She rises to her feet, and I do a quick appraisal of her appearance to reassure myself. Tiny wrinkles carve a path like spider webs on the bottom of her nurse’s scrubs. The telltale mark of someone repeatedly standing and bending down, the way she does when checking on her patients. So she went into work today. A good sign.
“So, tell me about school,” Mom says. “How is your proposal coming along?”
“Great!” I’m not lying for once. If the one shining beacon to come out of this is that I finally nail my proposal, it will be enough to satisfy me. Almost. “I’ve met with the owner of another organization that operates on a similar level. And she taught me quite a bit about how to line up funding, fundraisers, and to schedule volunteers.”
“That’s wonderful, baby,” she says, standing to rinse out the mug before placing it in the dishwasher. “I knew you could do it. You’ll have it all in the bag here soon.”
I force a smile. She’s way too tired for this to be normal.
I can never tell what mood she’ll be in from one day to the next. Some days she’s throwing a dish across the room, upset because “that pesky stain won’t come out.” Other days she’s normal. As normal as any of us can get. And other days she’s crying in a heap on the floor.
Those are the days that hurt the most. Your mother is the one who heals your wounds when you fall. She’s not the one who needs lifting up.
And that kind of thinking is what got her into this mess from the beginning. She never wanted me to see how unhappy she was, how miserable having my father torn away from us made her. Maybe not torn. That sounds too quick for the agony she endured all those years leading up to my dad’s death. When he finally gave in to his cancer. Not torn, then. A slow despairing drag down into an abyss from which he would never return.
And she went right down with him.
“Did you have to go into work early today?” I ask, probing to see if maybe she just pulled a long shift again.
“Eight to five,” she answers. Her eyes lock onto me. Suspicion blooms within that ice-blue gaze.
I shift where I stand, unsteady all of a sudden. My attention slips over the state of the house, partially for something to take my mind off my mom’s knowing glare and as another box to check for my peace of mind.
No overflowing dishes fill her empty kitchen sink. The floor appears freshly vacuumed. She even has a bundle of freshly cut flowers in a vase on the coffee table. She’s taking good care of herself for once. Or so it seems.
“Who got you the flowers?”
“What are you doing?”
Her stern response is enough to jolt me out of my inventory and back to her. When I face her, her arms cross over her chest, one hip cocked and head tilting to the side.Oh, shit. I’m in for it now.
I attempt to salvage what I can from the conversation, stammering. “I just want to know-”
“Aly, stop,” she says, and holds a hand outward. “I am not one of your patients. You don’t have to come over here and check up on me to ensure I’m safe and taking care of myself.”
“But you seem really…”
She shakes her head, shrugging as if to question me further. “What? Tired? I’m fine. Adults get tired. We don’t have the same amount of energy as we did in our twenties.”
She reaches out and lovingly strokes my chin between her fingers. “I’d be way more productive if I did, let me tell you.”
“I just don’t want you to-”
“What? Have anotherincident?” She chuckles. The word “incident” slides off her tongue in a frighteningly morbid tone. Not because of what that incident represents but how casual she sounds talking about it and how distant she now seems. “We all have those moments of weakness, I guess.”
The bright blue in her gaze shifts into a cloudy winter storm. She is far away from me, even while standing so close to me in the kitchen. Her mind is elsewhere, contemplating the events of that night or everything that led up to it. Was she thinking about my father? How much she still missed him? Or was she thinking about how badly she wanted to be with him again? Even if it meant leaving this world forever.
“Come on,” she says, collecting herself and moving me toward the living room. “I ordered us a movie and some pizza. A special treat, since you’ve taken so long to visit me this time.”
I laugh off her words. “Fine. But if it’s a musical, save the singing for another day.”
“But that’s the best part.”
“Is it a musical?”
She remains silent, her eyes darting guiltily from side to side.
“Is it one I know?”