Page 120 of Fresh Canvas
“Lemonade again?” I said.
Mom’s sad expression crinkled into a smile.
“It reminds me of him. After my dream last night… Well, I just needed to feel closer to Frank today. It was his favorite.”
“I remember.” My eyes smarted as I raised my glass and toasted Mom’s. The mint leaves swirled to the bottom as I said, “Well, then, to Dad.”
Mom clinked my glass and murmured, “To Frank.” She setthe glass down and began to spin her wedding ring around her finger.
“Amantha, I need to tell you something,” she said. “We both know I try to stay out of your business. I’ve always trusted you to make your own decisions, and I’m so proud of where that has led you. You are truly incredible, honey.”
The lemonade was difficult to swallow around the growing lump in my throat.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I mean it, Amantha. I’ve always had faith in you, but something tells me right now that you need to have more faith in yourself.” She paused, glancing down into her glass. “I haven’t told you something about me, but I think you need to hear it. After you were born, I had a severely dark bout of postpartum depression.”
My eyes grew. I never would have guessed. My mom had always seemed so… together. So present, so loving, sohappy.
Perhaps that’s what we do as parents—hide our burdens and keep smiling for our children.
Mom went on, “Becoming a mother was the sweetest, most reverent experience. Each day, we thanked the heavens for you. But no one had told me about the mourning period a woman can experience after birth. Not about having the baby, of course, but of saying goodbye to our old life. Our old selves. No matter what choices we make, or how hard we cling on, it’s just gone. Everything changes in thatpreciousmoment, as it should.
“Even though it’s a natural transition, I took it really hard. Things got, well, very dark. I was a first time mom and didn’t know better, so I just contributed it to the ‘baby blues.’ After about a year, though, we realized it wasn’t going away. Frank encouraged me to get help. Thank the heavens I did.” Eyes the color of the summer sky met mine. “And do you know what they told me?”
Tears slid silently down my face. I shook my head, unable to speak.
Mom reached across the table and took my hand. “That Ihad to begin to do things for myself, or I wouldn’t survive,” she said. “That I couldn’t run the race if I was already exhausted. That I couldn’t pour from an empty cup.”
She wiped her own eyes and said, “I felt so selfish at the time, but I had to make myself a priority too. And after a while, I ended up rediscovering one of my passions. I had never graduated from college, you see, but if I had, I would have liked to be a historian.” Mom gave me a watery smile. “So I got a library card and began to read again. I began to study again. It brought me joy, Amantha. It brought meback.”
She chuckled. “You had been dragged to those flea markets long before you could even walk. Bringing those trinkets of history home with me—I needed to surround myself with reminders that every past has a future. Sweetie, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about yours.”
My heart twisted. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Mom.”
“I’ve seen the trajectory before, honey. After Ryan, I worried your depression would get as bad as mine had. Moving in hadn’t only been for Anthony. I also needed to check on you, too. But after you started working at the museum again, I saw you get better. It was as though I was watchingmyselfcome back to life. Amantha, you can’t just let that go.”
“You’re forgetting about Anthony,” I said thickly. “I’m a mother.Sacrifice is part of?—”
“Part of being a mom. Trust me, I know. But motherhood is also about balance. Anthony wasn’t only improving because Ryan finally paid attention to him. He saw his mother smile again. Light up again.Liveagain.” Her short blonde waves shook back and forth, her lips tightening. “Your father would have been so angry with me for letting you quit.”
My heart broke all over again. “But I don’t know how to be both, Mom. Toletmyself be both.”
Mom bustled around the table to wrap me in a hug, and I quietly cried into the arms of her cardigan.
“You justdo, Amantha,” she whispered against my hair. “It won’t always be guilt-free, but I promise the process is worth it.”
“But I can’t go back, Mom. I can’t see Val anymore.”
“Then don’t. There are plenty of museums. Promise me you’ll find a new one.”
I lifted my tear-stained face to hers and said, “I will. I promise.”
Later that evening, I lay on the couch, flipping through shows. The remote buttons protested my force as I searched for something,anythingto watch.
Val had tainted so much for me. Picnics, paintball, and even my own swimming pool. But ruiningWhisper Harbor?I could never forgive him for that.
I turned off the TV and stalked to my room, flopping onto my bed. The conversation with Mom had affected me deeply. I conjured the image of myself seven months prior. That terrified version of me had been loveless, jobless, and lost.
