Chapter Thirty-Five
Jesse
After
Using my key, I went in through the back door of my parents’ house. To me, it would always be called that, and at this time of the morning, Mom would be in the sunroom. That bright, airy space was her place, like the library was my father’s.
After making a turn at the powder room, I reached the double doors I knew so well and paused in front of them. I did that every time I came here, wanting so desperately to go inside and run my fingers across the spines of the books and have my eyes fall onto the titles.
I couldn’t.
Neither could Mom, which was why she kept the doors closed.
I forced my feet to continue moving, going deeper in their house until I reached the sunroom. Mom sat in a white wicker chair, her body facing the large windows. There was a crossword puzzle on her lap, a pen, and pair of reading glasses.
“Hi,” I said as I walked over to her.
Slowly, she turned and looked at me. “Hi, pumpkin.”
I remembered a time when she had an entirely different voice. Happy, cheerful, full of energy and charisma. Now, it was just like my smile … faded.
As I bent down to give her a kiss, she put her hand on my face. I stopped, not going any closer, and she said, “I just want to look at you.”
With my mask on so incredibly tight, I clung my fingers around hers, squeezing so hard both of our hands were shaking. My heart contracted and a boulder moved into the back of my throat.
I wasn’t going to cry. I couldn’t do that to her.
She needed my strength, not my weakness.
“You look beautiful,” she said as she stared at me.
Oh, Mom.
I pulled her hand off my cheek, kissing the back of it, breathing in her vanilla scent before I took a seat in the next chair.
My parents had a meadow behind their house where you could see the first hints of spring and it was just starting to come through now. The snow had finally cleared from the ground and the air wasn’t as brisk. Rising from the grass were tiny buds of wildflowers that would be gorgeous once they bloomed.
I wished my father could see this.
I wanted just one more spring with him.
“What are you up to today?” she asked.
I crossed my legs and glanced toward her. “I’m going to go to the library, pick up Tommy from school, have dinner with the kids and Emery. Why don’t you come over? Luz is making her famous pork enchiladas. Charlotte brought us some lavender and poppy seed bread that we’ll have for dessert.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
We still spent Sundays together as a family and she was invited to our home every night for dinner and on the evenings we went out to eat, too. Unfortunately, I could only get her to commit once or twice a week if I was lucky.
“I made her mandarin banana bread this morning when I woke up,” she said. “Don’t forget to take a piece when you leave, it delicious.”
I smiled, she just didn’t see me.
My mom had met Charlotte by the second week of her employment. Since they both enjoyed spending so much time in the kitchen, they had a lot in common and I often found them chatting.
“It smelled so good when I came in,” I lied.
The only thing I ever smelled in this house was my father. His scent was everywhere.
“I’ve been thinking about Cinched,” she said, and I shook my head, and then glanced toward her. “Oh yeah?”
“Are you going to go back to work?”
It didn’t matter what answer I gave her. But I went with the truth and said, “No.” I had a feeling that wouldn’t satisfy her, so I added, “I’m really enjoying being home with the kids.”
“I was hoping you would say that.” I loved hearing the warmth in her voice even if it wasn’t the same temperature it was before. “One day it’s just going to be you and Emery in that house. You’ll no longer be finding your daughter’s clothes on the floor or begging your son to put away his tablet. There won’t be any laughter coming from the bedrooms upstairs. Dinners will be for two instead of four.” My hands were in my lap, hidden, clenched together like my throat. “Those are the years when you’re going to miss the noise, so enjoy every second of it, kiddo …” She took a breath and her lips quivered. “Because the silence is practically torture.”
I wanted to rest my hand on top of hers, but I couldn’t move.
I wanted to respond.
I couldn’t do that either.
So, I stayed facing the meadow, just like my mother did on the other side of me, and I tried not to have a panic attack in her sunroom. It was leading to that and I’d have to excuse myself soon, locking the bathroom door behind me while I unraveled. Once it was over, when I was able to control at least half of what was happening in me, I would put my mask back on and rejoin my mom.
She would think I was sad.
And I was.
Oh God.
We were two women broken from the inside out.
But for entirely different reasons.