Chess

Isabel plays chess with Nicole and listens to her chatter about school and friends and future, and reflects on her changing relationship with her daughters.

"Check!"

Nicole's bright voice filled every corner of the small study. Isabel raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow and surveyed the checkered board in front of her. A short-nailed thirteen-year-old finger came into view, pointing out the offending piece.

Isabel chuckled. "Not yet, sweetie. See?" She indicated her white piece, which stood firmly in the path of Nicole's rook. "If my bishop wasn't there, then it would be a check."

"Oh." Nicole's hand dropped, narrowly avoiding knocking half of the playing pieces off the board, and a wrinkle appeared on her forehead a she bit her lip and reconsidered the board. "Your turn," she said at last, her eyes shooting up. They were a remarkable green, several shades brighter than Isabel's own pale ones.

Isabel rested her chin in the palm of her hand, staring at the chessboard but not really taking it in. Instead, she was drinking in the moment: it was just her and her oldest daughter, a lazy Saturday afternoon and a chess board. She could hear Ruby talking on the phone in next room, giggling with one of her school friends. Steven was in the kitchen frying something that she could just faintly smell, something greasy and delicious wafting through the air. But most important, the most special, was right here in front of her; her daughter, her Nicole, the little girl who was just on the verge of growing up. Isabel closed her eyes, half-thinking that by doing that she might be able to freeze time.

"Hey, Mom, know what I want to be when I grow up?" Nicole said unexpectedly, apparently deciding that while her mother was taking so long to make her move, she might as well make conversation.

All thoughts of the chess game, however, flew out of Isabel's mind at this surprise statement from Nicole. "What's that, Nicky?"

The girl wrinkled her nose, the delicate freckles scrunching up divinely. "Ew, don't call me 'Nicky,'" she said with the air of someone who had endured many more years and hardships than a thirteen-year-old middle-class public school student. Recently, Nicole had decided that her childhood nickname was far too undistinguished for the grown up girl she was.

"Sorry. Nicole," Isabel corrected herself, not with a little flicker of remorse. What Nicole could not understand was that she would never stop being "Nicky" to Isabel. What she would never understand was that she would always, always remain the frizzy blond-haired girl with scrunched up freckles, no matter how tall or slender or wrinkled she became. "Well, tell me."

"You mean what I want to be when I grow up?" Nicole clarified. Nicole was, always had been, and always would be, a stickler for getting things straight.

"Yes." Isabel held onto that "when I grow up." It was a confession, an admittance that she wasn't quite grown up yet. That Isabel could still call her a little girl, her little girl.

Nicole paused for drama, something she had learned from her friends at school, and then announced proudly, "I'm going to own a coffee shop."

Whatever Isabel had been expecting, it wasn't that. A scientist or a nurse maybe: Nicole liked science and did well in biology. Or an accountant, since she was so good with numbers. But...

"A coffee shop?" Isabel said aloud, and was taken surprise by the wonder in her voice.

Nicole nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Just a little café, and I'll serve all sorts of coffee and cookies and things. And Olivia will be one of the waitresses!" Olivia was Nicole's best friend. It didn't surprise Isabel that she was in on this new scheme. In fact, Isabel would be surprised if Olivia wasn't behind it.

"But Nick -Nicole," Isabel caught herself in time; "you don't even like coffee."

Nicole shrugged, dismissing her mother's words in the way only thirteen-year-old girls know how. "So? I don't have to drink it."

Isabel hid a smile behind her hand, knowing that Nicole would interpret the smile as mockery instead of… what? Isabel decided that the smile was one of contentment, the sort of relaxed bliss that only came from talking to one's daughter about her dreams, no matter how caffeinated those dreams may be, while pretending to play chess with the smell of frying onion and potato from the kitchen.

"What did you want to be when you were my age, Mom?" Nicole asked, looking back down at the chess board, apparently forgetting that it was Isabel's turn. Perhaps it had been so long that she just assumed her mother had moved.

Isabel wondered whether all mothers felt that same little happy hiccup in their stomachs when they heard their child utter the word "Mom." Even after thirteen years of hearing it from Nicole, and eight from Ruby, she still had that feeling of deliciousness at hearing the word come from one of her daughters' lips… but especially from Nicole. It was so rare these days that she heard just that simple, sweet "Mom." Not "Mahhhmmm," or "Mo-therrr," but just "Mom."

Reviews

[Jean]

Wow.
You have the characters down to the pinkie toe!
That's amazingly realistic.
I can't really think of anything to say.
It flows perfectly, the characters are unique, while still resembling the portrayed mother-daughter roles. The dialogue is realistic.
Absolutely wonderful.
Your effort really shows.
A+.
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