Happy Mother's Day.

It was Mother’s Day. I had got up when Mum was still in bed to decorate the dining table for when she came downstairs. I’d put a vase of red roes - her favourite flowers - in the middle of the table. I’d brought her two Clint Eastwood DVD’s, wrapped them up pretty wrapping paper, and put one at one end of the table, and the other at the other end. And I put her card underneath the vase of roses. At the moment, I was making her breakfast to take upstairs for her to eat in bed. A big bowl of cornflakes, two slices of toast, a large glass of orange juice, and a steaming mug of strong coffee. I set it all down on the tray, along with a picture of a mum hugging her daughter with “Happy Mother’s Day, love from Lenny,” scrawled on it, and took it upstairs to Mum’s room.
By this time, she was awake and sitting up in bed. She grinned at me as I opened her bedroom door, and came in with her breakfast. I set the tray down on her bed, and she immediately took a big gulp of her orange juice.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mum,” I smiled.
“Thanks Lenny,” Mum picked up the paper, and read it. “No card or presents,” she said hopefully.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I totally forgot about a card and presents.” Mum looked at me hopefully. I grinned widely. “I’m joking. It’s all downstairs.”
“What’s it all doing downstairs? I’m up here.”
I smiled. “So you’ve got something to enjoy in bed. And something to enjoy when you come downstairs.”
“Aww,” Mum stretched her arms forward for a hug. “Thanks Sweetie.”
We sat and chatted for ten minutes while Mum ate her breakfast. I said about how when we both went to bed the night before, I stayed up a little later to watch “Carrie”, and also that I’d had a dream that Michael Myers from “Hallowe’en” was trying to kill me. Mum said about she’d finally finished the book she’d been reading and trying to finish for the last two months. And playfully tapped me on the shoulder when I jokingly asked if it was “Hansel And Gretel.” Then I left her to get up and have a shower while I went back downstairs to make another hot drink for the both of us.
I brought Mum’s coffee and my cup of tea out to the dining room, just as Mum came downstairs, smelling like blueberry shampoo. As she looked at the table with the vase of roses, the card and the two presents, she started squealing excitedly. She opened her card. It was a funny one, with a woman holding a pad and pencil, and the caption read underneath: “As Mum was getting rather forgetful, she carried a pad and pencil around at all times. It was an idea suggested by her beloved offspring… Thingy.”
She howled with laughter, and set the card down. “Trying to tell me something, Lenny?” She giggled. She picked up one of her presents and opened it. And then opened the other. She squealed again, and hugged me really tight. “Oh thank you Lenny. Thank you so much. How did you know I liked Clint Eastwood?”
“I think everyone knows, don’t they?” I joked.
“How did you know that they were my two favourites? I’ve been looking for them on DVD for ages, but I could never find them.”
I shrugged. “It’s only because we watched them on TV the other week.”
Mum grinned. “Does this mean we get a Clint Eastwood marathon tonight?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve only borrowed them from work. If we watch them tonight, then I can take them back to work tomorrow.”
Mum stared at me, shocked. I laughed. “I’m only joking.”
“Thank God for that!” Mum exclaimed, relieved.
Then she suddenly looked serious. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Lenny. We’re going to Nanny and Granddad’s house for dinner.”
I smiled. Nanny and Granddad were Mum’s mum and dad, and they were piles of fun. We didn’t see them very often, because they lived two towns away. So it was a lovely surprise we were going to their house today.
At that moment the phone rang, and Mum went to answer it, while I started to drink my tea. She came back in the room with a disappointed look on her face.
“They won’t be coming after all,” she told me. “Nanny fell down the stairs this morning and twisted her ankle. and Granddad said Nanny’s feeling a little fragile, so would they mind if we didn‘t go theirs today.”
“I hope she gets better,” I said. “Oh well, looks like it’s just us two then.”
We both sat at the dining room table and drank our drinks. And had a chat for at least half an hour.
As I was getting up to make another drink, the doorbell rang, and I went to answer the door.
It was a woman who must have been in her late thirties, wearing a big smile on her face.
“Charlene?” She asked. “Charlene White?”
“Um yeah,” I answered dumbly, wondering how she knew my name. “But my friends call me Lenny. Would you like to come in?” I stepped aside to allow her in, and showed her into the dining room and introduced her to Mum.
“This is my mum, we were just celebrating Mother’s Day-” I broke off as I saw Mum’s face. It had gone as white as a sheet. “Mum, what’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry Lenny,” she said. “But I’m not your birth mum. I adopted you.”
I stared at her in horror. It was another joke.
“I’m not joking, Lenny.” Mum looked at the woman for help.
“I’m your real mum,” she said. “I gave birth to you when I was thirteen. I felt that I was too young to look after you. I couldn’t look after myself, and my parents refused to help me, so gave you up for adoption. You work in the Oxfam bookshop in town don’t you?”
I nodded dopily.
“You served me the other day, and your friend told you off about something. She called you Charlene White. And I wondered if it was a coincidence. I named you Charlene when you were born, and I adopted you off to a woman called Elaine White.” She looked meaningfully at Mum. “I had to find out if it was a coincidence, or if you were my daughter.”
I looked at Mum. “That wasn’t Granddad on the phone, was it? It was this woman. You knew she was coming, didn’t you?” I looked at my supposedly real mum. “How did you find out I was definitely your daughter?”
“I kept Elaine’s phone number. I rang her the other day.”
“You kept her phone number? For twenty three years?” I looked at my supposedly adopted mum. “And you just decided to let her come meet me? Just like that?” Mum nodded meekly. “We did have the understanding that if she ever rang, I would let her come see you. But I never, ever expected you to ring,” she said to my ‘real mum’.
“Neither did I,” she replied. “Until she served me in a shop, and she was scolded: Charlene White.”
“It’s a joke, isn’t it?” I asked. “You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?” But Mum looked as though she was going to cry. “Oh, this is great!” I exclaimed. “I find out I’m adopted and my real mum comes to see me, on Mother’s Day!” I suddenly saw red. I picked up Mum’s Mother’s Day card and ripped it in two. Then I made for the stairs for my bedroom.
“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!!” I screamed angrily behind me. “THE PAIR OF YOU!!!”