Page 25 of The Things That Hold Us

I open the bag, pulling tissue paper out, then I see a large crochet ball. What is this.

“Come on, don't just stare at it, pull it out.” she says when she sees me staring at it.

As I pull it out, it unfolds on to my lap. It’s a chunky cardigan full of greens, and oranges, and some brown and black.

“Mom, did you make this?” I ask, holding it up with an amazed smile.

“I did. The first one I’ve made and I just knew you had to have it.”

“This is amazing.” I say as I stand to try it on.

I pull the cardigan on, and I instantly feel like I’m in a warm hug. It even smells like her.

“I love it, thank you mom.”

She gives me a hug, “You’re welcome sweetie.”

As the night goes on, I give her updates about Cass, and tell her about Nathaniel, then she asks the question I’ve been dreading.

“So, are you seeing anyone?”

“Mom...” I set my drink down and give her that look that says stop without actually saying it.

“What? It's been a year since..”

“I know how long it's been.” I interrupt her. “Believe me,Iknow.”

She holds her hands up in defense mode. “I’m sorry. I was just curious if there's been anyone who’s caught your eye yet, that’s all.”

Logan's broad shoulders, and scruffy face pop into my head, but I quickly shove that image away.

“Well, there hasn't been. Now that that's settled, new topic.”

She rolls her eyes at me.“So stubborn. You get that from me you know? Your dad always said I was as stubborn as a mule. I guess it's only fitting that that's the trait you got from me.”

My heart tightens at the mention of him. My dad. He passed away when I was young, and I don't really remember him. Mainly because my mom doesn't like to talk about him, or even mention him really, unless she has had some sort of alcohol. Which tonight she’s had quite a bit.

I never pry, or try to ask questions, because that's her heartache.

She remembers him.

She remembers his face, his hands, and his laugh.

I only know what he looked like, really.

So I don't pry. I don't make her talk about it, because it hurts her more than it hurts me.

“We should get home, it’s getting late and taxis stop at 10 here.” I tell her.

“You're probably right sweetie.” She waves the waitress over, and hands her her card to pay the bill.

“Thank you for dinner, mom.”

“Of course sweetie. It’s the least I can do since you are letting me stay with you.”

Once we're back at my place, I show mom the guest bedroom where she’ll be sleeping, then I head to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed.

We both meet in the living room, in our pjs, and needing some coffee.

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