Forever Changed

“It’s okay, Mom, I understand. We all…”

“Thanks, honey," she interrupted. "But I know I’ve let you both down,” she said looking pointedly at Megan who was standing in the middle of the kitchen. “Your father would be disappointed in the way I’ve acted and I just hope you girls can forgive me,” she added, getting up and stooping down in front of Megan. “Okay, Peanut?” she asked.

Megan nodded her head slightly, but more pessimistically than I would have expected. It became clear at that moment that Mom shutting us out had affected Megan way more than I

had realized.

My mom must have realized it too by the look she shot my way. I shrugged my shoulders equally puzzled, but joined in on the group hug to offer Megan some affirmation.

“So, I'm really excited to see your new school, okay, Peanut?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she stood up. “And then after school, you and I are going to visit with a friend of mine,” she added, stirring the bubbling sauce on the stove.

“Really? Who?” I asked, dunking a piece of garlic bread into the sauce.

“My old college roommate, Brenda, she's a family psychologist with a practice in Altamonte. I was hoping you might come too, but I understand if you don't feel comfortable."

“I don't know. I already have to spill my guts to Mrs. Leighton a couple days a week,” I said, snatching up another piece of bread.

She smacked lightly at my hand. “Those are for dinner,” she said, dumping the boiling noodles into the colander in the sink.

It was such a relief having our mom back. I sat down on the barstool she had vacated and watched as she buzzed around the kitchen effortlessly. I had always admired her culinary skills since I was definitely no Iron Chef in the kitchen.

“So, how's detention?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at me like only she could.

“Awful,” I answered, without reiterating further.

“Why, did they do make you write ‘I must not cuss out my teachers' in blood or something?” she asked, making light of my tone.

“Funny,” I mumbled, leaping off the stool and heading for the swinging door.

“Wait, I was teasing. Why was it awful?” she asked, looking concerned.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, pushing the door open.

“Kassandra, wait. I know I haven’t been there for you over the last few months, but I plan on changing that.”

“Don’t worry Mom, I got it,” I said, mad at myself for saying anything in the first place.

“I’m here for you Kassandra,” she said, grasping onto my hand. I just couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me or herself.

“Okay,” I said, breaking away from her grasp before she pried anything more out of me. “Sheesh, I think I miss the zombie,” I muttered taking the stairs two at a time.

***

The music from my alarm clock blared much sooner than I expected. Endless tossing and turning, and worrying about facing him again not only made sleep impossible, but got me no closer to a solution. I threw on my favorite sweat pants and hoodie, slid into my flip-flops, scraped my hair back into a messy bun, and swiped a quick coat of lip gloss onto my lips before heading out of my room.

I opened Megan’s door to get her up, but was surprised to find her bedroom empty. I hurried downstairs to find her, sliding to a stop outside the kitchen door when I heard my mom chattering away. Pushing the door open, I found Megan sitting at the counter while Mom fluttered around the kitchen making a gourmet breakfast spread.

“What’s all this?” I asked, snatching a piece of bacon.

“Breakfast,” Mom answered, seeing my skepticism. “What?” she asked defensively.

“Nothing.” Maybe this was just another stage of her grief process.

“I’m fine,” she said as if she could read my mind. “I’m not being obsessive. I just did a lot of soul searching the other night and decided it was time to act like the adult. Besides, I missed all this,” she added, ruffling Megan’s hair as she grabbed the OJ out of the fridge.

“Should I pick up dinner tonight?” I asked as we all settled at the island to eat. We opted to eat in the kitchen since we weren’t quite ready to face the dining room which held so many memories. My dad had been all about family meals together. He had set the rule years ago that we could be as silent as we wanted during mealtime after we shared at least three things about our day. When I was little, I would exceed my three things tenfold, chattering away about mundane things like not getting the swing I wanted at recess or the fact that Luke had pulled my braid again during art class. As the years progressed, my chatter lessened until it became a burden to try to come up with three things I was willing to share with my family.

“No, we'll be back by then, and I plan on making a meatloaf tonight.”