Page 6 of Say Something
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My mother made a huge breakfast the next morning, and as I made my plate I absently wondered if half the reason she cooked all the time was so she didn’t have to clean up afterwards. It seemed she dirtied every single pot, pan, and utensil in the kitchen, but I wouldn’t complain…at least not out loud. Her breakfast buffet of pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, and fresh fruit was to die for, and I needed to get my fill before I was on my own in my new place. If that meant I had to spend the next week washing dishes, I would happily comply.
“Melissa said she told you about Danny,” Mom said as she poured orange juice into my glass.
Damn you, Melissa, I silently cursed my sister. The little brat left early and rode with my dad to the office, leaving me alone with our mom and the dishes. It was just like Melissa to do something like that.
“Mm-hmm,” I acknowledged, hoping she didn’t press any further, but knowing it wasn’t likely.
“I didn’t know he was coming back,” she told me, placing her hand gently on mine. I released the white-knuckle grip I had on my fork, not realizing I’d been squeezing it so tight.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “We were bound to cross paths again at some point with me being back here.” Realistically, I knew that. His parents still lived here, after all. He wasn’t the terrible, estranged child I was. He probably came back to visit his parents and siblings over the years after we split up. After all, there had been numerous trips back home while we were married that I bailed on for one made up reason or another.
Mom gave me sad smile and squeezed my shoulder. “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here for you, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, looking down at my plate so she couldn’t see my eyes well up with tears.
She had no idea how much I wished I’d confided in her when my life was falling apart. I was too proud back then. I had wanted to show her and my dad that I was independent and that I could make it on my own and be an adult. Running home to my mom after too many disheartening doctors’ appointments and too many failed infertility treatments would have felt too much like admitting defeat. I was never ready or willing to admit that, even though I had been so utterly defeated. I was such anidiot. If there was one thing I had learned over the years, it was that one of the most crucial parts of adulthood was recognizing and then admitting when you needed help.
“What’s on your agenda for today?” she asked, and I was thankful for the change in topic.
“I’m going to run by the practice and check on the house. I need to see what needs to be done before the movers show up next week.”
“You’ll probably want to paint. I don’t imagine Mr. Smith has updated much in that old house. He had a few tenants, so who knows what condition it’s in.”
Thanks, Mom. I feel so much better now.
The “house” was actually a small cottage set behind Mr. Smith’s law practice. When I bought the practice, the home came with it. It seemed like the perfect new start, at least temporarily. Mr. and Mrs. Smith never lived in the house; they’d been renting it out until a few years ago. It was all sight unseen, and I hoped I didn’t end up with a complete lemon on my hands. I had a lot of hope riding on a relatively easy move-in transition. With my mother’s words, I was beginning to feel uneasy about the whole thing.
“I’ll probably need to air it out, too,” I said, my mind conjuring up the old, musty odor that was likely to be behind closed doors.
“Why don’t we make a day of it?” Mom asked, her eyes brightening up. “We can do a walk through, then hit the hardware store for supplies.”
Her excitement was contagious, and I loved that she wanted to be involved. Some of my dread lifted. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my day than getting my new home ready with my mom.
