Then it’s all gone, and now I sit alone while her car door slams outside and my cat brushes against the front door.
What a shitty ending to an amazing night.
Instead of hitting the gym like I normally would on my morning off, I go to work in the kitchen and make chicken soup for my mom.
Without Andi.
I use actual chicken breast, and broth Mom taught me how to make a lifetime ago. I add noodles and small potato chunks, because she likes those, too. I make enough to feed an army, but I only pour enough for one serve for her, because she doesn’t eat much. The rest can go in my fridge for later.
I bag up the glass container and take a shower so I look my best for the mom who raised me so well. I shave, and slap on a little cologne. I brush my inch-long hair and pull on a collared shirt, since she loves patting the collar down. Stepping into sneakers and dropping my wallet into my back pocket, I grab the no-longer-boiling soup and head out to my truck.
Without Andi.
Just a few minutes after that, I step into my mom’s home and knock on her bedroom door. “Hey, Momma. How are you doing today?”