Susan Senator

During February break as a young woman, I used to stay with my grandmas in Florida. They lived in Fort Lauderdale, a mile apart. My sister Laura would join me, and those were some of the best days I’ve ever had.

Laura and I, of course, had nothing to do back then but get tan, laugh, and fight. And exercise. Another important fact: the grandmas — called “Grandma,” and “Mama” (why? because they were both named Esther. So we couldn’t call one Grandma Esther, because that was the other wone, too!) — were both a little competitive with each other.

Grandma was very protective. She held on tight. She poured her love all over me, in buckets. In cake pans. She baked three cakes for me when I’d arrive there. She would sit with me and she would regale me with stories from 20-60 years ago of people who had done her wrong.

Mama on the other hand, spoiled us differently. She would prepare these amazing brunches for us, with every glorious fruit available, with sturgeon and lox and whitefish. White linen napkins. And she would just beam at us and listen. She let Laura and me do whatever we wanted. She let us leave the condo. She let us go for runs without worrying about dangerous men. She let us go swimming without worrying about our drowning. She knew how to let go.

So there were struggles, needless to say. How my heart breaks now to think of how fickle I was, how spoiled. How I just ran off from Grandma’s place to freedom at Mama’s. And I remember Grandma once yelled, “What does she got over there, the Brooklyn Bridge?” as I went running out of the house. This became part of our family lore, needless to say. But I remember it with a twinge of guilt and heartbreak because I wish that Grandma and Mama were still here. I also wished I could have been a nicer granddaughter but I was young and growing up and still learning…

This past weekend was like any other in our house. Nat came home from school, and we were all in and out of the house for the entire weekend, mostly eating together. With me, pouring my love down on Nat in buckets, spoiling him with a huge chocolate peanut butter heart, with a trip to Starbucks, CVS, Stop&Shop;, with buttered bagels, homecooked chili, and Sprite.

But when I dropped him back at The House yesterday, and asked him when he would like to come home next weekend — before lunch or after lunch — he said, “Lunch at [The House.] Lunch at [The House!!!!]!!!!!”

I said, “Nat, you would rather eat lunch at The House than at home?”
and Nat said, “Lunch at The House!!!”

I got into the car, sulking a little bit. Ned said, “Oh, snap!” And today, after I told Max the story, he said, “What do they got over there, the Brooklyn Bridge?”