“I really have to go,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “You’ll be here when I get back. Then we’ll talk.”
He says it with complete certainty that I won’t leave him. And then he tucks something inside the pocket of my shorts, lets me go, and stalks quickly away, leaving me to wonder if he’s heading to the hospital or chasing after her.
I try to remember his words, his promise that this isn’t how it seems, but I can’t stop thinking about the sight of him and that woman – that thin, tall, pretty freaking woman.
She is everything I’m not, with her radiant blonde hair and her gym-honed body, like something from a billboard, exactly the sort of woman I’d imagined Conrad to be with when this all started. I can’t push the image away, so instead, I brush the hair from my face and march over to mom.
“Is everything okay?” she murmurs, almost sounding like the old Janet, the woman she was before dad’s car accident.
I sniffle, forcing back a sob of frustration. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
She reaches over and squeezes onto my shoulder. “You can be honest, Callie. It’s what moms are here for.”
I look at her, into her eyes, seeing that she’s in one of her good moods. Or one of her less self-destructive moods. Maybe it’s all the action of the evening, coming here, meeting Conrad, the fire alarm – forcing her to exist outside of herself, to engage with the world rather than sleep and sink into memories.
But this has happened before, these flashes of lucidity, and it always ends the same. I can’t risk burdening her with too much too fast.
Reaching up, I lay my hand on hers, trying for a smile. “It’s going to be fine. Conrad has to go to the hospital, but we’ve got the apartment to ourselves until he gets back. Maybe tomorrow we could have a movie morning or something?”
She nods, again giving me that sense that the old mom might be returning. But I can’t allow myself to entertain those thoughts too seriously because when she reverts to her catatonic state the disappointment will swell up inside of me as it’s done countless times before.
I think about what Conrad said, the way he was going to arrange for grief counseling for her. She needs it badly, needs to have a professional pick apart all the confusion in her mind and make some sense of it. She needs somebody to tell her – make her believe – that she’s going to be okay even if dad isn’t here anymore.
And no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to do it.
Conrad said he’d help, fine, but what about that blonde haired woman with her fit body and her shiny smile and her features that are everything I’m not?
“Callie?”
I blink, realizing I’ve drifted away into my thoughts.
“Sorry? What did you say?”
Mom frowns. “I said a movie morning sounds nice. But first, we need to get some sleep. This has been a long, long day.”
I nod, agreement fueling the movement. I started the day late, having slept in from a late shift the night before, and then it was nonstop deliveries until I rammed my car into Conrad’s. And now I’m here, standing in the courtyard of an apartment building that would seem like a dream if I couldn’t feel the ground beneath my feet.
Reaching into my pocket, I take out the item Conrad tucked away before he left. It’s his key for the apartment, meaning we’ll be able to get back into the building.
It’s like he really freaking wants me to stay.
The next morning – after a night where sleep came and went in fitful bursts – I wander into the open plan kitchen area to find mom standing at the stovetop, moving a wooden spoon methodically around a pan.
I pause for a moment, staring in disbelief, as though she’s going to go poof and disappear in a cloud of smoke. I can’t remember the last time I saw her cooking, and it makes me wonder if I’m still asleep.
“Mom?” I move over to the counter, resting my forearms against it as though to get a better look at her. “Are you okay?”
“Scrambled eggs, right?” Her voice is strained, her eyes wide and sleepless. But she’s trying. It’s been a while since she’s tried, a few months at least. “They’re your favorite? And I know you like them rubbery.”
It’s an old joke of ours and I laugh, laugh because mom is trying to be better, more present, and that’s no small thing. I try not to let myself think about the last time this happened, when she spent a whole week whisking around the apartment, fixing things, tidying up, cooking… only to crumble one day and return to bed, refusing to speak for several days.