Mom stayed pretty quiet all the way back to the hotel. I had, like, a billion questions for her, though. I wish I had the guts to ask just one of them.

Talk about guts, though, it was kind of embarrassing showing up. First thing we had to do was find the chaperones so I could make a proper showing of being all contrite about my actions. I wasn’t, mind you. But, since I’m kind of a ham, it was pretty easy.

They’re adults. They bought it.

I didn’t think I was going to get a moment to myself, but, surprisingly, mom let me go get my stuff while she got a room for the two of us.

She did decide that we could both stay. How cool is that?

I had to move into a room with her, which is ok. Despite the fact that she’s not really talking to me, not all that much anyway, I know she loves me.

When I got to my room I was mobbed by probably half the group. They all wanted to know where I was, what I did, stuff like that. I told them a little bit, but I didn’t want to say too much. I mean, it’s kind of personal, after all. Plus, it’s not like I really understand it all, anyway.

Luis pulled me into the bathroom and welcomed me back with a kiss. Give the boy points for a bit of class, anyway, not macking on me in front of everyone.

“They lost it last night. I thought we were all going to be sent home.”

Now, I should be feeling really bad about this, but all I could really think was that Luis has these freckles on his nose that are really cute. So you can’t blame me for wanting to kiss him again, right?

Besides, I’ll be on mom’s leash pretty darn soon. I might as well get in the quality boyfriend time while I can.

Then, he started in on me like everyone else. “Where’d ya go? What’d ya do? Did your mom totally freak?”

That sort of killed the mood. I told him that I needed to get back to my mom because she was freaking out, and she wanted to freak out with me in plain sight, so she could keep reminding me why she was freaking out.

He’s a boy. He bought it.

Now, I would think at this point that this trip totally sucked. But it didn’t. I don’t know why, but meeting Bette Porter was just cool beyond words. But how could I really explain that in a way people would understand?

I mean, my friends are really cool about my mom. They don’t freak out or anything that she’s the single ***** mom. Some even give her extra mom credit for this.

But how can I really explain that I endangered everyone’s trip to check out one of mom’s ex-girlfriends? It sounds kind of weird when I say it, so I can understand why anyone else would not totally buy the story.

Anyway, I grabbed my stuff and headed out to find mom. Not that I had to look too hard, since she was coming looking for me at that point. She’d gotten a room that was on a totally different floor from everyone else. No surprise. I guess I should be glad that I’m still in the same hotel.

The plan was to spend the rest of the morning being yelled at, and then join everyone else for lunch and the afternoon tours.

Ok, so maybe technically the plan was to grab a quick bite, and then spend the morning finding out how many years I’d removed from my mother’s life. Kind of the same thing.

New York was suddenly much less exciting. I mean, before, I had my friends, and I had my plan to meet the great unknown Bette Porter. And those all happened in very good ways.

Now, though, I have a mommy and me hotel room. Even when mom says that she’s not mad at me, exactly, that’s not what she means. She is mad at me. I think that there probably is more going on than just her red-eye to New York, but I have no question that she is mad at me.

In fact that’s what I told her. “You’re mad at me.”

This got the classic ‘and you expected what?’ stare. Okay, so maybe stating the obvious wasn’t the best way to go, but at least it got one of us talking.

After a few minutes of throwing her clothes into the dresser, I think she was finally ready to give up on inanimate objects for targets and possibly address me directly.

“I was frightened, Jess. I was very, very frightened at the thought of you missing here, alone, in a big city.”

“Yeah.” Okay, I get it. It was stupid. Doesn’t mean I’d change things. “But” Sometimes, after I start saying something, I think that maybe I really didn’t want to start that thought after all. My friends are cool with this concept and let it drop, typically.

At this point, mom seems less willing to let anything go.

“But what?” Sort of like a question, but in a demand sort of way.

“I don’t know. I was curious.”

“About?”

Oh please mother, you are not that stupid. Whose uber-funky loft, a loft you seemed to know the address to, I might add, did you come to first thing this morning. But maybe that’s not the right way to say it.

“I look like her, mom.”

Now she’s the one verging on the tears. I guess that’s just one more thing that runs in the family.

But she doesn’t yell. Doesn’t run. Stops attacking her belongings in the name of unpacking. Instead, she sits on the edge of the bed, and pats a spot for me to sit next to her.

I guess now I’ve graduated to the mother/daughter chat phase. At least I know I can trust her, like, she’d never hit me or something. She never has, although I’m certain there have been times when it’d have been tempting.

Even so, I’m not going to rush over there. No, we’ll let her sweat it out for an extra half-second. She’s not the only one who’s got a lot of questions about why someone’s doing something. It might not be an honest way to rebel, but it’s open to me and I’m taking it.

After she pats the bed again, I grudgingly go over and take a seat.

“There’s things I haven’t told you about my past, especially about past relationships, because they don’t concern you.”

Ok, that’s just not true. Even I’m catching on to that fact. Did she not hear me? Hello? Ms. Porter and I look like we could be mother and daughter just like mom and I look like mother and daughter, except in a different way, you know?

“Bette, Ms. Porter, was once a part of my life. But that was a long time ago, and we have nothing to do with each other now.”

“Then why are you so mad?”

“I think you know why I’m upset this morning, Jess. It was not my plan to be in New York.”

Ok, mom, you can try to duck the obvious, but it remains the obvious. “I mean, why are you so mad at Ms. Porter?”

“What?”

“You say you’ve got nothing to do with her, but I saw you two together.”

Now she’s got the eyes narrowing, tensing up, wrinkling forehead thing going on. I am so pushing my luck here.

“You’re still mad at her about something.”

There you go, mom. It’s out there on the table. No matter how hard you try to hide this, I’ve seen you, and I’ve seen you with her. You’ve never acted like that around any other woman and I’ve even met one or two of your ex’s.

She rubs at her eyes. “You know, I really didn’t get any sleep on the flight. I’m going to lie down until lunch time.”

Chat time over. Mom 1, child 0.

“What if I – ” I pointed toward the door.

“How about you humor me, and take a nap, also. It looked like you didn’t sleep much on your pajama party.”

Um, mom, that mad thing’s showing again. But, she did have a point about being tired. I wasn’t really planning on taking a nap, but I did appreciate having the quiet time to think about things.

I’m also glad mom got us separate beds. I toss and turn too much for her to sleep. And if I just lay there quietly, she’d know I wasn’t sleeping, and couldn’t sleep, anyway. So, with a bed to herself, she fell asleep.

And I just kept thinking about the questions she didn’t answer. And about Ms. Porter.

And then I remembered something that Aunt Alice told me a long time ago. I was getting teased about my middle name, Isabeau. I’m kind of getting used to it now that I’m older, but it’s still kind of weird and stuff.

Once, when I was a kid, like twelve or so, I thought it was just a totally bizarre random name that my mom got from who knew where. Aunt Alice helped me to look stuff up online, and I found out it was a French way of saying Elizabeth, so it wasn’t weird, it was just French.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner. Elizabeth? Mom? What aren’t you telling me?

You can’t tell me that Bette’s not another variation on Elizabeth.

I look over at my sleeping mother, and her words come back to me. I hear her telling me that this doesn’t concern me.

However, fact, I look like the woman. Fact, I’m apparently named for the woman.

If all of this doesn’t concern me, then mom’s got so many coincidences going, I’m not sure why she’s not buying lottery tickets.

Mom can deny this until she’s blue in the face. She can yell at me all she wants at this point. But there’s something going on. Something big. And something about me.

I don’t like the thought that I’m the last one to know what everyone else apparently knows about my life.

I took my phone and went over to the bathroom. I mean, I’m still technically in the hotel room, right, it’s not like I was leaving or anything. She can’t ban me from using the facilities.

I dialed a number. It rang a bunch of times before I got voicemail. So I hung up, waited a few seconds, and called back. This time it only rang a few times before I got a very tired “Hello?”

“Aunt Alice?”

“Jess? Jess! What’s wrong. Why are you calling?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Well, you’re calling me before 7 in the morning.”

Oops. That whole time zone thing. Kind of forgot about that. “Uh, yeah. Well, I just had a quick question, and thought you might be able to lend a hand.”

“You called me for a question?”

Sometimes I forget how much Aunt Alice hates the morning. But she’s always been my best source when it comes to knowing stuff, and better yet, telling me stuff. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. “It’s an easy one, really.”

“Okay, I can do easy. Shoot.”

“Aunt Alice, what can you tell me about Bette Porter?”

(tbc)

(I hope the ellipsis work better for you gentle readers than the question marks; remember, I do like to know that you remain interested.)