Page 11 of From Ice to Grace
Have I just been kidding myself?
Have I been praying all this time, only to feel the same hurt, to sit in the same pain and now to add more to it?
God, I don’t understand. I don’t get it.
Please help me keep faith. There must be a plan. Help me see it.
“Hi mom,” I answer the phone, clutching it between my ear and shoulder as I unlock the door to my apartment. “How are you?”
“Fine, we’re all fine,” she says, her voice already filled with sass. “No thanks to you and your brother who left us all alone here on the other side of the ocean.”
Rolling my eyes, I push through the door, setting down my bag of ice-cream and rootbeer on the nearest moving box. It’s only one of several I picked up straight after my meeting with Vivienne this morning. I was determined to face this shift in my life like a big girl…until I saw all the boxes stacked in my apartment. All of them silent reminders of my very new, very uncertain reality. The sight sent me straight back out the door.
I couldn’t face the truth. Not yet.
Instead I hunted down my favorite comfort combo, Ben and Jerry’s with rootbeer, planning to spend the rest of the day binge watching Bible podcasts on Youtube while pretending my life isn’t crumbling beneath me like a stale cookie.
“Mom, please. We’re not Catholic. You shouldn’t guilt your kids into moving back home.”
“I’m just telling the truth, if you feel guilty then that’s all you my girl,” she says, her voice laced with humor.
I smile, kicking the door shut behind me. I know they miss us and this is her roundabout way of telling me.
“So,” she presses, “when are you giving up on this whole running away plan, Avah? It’s been a year, don’t you think it’s time to come home?”
She’d love to know that I’m being kicked out of the country, forced to come home in six weeks, but I can’t seem to tell her.
“I didn’t run away, mom.” The lie twists around my heart. “An opportunity presented itself. One I couldn’t pass up.”
My mom sighs on the other side of the line. One that’s filled with exasperation and maternal concern.
“When are you going to understand that a mother knows everything?”
She most definitely doesn’t know that I’m about to be deported…right? It just happened a few hours ago. And I’m pretty sure being an adult means my boss won’t tell my mom on me.
“Mom, when are you going to understand that’s not true.”
She laughs. “Yes, well, I try. The Holy Spirit tells a mother what she needs to know. And I know that my daughter ran away when that man decided to stop using his brain and start thinking with his anatomy?—”
“Mom—”
“I also know that your program is for twelve months and it’s coming to an end soon. I thought you would’ve let your dad and me know your next step by now.”
I sigh. Grabbing the pint of ice-cream, I pop off the lid, rummage through the drawer for a spoon and dig in for a bite. I’m not ready to have this conversation with her. I know she means well, but I need to process without the help of my parents or my brother.
“So you do know some things…I’ll give you that,” I mumble.
“My girl, what’s your plan?” she asks with nothing but concern in her voice.
“I know it’s not in Sweden,” I say, my mouth still half-full.
“Avah,” she says gently. “You can’t let Axel dictate your future.”
I grab the rootbeer and pour a generous splash into the hollow I already carved into the ice-cream. It fizzles and swirls, forming a sweet syrup that’s to die for.
“This has got nothing to do with Axel.” If a complete stranger heard me right now, they’d know I’m lying. “I want to stay here. I’ve had a great year and I’ve learned a lot. I want to stay in New York.”
There’s a beat of silence from the other side and I take another bite of ice-cream wondering if my mom really does know that my apartment is filled with moving boxes. I can imagine her sitting at the dining room table, her fingers clutching her cup of coffee as she tries to gather her thoughts.
