Underneath the Sycamore Tree

It’s not what I wanted.

“Emmy?”

I break away from my train of thought, blushing over zoning out. “Sorry. Does she…is she okay? You know, with everything?”

Her shoulders draw back a little. “Your mother is stronger than even she believes.”

Why don’t I believe that?

We order pizza for dinner. Hawaiian for Mama, and pepperoni, sausage, broccoli, and onions for me and Grandma. We could have easily gotten a cheese and split it between us, but Grandma says Mama likes bringing leftovers to work.

When I hear the car pull up in the driveway, my body tenses on the couch. The pizza is in the kitchen, waiting to be served, and the television is on some soap opera rerun on a channel I’ve never heard of.

The door opens.

I hold my breath.

Is it possible to swallow your heart? It feels like it’s lodged in my throat, choking me. All because of the woman turning the door handle.

Grandma gives me a reassuring smile from the armchair she’s sitting in. She’s into the soap opera, I’m too in my head to figure out if the man really slept with his brother’s wife. It seems likely.

The door fully opens and Mama steps in, seemingly not realizing I’m now standing in the middle of the living room. My heart hammers rapidly and I hold my breath until she looks up from the purse she holds.

She’s in scrubs.

Her silver-blonde hair is a mess.

But it’s Mama.

“Hi,” I whisper, too afraid to step forward. I take in the little yellow ducks on her blue shirt. It’s the kind of top she’d wear at the hospital. The school probably doesn’t require them, but she’s got a closet full to choose from.

She remains by the door, her eyes sliding over me and then traveling back up to my hair. I wonder what she thinks of it. The style has grown on me, and Cam plans to take me every six weeks when she gets her hair trimmed to keep mine up.

I’m terrified when her lips part. I tell myself it’s been long enough—she won’t make the same mistakes she did when she was stuck in grief.

“Hi, Sunshine.” Relief floods my chest when I hear those soft words until I’m practically running toward her. She wraps me in a tight hug and I soak in the sweet smell of vanilla and lavender, her two favorite scents.

I pull back and stare at her face. She looks tired, like she’s somehow aged, but I notice something vital that allows me to breathe.

Mama’s eyes aren’t golden.

Chapter Eighteen

Mama and I spend the night talking about her new job and hobbies. She seems happy, lighter than I remember. The relief knowing she’s doing okay is short lived because of my conscience telling me she was only hurting because of me.

But you knew that.

Knowing Mama likes her new job and joined a crafts club at the Community Center makes everything easier to handle. She needed to find herself. To get through the loss of Lo, and in many ways, the loss of me.

I almost forgot what Mama’s smile looks like. It’s the same type of foreign anomaly as her laugh—airy and eager like bells. I want to tell her how much I love the sound, but I’m afraid it’ll make her stop.

Before Grandma comes back, Mama notices my bracelet. Her smile doesn’t falter. That’s how I allow myself hope, like we can be like how we were.

Emery and Mama.

Sunshine and blue skies.

You’re my sunshine, baby girl.