I hadn't been to the local pool in months. Between being overloaded with teaching duties and my son moving back in with me to attend college, I just never had any time to even think about a swim. I did my usual workout at home in the small home-gym I set up myself, just light bodyweight stuff to keep myself toned up. One night I came home and was exhausted, just drained from a long day of work and decided that I was going to hit the pool the next day, just to treat myself. I missed the water, I was a regular swimmer for a long time, 3 or 4 days a week usually but things had just become so cluttered in my life since my promotion to assistant-professor teaching biomechanics. It was a lot of work with lots of emails to delete, but nothing I couldn't handle. And having a man in the house was certainly a big change for me. The biggest problem was finding time to do everything.
So I walked there the next morning. It was a Wednesday, about 10:30 in the morning so there weren't that many people at the college pool. I went to the changing rooms, quickly got into my swimsuit and almost ran to the pool and dived in. It felt so good and invigorating to finally swim again and I did my lengths in a world of my own, just letting the feeling of the water wash over me. As I did my backstrokes I just stared at the roof of the pool, leaving my mind go blank.
I had Josh when I was 18. He's 21 now and changed colleges just this Summer to switch majors. I was a young mother but I was lucky to have a very loving and strong family around me. My parents and sister helped me immensely, taking care of Josh so I could stay in school and go to college. His father was the same age as me but from out of state and ghosted me when I was 6 months along. He sent some money soon after Josh was born but that stopped before his first birthday. I didn't care about him really and haven't heard from him since. I stayed in school, graduated with honors, got a scholarship and went to college when Josh was 3. My mother insisted I go and despite my doubts at the start I soon became comfortable away from him. Josh grew up in a loving home with my older sister's kids and I would see him every second weekend, which worked. I was there for his first day at school and all his birthdays too. My sister is eight years older than me and was never interested in college, preferring to live in my parents' house, drink wine and pop out kid after kid after kid, four in all, two before I had Josh. As he got older we stayed in touch by phone and texts. He seemed happy, my parents and sister agreed that he was. So I was too.
So I got my degree in medical sciences, worked in private research for a few years, made good money and later turned to teaching, which is what I do now in this college city. I enjoyed my time in university, spent little time partying, and a lot of time studying. When boys found out I was a mother, they naturally ran for the hills. It hurt at first but I soon discovered I didn't care. I wasn't looking for a husband. I was self-sufficient and my responsibility for Josh overrode any desire I might have had for a relationship. I had a few flings of course, but nothing serious. I had a large group of college-girlfriends, and a few of them had kids too, so I never felt alone. I even keep in touch with a few of them these days still.
When I went out into the working-world it was a non-stop grind, I worked constantly, got my promotions, studied for my post-graduate degrees and got my "teaching" job, which these days is more dealing with soul-killing administrative work than doing any teaching. I had a few boyfriends throughout my career but none of them made me want to settle down. I barely had a sex-life, the few liaisons I had being unfulfilling, mechanical, soulless. I had a pregnancy scare about 10 years ago which I had taken care of through a discrete D&C.
After that I started taking the pill, and still do, if for no other reason than to keep me regular. At 38, I was comfortable being alone. I was not lonely. Over the years I'd come to consider male attention as a nuisance, an unwanted distraction. I didn't need it in my life. Well, not until Josh came into my life, anyway.
I take a deep breath. I dive to the bottom of the pool.
Josh went to college when he was 18. He was an intelligent shy boy, academically gifted, which is why he jumped, after his first year of college, at an opportunity to take a 12 month scholarship in France to continue his studies in languages and science. I found out through my sister that this was what he wanted to do. When I phoned him and asked why he hadn't told me about such a big decision, he got defensive and stroppy with me.
"Why do you care, Jillian?"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. My girlfriends had told me stories about their own kids growing into their bratty teens and addressing them by name instead of "Mom", a beautifully juvenile power-play, as cute as it was cutting. Josh had his first chance to use this gambit at 19 years of age. I brushed it off.
"Because I do care, Josh. I'm your mother."
"I'm not even leaving until next month. You would have found out when you found out. The same as always."
This hurt me. I knew I wasn't present for him in his life like a mother should be, and so did he. The resentment in his voice made me blush with shame. I closed my eyes. I had nothing.
"I love you." I pleaded down the line.
Silence.
"Josh?"
I heard a deep breath.
"I love you too. But...." His voice trailed off.
I waited for more. When I couldn't wait any longer I said:
"But?"
"...Nothing, Mom. I'm sorry you found out from Aunt Marina. We'll talk later. I gotta go."
Before I could say anything my sister was speaking.
"He'll be fine, Jill, he's just in a mood. And his friends are here."
"OK" I said. "So he really wants to go to Europe?"
"Oh yes. Him and four of his friends are going together. So, how are you?"
An hour later he texted me: "Sorry, Mom. Love you. x"
For the next year the only word or news I got of my son was through Facebook or Instagram. Badly taken photos of him in Paris, Nice, Marseille, with various friends, mostly boys, some girls. He replied to my texts with a thumbs up. When I tried to call him, it went straight to voicemail. I never left a message.
I rise to the surface. I breathe in deeply. There is only one attendant striding along beside the pool. I think he is looking directly at me. There are four other people swimming in the pool.
Three months ago I got an email from him saying he had been accepted into the Languages program at my college. He wanted to know what kind of accommodation was in the area. Or if he could stay with me.
I replied to his email immediately: "I have a spare room."
Then his texts came thick and fast. More communication from him in a week than the previous 20 years. Arrangements, plans, hopes, dreams. He was effusive. What his studies were about, things we could do together, places we could go.
I sat and cried in my kitchen, lit only by the light of his messages, my hands over my mouth, with nobody to see my quiet joy at the thought of my boy living under my own roof.
I called my sister.
"He's coming home!" I told her.
"I know." she replied.
"You do?"
She had the date and time of arrival. I hadn't even thought of it. I popped my second bottle of wine, poured myself a generous glass and talked shit with my sister.
We both were getting tipsy. We bitched about our friends until I gently guided the conversation back to Josh.
"You know he's a bit of a stud?" Marina said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the reason we sent him off to Europe is that we couldn't stop him riding the neighbor's daughters. Girls just flock to him and bow at his feet."
"You're joking, surely, Marina?"
