01-07-02 - 4:41 p.m.
my mother hated both my husbands. they were not deserving of me. i had married below my class. yet for some unexplained reason, the year before she died, she totally approved of my clandestine affair with my much much older married employer. she called him the professor. housebound at 84, glued to her couch by soaked depends and the home and garden network, she loved to hear the details; his gifts, his jokes, his wisdom. i told her everything, from the kinky sex, (my god, you'll put that man in the hospital!) to the exotic lunches i serve him each thursday on a tray in bed. she met him twice, both times at the hotel. too weak to get out of the car, she simply extended her frail hand from the window. he took it, tongue tied for once, desperate to offer some explanation for our sins. our love. she redeemed him with a smile.
take care of my daughter, she told him.
in the year since she died, the professor has been my rock in a sea of grief. he often wonders why she approved of us, but he's glad she did. last night, i told him about richard seeing her at the staff christmas party.
do you think she watches us do it? i asked.
hell, he answered, she's applauding.