Page 43 of Liberating Bells
And every day I wonder if I made the right decision.
I will never be able to forget the sound of Izabel begging for Mark to let her go, crying out in pain from him grabbing her. That night haunts my dreams. There have been a handful of times when I’ve woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, worried that someone—namely, Mark—is hurting her.
But Josie’s right. Perhaps it is time to take another step forward instead of looking backward. I kind of feel like the hole in my drywall is a good source of self-reflection. A reminder of what happens when I let my emotions get the better of me. Not exactly one of my finest moments.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I admit to Josie, begrudgingly.
She crosses her arms and tilts her hip, giving me the signature Josie look. “You need to give up on the numbers for today. Go to the hardware store and get some supplies to patch this shit up. Call it a day, then go home and rest so you can be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for our field inspection on the Stevenson project tomorrow morning.”
“You got it, boss,” I mutter. “I’m supposed to have lunch with my mom today, but then I’ll run to the store and take care of it.”
Josie nods, satisfied with this plan.
A few hours later, I’m sitting on the patio with my mom, finishing up lunch. She’s giving me a knowing look, that familiar glint in her eye that can only belong to a mother who’s onto her son.
“What is it?” I finally ask her, knowing she’ll let me hear it one way or another.
Mom shrugs innocently, though she gives me a suspicious side smile. My mother is still the same, but so different still. It’s hard for me to reconcile the two versions of her that I know—her from before the cancer diagnosis, and now her after. She’s still got the same spark that I associate with her, but it’s also muted, from the exhaustion of fighting a relentless disease.
“Mom,” I drag out when she doesn’t answer right away. But even I can’t fight the smile off my face.
“It’s nothing, really.” She waves her hand.
I tilt my head and let out an exasperated sigh. “Whatever it is, just say it.”
“It’s just,” she pauses, folding her hands in her lap and hitting me with a meaningful stare, “I want to make sure you’re happy.”
“Of course I’m happy, Mom,” I say, blinking. I wasn’t expecting this.
“You haven’t really been yourself ever since that night,” she says. I don’t have to ask to know she’s referencing the night I smuggled Izabel into her home after the events that transpired at the gala. Mom doesn’t know all the details, but she’s keen enough to know it wasn’t good.
“And I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. And ever since then, I can tell that you’re not.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, trying to sound sure of myself. “It’s still just kind of weird right now, trying to figure out the business-owning world and everything.”
“Ryan, that’s not what I mean. I’m not talking business,” she says, her lips pulling into a frown. “I might not be around forever.”
“Mom—” I protest, but she holds her hand up, cutting me off.
“Let’s not beat around the bush. I’m sick, we all know it. And every day is still a gamble. So while I’m here, I’m going to do everything that I can to make sure that you’re happy with your life. Do you understand? Even if that means harping on you about things you don’t want to talk about, because that’s what mothers do.”
I watch her closely, listening as she delivers her speech. And fuck it all, my eyes start to burn.
I clear my throat and sit up straighter. I’ll be damned if I start to cry right here on a café patio with my mom sitting across from me.
“I’m working on it.”
“Good,” she says sharply. She picks up her fork, and then points it at me. “I expect status reports.”
I laugh now, grateful she broke the tension with a joke. Reaching for my drink, I take a long sip and hoping it will clear the ball of emotion now lingering at the back of my throat.
I don’t want to think about my mom not being around for some of the biggest milestones of my life, but she’s right. It’s a possibility.
And that thought is scary. If anything, it’s a call to action to get off my ass and start taking the life I want for myself.
Her words still linger in the back of my mind as I stand in the middle of Darby’s Hardware store only an hour later.
I’m in the middle of the aisle, rubbing the back of my neck, way out of my element here. Usually, I hire people to do this kind of work. My eyes wander the different brands of plaster kits, and I’m unsure which one I need to get. I also need to grab another gallon of paint while I’m here to cover up the considerable patch-job I’m about to do.
