Page 162 of Slapshot Bride

It’s mid-afternoon when my mom lets herself in.

I gave her the gate code in the spring, and she’s never once used it. She uses it now. I hear the door, and I don’t get up from the couch.

She comes in and stops.

I know what she’s looking at.

Her very emotionally wounded son, looking unkempt, shirtless, with a beard well past a stubble and messy hair. Not to mention the living room reeks of coffee and liquor. The only thing I’ve had all day.

“Hello, Mom.”

She doesn’t say anything.

She heads straight for the kitchen and returns a minute later.

“I’m making lasagna. You have nothing in this kitchen. I’m going to the store.”

“Mom…”

“You can come, or you can stay there. Either is fine.”

I stay there.

She’s gone forty minutes and comes back with six bags, and then my house smells like onions and garlic and my childhood, and she works at the island in an apron she found in one of the drawers.

It takes her three hours.

The smell takes me down memory lane. It’s the meal she made when things were bad, when Donovan was traveling, and we could finally live in a bit of peace. She’d put me on a stool and let me grate the cheese, and we’d eat at seven and stay at the table until nine.

We eat at seven.

I have two helpings, which surprises me, and she watches me do it with an expression of amusement.

“It came through Monday,” she says, and I know she’s talking about the divorce with Dad. “The decree. It’s final.”

I set my fork down. “Mom.”

“Thirty-two years.” She turns her glass by the stem. “I signed it in Karen’s kitchen, and then we had tea, and it felt normal. Good, even.”

“How do you feel?”

She thinks about it for a few moments before responding.

“Light,” she eventually says. “Then guilty for being light. Then annoyed with myself for the guilt, which took about a day. But, I think I’m over it now, and looking forward to this new chapter.”

That makes me smile.

“I’ve started painting again.” She laughs. “Badly.”

“I’m sure you’ll find your footing soon enough.”

“Oh, of course. There’s a class at the community center on Tuesdays, and I joined.”

“I’m glad you’re finding your way again, mom. You deserve it.”

The room falls quiet again, and we finish our meal in comfortable silence. When we're done, I clear the plates while she makes tea.

A few minutes later, we're settled in the living room.