“Nova, did you hear me?” Mom calls to me, looking over her shoulder. She’s standing on top of her dresser, fighting with a curtain rod. “Oh!” She exclaims when she watches me pick one up from the floor.
“What’s going in this one?” I ask, setting it down on her bed. She gives the rod one last tug before she huffs in defeat.
“You’re dad screwed these in, Nova. He screwed the damn metal into the wall.” She squats down until she’s able to sit on the beaten up wood. “I don’t know why he’s done half the things he has.” Her nectarine colored lips pull down into a frown as she stares down at the ground. “Do you think this will work?”
I sigh, pulling myself up on her bed. Her old quilt feels so soft against my skin. “I’m not sure, mom.” I let out, unsure of how I could comfort her. “All we can do is hope for the best right.”
She nods her head but I don’t miss the sniffle that leaves her. Moments like these it’s so easy to remember that dad was once her prince charming. She just wanted her fairy tale ending.
“You know who could get these off?” She questions although I’m sure it’s rhetorical with how her face lights up. “Saint! He needs to come pick up some of your dad’s tools anyways.” She claps her hands together before pressing off of the dresser. I follow her as she makes her way out to the living room.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I ramble out as I try to keep up. How can someone move so quickly?
“What is it, honey?”
“Why did you call him that night?”
She spins in place, smiling mischievously at me as she pulls the landline from the kitchen wall. Without answering me, she dials up his number, the ring loud enough for me to hear it.
A nervous feeling settles into my belly when he answers, mom’s grin unwavering.
“Hey Saint! My lovely husband has our curtain rod all messed up. Do you think you could help me with that when you swing by today?” She twirls the coiled up cord in between her fingers as she listens to his answer. By the way her face brightens up, I don't even have to ask.
“Okay great! See you soon, hon!”
She practically skips past me before landing herself on the living room couch. I sit down next to her, my curiosity growing by each second. “Mom!” I plea, looking at her with the best puppy dog eyes I could come up with.
“Do you remember the poem nana used to sing to you before she passed?”
I shake my head slowly, trying to recall it but coming up blank. My mom’s mother died when I was six. It was my first experience with death, and I’ve been avoiding it like the plague since. There was something so uneasy about seeing a lifelessbody. One that had been full of vibrancy just days before.Her body felt empty.Nana had led a beautiful life, yet in the end she was nothing but stuffing and skin. The idea even now makes my skin crawl.
Mom waves her hand, brushing off my poor memory before continuing on. “Anyways, it was about two fish born on opposite ends of the sea. They both went on perilous journeys to find each other. Both changed their lives completely because they felt pulled in each other's direction.” I stare at her completely stumped and at a loss for words. She over exaggerates an eye roll before finishing off. “The point is, some things are destined to happen, things we can not change, no matter the inconvenience.”
I let her words swim around my head as she flicks on the old tv, flipping through the channels until she lands on the local news station. A man with over whitened teeth stares directly into the camera, talking about the downpour Melrose is expected to have today. I peek my head to the left, peering through the old blinds. Sure enough the crisp blue sky we’ve had the past few days has now been diminished by a cool and bleak gray.
“Do you think you and dad were destined for each other?” I ask.
Her eyes tear away from the screen, finding mine. A soft smile places itself across her face as she takes me in. “I’m not sure. I think I was destined to have you though. I couldn’t have done that without him.”
Her hand reaches out for mine and as our fingers intertwine she rubs her thumb in circles over the side of my hand. “I love you, Super Nova.”
“I love you too, mama.”
I crawl up next to her on the couch, letting my head rest softly against her shoulder. We sat together for a while, letting the sound of the rain beginning to fall outside drown out the soundof the tv. Neither of us make an attempt to turn it up, both content with just soaking in the moment. Times like this have become rare. Moments where peace fills every crevice is not something the universe grants us often.
Knock. Knock.The sound of a fist tapping against the front door pulls me out of sleep. Mama still lays next to me, her eyes still shut as soft snores escape her partially opened lips. I slowly unravel myself from her arms, snagging a throw blanket and gently covering her before heading to the door.
“Hello.” I say on autopilot as I push open the screen door. Saint stands on the other side. The heavy rain has already begun to soak his clothes, leaving dark strands running down his gray t-shirt. A lump forms in my throat as I look at him. The kindness from his eyes has once again disappeared, hidden away under a layer of aggression.
“I’d like to get out of the rain,” he huffs out as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. The feeling of embarrassment shoves the rest of the sleep from my body as I realize I’ve been gawking at him while rain drops pelt against him. I quickly step to the side, allowing him space to enter the trailer.
His hardened eyes scan the home before landing on mom, where she’s still sleeping soundly. “Do you know what sheneeded help with?” He asks me softly without turning to look at me.
I swallow a nervous gulp. I hadn’t seen him since I disappeared from his apartment, since he told me he couldn’t hate me. “Yeah,” I start off, rubbing the back of my head as I try to soothe myself. “It’s in her room.”
His gaze finally swings over to me, motioning at me to lead the way. With quiet steps he follows me through the labyrinth of boxes and into the bedroom. The sun has begun to creep down, filling the room with an orange glow.
“My dad screwed the curtain rods into the wall rather than using hooks,” I inform Saint, pointing to the now dented pole and the brown curtains that hang from it. “We tried to get them off, but we couldn’t find the drill.”
