Hope turns to me with a grin. “Your childhood pictures.”
I look at Mom in confusion. “We don’t have them.”
She shakes her head. “We do. I have so many photo albums and videos.”
I frown. “That’s not possible.”
“It is. I’ve kept them safe with me for years.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Mom smirks. “I brought those along with me. Do you want to see them?”
I nod, because I’m curious. I thought my childhood wasn’t recorded but looks like Derek and Kelly made sure that wasn’t the case. And my mom has kept all those memories safe.
The urge to knowwhyshe’s done that begins to eat me again.
I want to know why she wasn’t there for me througbout my childhood. Why she wasn’t the one who took the pictures and recorded those videos.
I want to know everything.
Mom serves us soup and joins us.
Hope and I both sit on edge as we eat, but Mom seems like she’s right at home with us.
“Do you guys like it?” she asks with a hint of worry in her voice.
“Yes, it’s delicious,” Hope says quickly.
Mom smiles at her then glances at me in question.
“It’s fine,” I mutter. The soup is fucking good but I won’t tell her.
“There’s plenty. You can take more if you want,” she offers.
I hum in response and she just smiles.
___________________
It’slate at night when I close the door to my bedroom.
Rose is sleeping peacefully on my bed, curled up in my hoodie and on my side of the bed, after tossing and turning for an hour. She couldn’t settle down so I tucked her in my arms and whispered assuring words to her that helped her calm down. I know she doesn’t want to stay here. She wants to go home — the last place I want her to be.
I lean against the wall and run a hand through my hair.
She had a great time with my mother earlier when they were going through the photo albums that contained my entire childhood. Mom wasn’t lying. She had the albums and videos. I stood near the sofa where they were sitting and watched them — not the photos. Because the question why she has them kept bothering me.
I rush down the stairs into the living room to see if the albums are on the table, only to find my mother still there. She glances up at me and her hand freezes from where it is flipping through the album.
She watches me for a quiet moment then speaks quietly “You’re up.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I walk deeper into the room.
“Me neither,” she says.
For some reason, I sit next to her and she notices. She spares me a quick look before turning back to the album in her lap. We both pretend it isn’t a big fucking deal when it is.
“Dad will be worried knowing you aren’t sleeping.” Over the past month I’ve closely watched the bond between my parents. They both love each other, but dad does a little more.
