Page 54 of Crazy In Love
“You still remember how she decorated all these years later?”
“Of course I do. And I think about her even more right now.”
“I know you do,” I said. The anniversary of my mother’s death, which also happened to be on my birthday, was right around the corner. My mom died giving birth to me. Just two weeks before Christmas.
Apparently, my mother told everyone that I was a Christmas miracle.
She’d tried for quite a while to get pregnant, suffering two miscarriages before me—and then she died during childbirth.
Christmas fucking miracle, my ass.
Leave it to me to make her wait years for a child, only to have her lose her life trying to bring me into the world. And my father, who clearly resented me, found someone else to raise his kid and never looked back.
“It’s healthy to talk about it, Bridger.” She gave me a look, as if she was waiting for me to argue with her.
“You can talk about it as much as you need to. You know that.”
“I’m talking about you. This is always the time of year that you shut down. I say we approach it differently this time. Let’s start talking, so it doesn’t build up.”
I forked some mashed potatoes and popped them in my mouth. “You guys are always riding my ass for being too closed down. It’s not like it’s only during this time of year. I didn’t know her. I’m sad for your loss, because you’re my mom and I love you.”
Her eyes watered, and I hated to see her suffer.
It was hard for me to put into words the guilt that I felt. Sadness about the death of a woman I never knew. Sadness over the pain that it caused the woman who’d raised me. Sadness over the fact that I’d caused so much pain to so many people.
I’d learned to be cautious about who I let in.
I’d always been instinctually guarded, even as a child. Long before I could comprehend the damage I’d done.
Like I’d known the hurt I was capable of.
“Sweetheart, you know what I mean.”
“Listen, I’m here for you. You and I will go to the cemetery just like we always do, and we’ll leave flowers for her at her grave. And I’ll be there for you. It’s the least I can do.” I shrugged. “But I can’t pretend to be someone that I’m not. I don’t need to talk about everything I feel. Hell, maybe I’m just incapable of feeling anything.”
A single tear ran down her cheek, and she swiped it away.
Fuck.
I was making things worse.
“I wouldn’t change one thing about you, my love. You are the reason that I survived all those years ago, do you know that?” Her voice shook as she reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“I highly doubt that.” I smirked. “According to Dad, I was a pain in the ass toddler.”
She chuckled, her eyes wet with emotion, her lips turning up in the corners. “You were an amazing baby, and a terror toddler.” She squeezed my hand. “And there has never been one day, one minute, one second since you came into the world that I didn’t love you more than life.”
“I love you, too.” I didn’t say those words often. They’d always been reserved for my family. Mostly my mom and my dad, and occasionally my siblings.
“I know you do. You look so much like her.” She sighed. “She’d be so proud of the man you are. She had this snarky side to her, and you definitely got that from her.”
“So, I’m a bad decorator and I’m snarky?” I said, my tone laced with humor.
“Absolutely.” A loud laugh escaped her.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting. I wish I could take it away,” I finally said, knowing she needed something from me.
Something deeper than me saying I felt nothing.
