Burnaway

[cont.]
Starting the day of the funeral, Odessa got bombarded with a daily deluge of images that kept her phone pinging all day long. The volume was quite a surprise. Before Dennis became ill, Odessa heard from Jack once or twice a week, invariably while he was waiting in an airport, and from Tiffani never, not even thank you notes for gifts. Odessa figured Tiffani intended the pictures as a distraction from grief, an apology for not coming with the baby to share her with Dennis, for not attending the funeral, and the photos were so welcome. But after she canceled her trip, the cute photos were accompanied with little admonitions like “Doesn’t this simply make your day?” or “Azure wakes you with her special sunshine,” each with a helpful reminder in bold letters to “Stay positive,” “Make happy thoughts,” “Joy joy joy,” or “Think young.” Seriously, does anybody wake up planning on thinking old? Tiffani’s mother also began inundating Odessa with little comments, “Aren’t you sad you live so far away from such perfection?” “How can you justify not spending time with this precious baby?” “We are praying for your visit.” Their commentary became so relentless that Maggie suggested sending the new baby a bunch of cute little clothes to atone for the cancellation.
That suggestion backfired. Tiffani’s response to the clothes was actually rude: “What were you thinking? This baby will never wear nasty synthetics.” So while Maggie didn’t really like shopping, she felt responsible and agreed to accompany Odessa on her journey down Montana Avenue to buy outfits out of natural fibers for the baby.
Regardless of how hard Odessa tried to play by Tiffani’s rules, everything she did was wrong. Blocks, the same blocks which had belonged to Dennis and which Jack had played with, were not acceptable toys: the wood was porous and collected germs and blocks were not proper toys for a girl. The crib-side mobile, designed by an artist and completely adorable, was not in the right colors to evoke positive energy. The hand-stitched quilt covered with giraffes and peacocks in the right colors was not stuffed with the proper allergen-proof material. After a series of scathing remarks from Tiffani, Odessa asked her for a list of specific items which would be acceptable. And the lists poured in. Unless Tibby was going to grow up to be a princess or classical ballerina, the frilly items seemed remarkably unpractical. Every day must be dress-up day for the baby as every day brought another dozen or so photos of Tibby in new clothes, not to mention the videos of her struggling to be a normal baby while cocooned in ribbons and bows.
Even buying from Tiffani’s list, the avalanche of photos never included Tibby wearing any of the clothes Odessa sent. “I can’t win for losing,” she told Maggie. They both felt she was being punished for not going to the ashram. Maybe the irritation was punishment for not making a big enough fuss over the baby from day one. Their focus had been on Dennis in the hospital, not the baby.
Odessa did fly over for ten days during the winter holiday. Maggie was optimistic about this because resolving Tiffani’s irritation might be the ticket to getting Odessa completely back to her normal self. But Tiffani’s parents decided to fly over to visit at the same time, leaving Odessa to tag along on daylong shopping ventures with them. Jack was mostly working so it was just Odessa with her son’s in-laws, all of them spouting suggestions on how to get over grief and “return to a celebration of life.” Three days of this and Odessa was ready to throttle them all.
Maggie’s compilation of museums and galleries to visit also backfired. Odessa hoped that changing venues might lessen the non-stop barrage of homilies from them, but none of them volunteered to join her. She took all three of the daytrips alone – Bruges, Antwerp and Ghent, sending Maggie oddly lit images of paintings by Jan van Eyck and Rembrandt and the architecture of the towns. Bruges in particular charmed her. She must have taken forty pictures of canals running by buildings, even rather ugly buildings, leaving Maggie suspecting that the water itself was the reason for the photo. After five plus years of severe drought in southern California so much running water probably did seem exotic to Odessa. The weirdest image she sent by far was a painting by Jean Fouquet, a virgin and child which Odessa described as “an extraterrestrial alien with albino melon breasts protruding from her armpits flanked by totemic angels dipped in red or blue.” At least the daytrips seemed to rejuvenate a bit of her wit. But Tiffani and her parents seemed resentful of her absences. Jack was the only one in the group who expressed interest in the art she saw on the trips. He was the only one to look at the pictures she took. When he suggested that he and Tiffani should visit Bruges for a weekend off, Tiffani abruptly changed the subject back to the baby.
Odessa had no clue what was expected of her. Everything she did was wrong. Charmed by the obvious happiness of the baby, she complimented Tiffani, sincerely, on being such a good mother, Tiffani exclaimed defensively, “Of course I am. Being a mother is the most important job a woman can have.” Her mother arched her eyebrows and added, “Being a mother is the job which defines a woman.” This left Odessa wondering if Jack had complained to them about some childhood resentment about being hauled around to so many galleries and museums. Maggie couldn’t imagine him doing that: Jack bragged about his mom. He was proud of her success even if he didn’t respond avidly to all the art she loved.