A Mother's Goodbye

‘Hi,’ I offer. ‘You look good.’ She gives me a strained smile.

‘Hi.’ She sounds falsely bright. ‘I’m feeling a lot better. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done, Heather. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it all.’ There is a note of farewell in her voice, and I understand why; she needs to be alone with Isaac. Of course she does.

‘I’ll just gather my things…’

‘Have some coffee first.’ She nods toward the chrome pot on the counter, and I smile my thanks. We drink in silence for a few minutes, and then I murmur something about getting back home by lunchtime. Fifteen minutes later I’m walking out of the apartment, still feeling dazed by everything.

When I walk into my house, I am hit by the sheer chaos of it all. The living room is a bomb site, with Lucy having taken all the pillows off the sofa and put them on the floor. She’s sprawled on top of them, watching TV at full volume to compete with the noise of the techno pop music blaring from Amy’s room. There is an old smell of fried food hanging in the air, along with an underlying note of something sour, and as I come in, Lucy scrambles up, squealing, and runs at me at top speed, barreling into my stomach.

‘Oof!’ I step back to take the impact as I put my arms around my daughter.

‘I missed you, Mom.’ Lucy tilts her head to look up at me; her face is dirty and I don’t think her teeth or hair have been brushed since I left, but in that moment I don’t care. I don’t care that the house is a mess, that Amy is probably throwing a fit or that it looks like Kev isn’t even here. This is my home, my family, and I am so grateful for it – for them. I remember seven years ago Grace telling me how lucky I am, and right then I know absolutely that I am. Lucky. Blessed.

‘You’re back.’ Emma emerges from the kitchen with a gusty sigh. ‘Finally.’

‘Sorry.’ I’m not really sure what I’m apologizing for, but I say it anyway. ‘Where’s Dad?’

Emma rolls her eyes. ‘Probably buying cigarettes at CVS.’

‘That bad, huh?’ I say lightly. Kev hasn’t smoked in years. At least, not when I’m around.

‘He was a little stressed.’ We share a tired and complicit smile. ‘Aunt Stacy brought dinner over last night, mac and cheese.’

‘That was nice.’

‘And she washed the kitchen floor.’

‘That sounds like Aunt Stacy.’ Determined to do something nice while making me feel inferior for having needed to do it. I unwrap Lucy’s arms from around me and take her by the hand toward the kitchen.

‘What about Amy?’

This elicits another eye roll from Emma. ‘What about her?’

‘Dad got really mad at her,’ Lucy chimes in. ‘He found something in the trash.’

‘Don’t, Lucy.’ Emma silences her with a particularly dark look, and I feel a tremor of foreboding. What on earth could Kev have found in the trash? Drugs? Birth control? I picture dirty syringes and condom wrappers, and suppress a shudder. I can’t think about that now.

‘Let me sit down,’ I say. My gratitude is slipping away, replaced by sheer exhaustion. I think of the quiet, elegant oasis of Grace’s apartment, how simple Isaac’s needs were, how pleasurable it was for me to meet them, and I feel a pang of longing and homesickness. Resolutely I push it all away.

I sink onto the sofa and Lucy settles in next to me, her elbow burrowing into my stomach as she tries to get closer. I wince as I put my arm around her. Then Kev comes through the door, stopping short when he sees me.

‘Okay?’ he asks. He looks utterly exhausted, his hair rumpled, his t-shirt stained, purple smudges under his eyes.

‘Okay,’ I say. I rise from the sofa and go to hug him; his arms close around me in surprise. I breathe in the scent of him – Old Spice and cigarettes. I don’t mind.

The gratitude rushes through me again, reminds me of how much I have. Our marriage hasn’t always been easy, and me being pregnant seven years ago was one of the hardest things to hit us, but we survived. We got stronger, and I’ve never doubted that Kev will be there for me, as best as he can. Always.

He rests one hand on my back as he pulls me closer. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

He mutters in my ear, ‘We’ll talk later.’ I know it must be about Amy.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of activity – laundry, grocery shopping, housework. Stacy might have mopped

the floor last night but the rest of the house is a mess. Amy stays in her room and Lucy picks a fight with Emma, and it shows how tired Emma is that she responds in kind. I force Amy out of her room for dinner, and she sits at the table, arms folded, a scowl permanently etched into her face, and doesn’t eat a bite. Dread seeps into me.

By eleven o’clock Kev and I are in our bedroom, and I’m so tired I can barely peel the clothes from my body. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking just as exhausted as I am.

‘So,’ he says heavily, ‘how did Grace’s surgery go?’ I know he’s asking for my sake. I doubt he really wants to know at this moment.