Her eyes bounce between me and the PJs, her face dumfounded and lips parting. “W-what?”
“Take your cute little ass into the bathroom and get into something comfortable.” I clench my jaw, not because of anger, but because I’m a breath away from changing my mind.
Again, her questioning gaze flutters back and forth between the pajamas and my mask, but the sadness in her eyes fades away. “Will you still be here when I get back?”
I nod. “Let’s see how fast you are.”
Her smile returns, and she springs up in bed before rushing across the floor and into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I turn my attention to Freddie, and he looks up at me, wagging his tail.
“Good boy, letting your parents have some alone time.”
Serena emerges from the bathroom, hair up in a ponytail and pajamas on her body, her outfit complete with a big smile and a vulnerable gaze.
I gesture toward the bed, and she slowly walks over and slides beneath the comforter, looking uncertain as she watches every move I make.
I turn the light off before striding back to her side and sliding in beside her. Her breathing is uneven as I tuck an arm beneath her, pulling her into my side.
I'll stay—just for a minute, just until she’s more relaxed. Then I have to leave.
She rolls into me, her hand finding my chest. Her whisper is soft, barely audible, but my ears catch every syllable. “Thank you.”
Another risk. Another boundary. Another thing I shouldn’t be doing.
Lifting the bottom of my mask, I kiss the top of her hair and pull the mask back down before her gaze catches an exposed inch of my face. But she doesn’t try to. Instead, she nestles deeper into my side, clinging to me, like if she lets up at all, I’ll vanish.
Her breathing slows, her body relaxing into mine with every passing second. She stretches her hand out, gesturing toward the remote, and I grab it for her. She turns a movie on, and my hand finds her back, brushing softly.
Within minutes, she’s melted completely in my embrace. I’ll wait just a little longer, until she falls asleep, and then I’ll sneak out. But even thethoughtof leaving her at all claws at my chest.
Without realizing it, we’re handing our hearts over to one another. I don’t think it’s been a secret to me, but after tonight—after she gave me her trust, her safety,herselfover to me completely—I’m falling harder than ever before. There’s no way––even if she discovers the truth and hates me completely––that I’m ever letting her go.
Walking down the path with a bouquet of tiger lilies in my hand, I count the headstones until I reach the opening that I’ve been down every year for as long as I can remember.
Taking a right, I stride forward, Freddie on my heels, until I reach the third headstone in, finding a bouquet of lilies already on the ground in front of it.
Margot Rafferty
Wife. Daughter. Mother.
1974–2002
I feel … a lot of emotions. Grief for the mother I lost. Sorrow for not having any memories of her. Anger for the drunk driver who took her life and ripped my mom from me. Confusion for feeling such emotion toward someone I’ve never met, at least not in the ways memory serves. I was only three when she died, and unfortunately, I don’t remember her at all.
It’s confusing and lonely … and that’s okay. No one has a handbook for losing a parent at such a young age. It took me a long time to accept my feelings, however and whatever I feel.
For the first time in a long time though, today feels heavier, and I think it has to do with the man stealing my heart. There’s a hole in my chest that my dad has always tried his best to fill. It’s no fault of his own that void exists.
There have been motherly figures in my life that I’ve looked up to, but none who were ever truly my own.
Right now, all I want is to be a little girl, telling her mom about the boy she likes. Although I would probably leave out a lot of details, like the mask and the stalking.
The truth is … I can’t. I can’t curl up in her lap and talk her ear off about my guy. I can’t run to her when I need a hug after a hard time or call her to vent. I thought I had accepted that and fully moved on.
But grief isn’t a straight line or a list of boxes to check off and push aside. It comes out in moments we least expect.
Just because I don’t remember her doesn’t mean I haven’t mourned her.
