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Hearing that name nearly knocked him off his feet. He lowered himself into the chair beside her bed. "What made you think of her?" he asked, brushing at the knee of his jeans, avoiding her eyes and her all-knowing stare.
"I think about her often, Beau."
His head jerked up. "You do?"
"Of course I do. She's like a daughter to me."
"Was," he corrected softly. "She's not part of my life anymore.”
She only smiled at him and smoothed down the blankets. "Well, I'd like some tea if you're making some."
"Sure." He stood up and walked to the door. Stopping there, he looked over his shoulder at her. "I love you, Mom."
"And I love you, Beau."
2
Two months later…
"I appreciate you coming."Beau said the words in a flat voice. Inside, he was waiting for everyone to get the hell out of his mom's house. His skin felt like it was too tight for his body, compressing his muscles and making him fidget. She’d passed away three days ago, and even though he’d known this was coming, that death was inevitable, somehow it still took him by surprise. His mom had been a fighter, but she'd lost this final battle.
He shook the last proffered hand and showed his mom's college friend out. Once he shut the door, he leaned forward and rested his head on the frosted glass panel dissecting the door. Those had been the longest three hours of his life. At least with his mom finally at peace, he could get on with life. It had been put on hold when she'd been diagnosed, which included him dropping out of college three years into his four-year degree, taking a night job at the local gym, cleaning equipment and generally coming to terms with his new, not-quite-so-perfect life. He had to watch all his buddies from college go on, graduate, get well-paying jobs. They progressed. He stagnated.
He would’ve done it all again though. After his father died when he was ten, it had been just him and his mom. She'd had to take on a second job to keep a roof over their heads—him dropping out of college to look after her was the least he could do.
"How are you doing? Okay?"
He stiffened at the sound of Lisa's voice. He didn’t expect her to come to the wake. The funeral? Maybe, but even then, it was a fifty/fifty split.
He turned around to face her. “Lisa…”
“I know we only dated for a short time, but I liked your mom. I’m sorry she’s gone.” Her expression turned suddenly pensive. “How are you doing?”
With a shrug, he said, "I'll be okay." Another rote response—hell, he'd had four years to perfect it. It fit right in with "it was a long time coming" and "she's not suffering anymore."
When it was clear she had nothing else to say to him, he walked into the kitchen to start tidying up. There were paper plates of half-eaten food strewn on the counter alongside a large pan of baked ziti and two dishes of deviled eggs. He heard Lisa follow him in.
“I can hang around for a while if you want a hand clearing up.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’m good. Thanks.”
What he really wanted was to be alone in his own head for a while.
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “I mean, you just lost your mom—”
Whirling around, he snarled, “Do you think I’ve forgotten? I’ve spent the last four years caring for her, cleaning up her vomit, taking her to the hospital to get that... that...poisonpumped into her!” Turning back to the counter, he added more softly, “No, I haven’t forgotten that she’s gone.”
He didn’t turn back to see Lisa retreating but knew she was gone when the sound of the front door opened and closed nearly soundlessly. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but grief was making him irrational and far shorter-tempered than usual. The last few days had been a blur. He couldn't seem to think straight; his head was too messed up. He'd known his mother was going to die. He thought he'd mentally prepared himself, but facing the reality of things had been completely different to how he'd pictured it.
He cleared away everything, refrigerating the leftover food. Just as he shut the fridge door, the doorbell rang. Beau frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone. As he walked through the house, he glanced around for anything that may have been left behind. When he opened up the door, he found his best friend, John, on the porch.
Beau reached out to shake his hand. "John."
"Sorry I couldn't make it," he said in lieu of a greeting. "I couldn't get out of that god-awful meeting."
"It's alright."
"Well, I'm sorry anyway. Your mom was a fantastic woman. I wanted to be there to pay my respects."
