This follows on from part one. 

Back in the present, I received a Facebook message from Jessica. It was a photo of her and an off-white cocktail. I guessed from the wedge of pineapple on the rim of the glass that it was a piña colada. She was revelling in the fact that she could drink alcohol now, but I knew she was a sensible girl. Even if she did get drunk, hopefully it would be a lesson learned. That was normal young adult behaviour, after all. (I certainly recalled getting drunk at a friend’s house many a time).

“Great to see you enjoying your holiday Jess honey. Keep me updated when you can xx”.

I hit send and smiled. Both girls assured me that I was a cool mom, not too embarrassing nor too stuffy. I knew to keep my distance when they invited friends over, having learnt from my own mother, who had been a tad overprotective.

“What’s for dinner, mom?”

Faye, dressed in her sister’s varsity jacket and a navy polkadot jumpsuit, entered the living room. I’d heard the door open and close but didn’t pay much attention.

“Oh, hi, Faye. Umm, not given much thought to it yet. We’ve got plenty of pasta we could use up.”
“Ooh, can I make some more of that pesto sauce? We’ve got basil and parmesan that needs eating.”
“That would be great, honey. There are some scones left in the tin if you’re hungry.”
“Famished, mom.”

Although both my girls spoke in American accents, having lived here all their lives, I made sure that they experienced ‘typically British’ foods like hot cross buns at Easter time and crumpets on Saturday mornings. “Biscuits” in America looked like the English scones, but were eaten with savoury food like chicken and “gravy”- another foodstuff that had different meanings either side of the pond.

As Faye started on the pesto sauce, I poured myself a Coke. Both the girls were aware of the Taylors. Faye, in particular, was fascinated by them.

“Hey Mom. I was just thinking. If we were the Taylors I’d be taking photographs of every step of this pesto making process and then blogging about it later,” Faye laughed.

“How bizarre! I was thinking of the Taylors too. I came across them in Costco earlier.”

“Did they ask you where you’re headed when you die?”

“No. Oddly enough, one of them was picking up a packet of meat and another one photographed her. I mean, who on Earth takes photographs in Costco, for God’s sake? Do they really thinking people want to see their journey to the supermarket?”

“They have so little going on in their lives, even the smallest thing seems noteworthy,” Faye replied knowledgably.

I thought of my own life. Outside of my job, I played badminton on Saturdays and went out to dinner with Sandra at least once a week, not to mention the Italian evening classes and Sunday afternoon book group. Faye had a job volunteering at the cat sanctuary and was part of a small, amateur orchestra where she played the flute. Jessica had a term time job as a waitress and was aiming to become a lawyer when she graduated next summer. I thought of the Taylor girls, all out shopping in a group, and rolled my eyes. No doubt their father had had a big role to play in their lives. From what I had gleaned from their blog and from an excellent online forum- Dumb Things Fundies Do- every activity had to be edifying, honouring Jesus. Children had to stay at home until marriage. Dating and having casual boyfriends was a huge no-no; when you entered a ‘courtship’ it had to be with a view to marriage. You had to have as many children “as God gave you”- i.e. no contraception. Secular influences were totally verboten- public schools were terrible, ungodly places where you could be exposed to such risqué things as girls in trousers and competitive sports teams.