AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When I’m certain the woman and her dog are on their way, I irritably poke the elevator button again. I could just take the stairs, but whatever. I’m not in the mood.
My door is crackedopen when I arrive, and I would worry about it being an intruder if it weren’t for the sound of Mom singing and the smell of whatever vegan dish she’s preparing. I’ve never been able to get her to remember to lock it behind her. Not that my building isn’t monitored, but still.
I inhale as I push through and softly shut and lock the door behind me, so I don’t startle her. Smells like something Italian. “Hey, Ma!” I say, cringing at my country peeking through.
It always does around her.
“Hey, dear!” she replies. I mouth along with her, “Don’t mind me. Just do what you normally would.”
Thank God I didn’t have a guy with me. Not that I’ve brought one home in…well…awhile. “I’m just going to change and I’ll be right out.”
“Take your time.” A glass clangs against the counter. She turns on some meditation music.
Already into the wine—Mom’s version of Friday night partying.
I’m back out to her in a matter of minutes, sweatpants, bare feet, free boobs, and all. “Poured you a glass,” she says, pushing it over to me as I settle onto one of the uncomfortable barstools Stephen talked me into. I stare at it a moment and push it away when her back is turned.
She does this randomly—shows up unannounced and cooks me a meal. Fills my fridge. And sometimes, if I’m lucky, will do a load of laundry.
I quit being annoyed with it about three years ago when I realized it was her way of dealing with an empty nest after my sister Tabitha moved out.
“You didn’t call me back yesterday,” she says as she stirs something on the stove. If it weren’t for her, it wouldn’t get used at all.
“Sorry,” I say. “Work was crazy.”
She turns, pointing the wooden spoon at me. “Don’t be working yourself to death, Scarlett Marie. There’s more to life than that.”
I nod to appease her. Other than my Friday night meetups and binge-watching Netflix, it’s all I’ve been doing…not that I’ve been doing it well lately. But distractions help me get lost in things. Help me forget. Because otherwise it means I’ll have to deal with what happened this time last year.
And I’m not ready to do that yet.
“Eggplant parmesan?” she says as she tends to the food again. She smiles over her shoulder. “I brought the real cheese for you, though.”
“Thank you, Ma,” I say and look at the glass of wine again. My stomach turns.
“How’s Dad?” I ask to steer my mind away.
“Oh, you know.” She throws a battered eggplant onto the skillet. It erupts into a symphony of sizzle and steam. “Still messing with those model trains of his.”
I laugh, hug my knees into myself, and let her ramble on about the house and garden and Dad’s hobbies. It soothes my battered nerves after seeing Jake earlier.
And distracts me from thinking about tomorrow…as well as why I don’t drink wine anymore.
After dinner,I help her clean, and then she insists I take a load off on the couch while she finishes up. Something out of place catches my eye: A lumpy pink lamp on the end table beside me. “Ma?” I say.
She pauses mid-counter swipe and looks my way.
“What’s this thing?”
“Salt lamp,” she says simply.
Oh. “What’s it…do?”
“It helps with anxiety.”
I take a second to digest that. Could she have known I needed one? Sometimes, I swear the lady is psychic. “Thank you,” I finally say.
“You’re welcome, dear.”
