. The text reminds me thatI should probably speak with my insurance agent in the near future. I leave a message on her office phone about making an appointment,then continue toward my daughter's room. I was not looking forwardto this day, but it's arrived and there's nothing I can do about it. Every parent must eventually have an awkward conversation with theirchild, and I'm no different. When my mother sat me down for "thetalk", I was horrified too, but I got over it. I'm sure mydaughter will as well.

You wouldn't knowit by looking at me, but at one time, I was the quintessential uglyduckling. That was a long time ago. Today, even in my late forties,I still turn heads. I'm shapely, well-poised and gorgeous. I'm notbragging, but simply stating the facts. Other women have beenjealous of my looks ever since I left my "awkward stage" at ageseventeen. You know how some kids are sort of odd-looking allthrough their childhood until, one day, they return to school andlook fabulous? I was one of those people.

There was a daywhen I was sixteen I still recall very clearly. I was sitting alonein my room, feeling so desperately sorry for myself in the way onlyteenage girls can, when my mother knocked on my door and asked if wecould talk. Both her tone and demeanor were extremely serious. Thiswas peculiar because my mother and I had a relationship bettercharacterized as friends, rather than mother and daughter, despitebeing about as different as two people could be. She was gorgeousand elegant whereas I was sort of odd-looking and clumsy. Picturesof my grandmother and great-grandmother showed them to be asbeautiful as my mother, which made me feel even worse about myappearance.

My mother satbeside me and told me she'd be leaving on one of her "businesstrips." She had the habit of disappearing for ten to twelve monthsnear the end of every fourth year. When I was four, eight andtwelve, my mother packed up and went away. We were extremelywealthy, much as I am now, so my mother could easily afford to pay agoverness to look after me. While my mother was away, she contactedme by phone and sent letters. Her letters explained how living in anenormous house and owning fancy things wasn't free, so she had to gohandle "business." The letters always included a head shot ofher smiling. I hated when she left, but I tried not to show it. Iwas the only child of a single woman who also happened to be my bestfriend. Those were the loneliest years of my life. I asked her afew times about her "business", but all she would say is that shewould tell me when I was older. I was very curious about it, notonly because she was gone for so long, but also because she neverheld a job in between those years.

Sitting beside mein my bedroom that day, she told me she had once been like me. Ifound that claim difficult to accept, but she insisted it was true. She told me I could be beautiful and popular and loved and wealthyand everything else an awkward, impressionable, young lady wants tohear. When she told me the price, I balked. She told me she'dreacted the same way when the offer was presented to her but, afteraccepting the offer, came to realize it to be the best thing she'dever done. I was horrified, but when she said I could go with her onher next year-long trip, I accepted. My mother walked me through theins-and-outs of her "business" during that year and she and Ibecame even closer than before. She died five years later and I missher still.

Now that I'mperimenopausal, I realize this will be my last "business trip",in the same way my mother did all those years ago when she offered toallow me to join her. I will give my daughter the book, the same waymy mother handed it down to me. I'll teach her how to read Gaelic,the same way my mother had to teach me. I'll teach her how to seducea man, an art in which, I must confess, my mother remained moreproficient than myself. Nine months after that, my daughter will paythe price for beauty, elegance and wealth, just as I have done - andwill do - one last time. Perhaps, many years later, she'll decide tohave one during an off year that she'll keep, just as I did with her,my mother did with me, my grandmother did with my mother and mygreat-grandmother did with my grandmother. Then, one day, mydaughter will need to have an awkward conversation with her owndaughter, just as I am about to do with her.