The twins cry out in glee, and I chuckle.
“Twillingate it is.” I look back at Rachel and frown. “But first, I’ve got somewhere to go.”
The boys go back to their game while Rachel and I stare at each other in understanding.
She nods, her bottom lip quivering.
Last night, before we headed to bed, Rachel gave me the rundown on what happened with my mom at the cabin. Turns out, I was right to trust Rachel, as I should have all along. My mom, hard-headed as she is, can’t accept constructive criticism. That won’t fly. Not when it comes to our parenting decisions.
The last thing I want is to go back out to that place today. I crave going out with Rachel and my boys on a full, carefree adventure. But I can’t do that until I’ve gone back.
Because Mom is right about one thing; I can’t just leave like this. I have to at leasttryto make things right. And I can only hope that she’ll listen to reason.
I love her and Dad too much to consider the alternative.
“Well, boys,” Rachel says with what I can tell is a forced smile, “we are going to do a cozy movie morning while we wait for Dad, and then we’ll go on an adventure!”
How I admire her strength. The way she can show up as a mother for our boys, even when she’s torn inside.
That’s what I focus on during my drive back to the cabin. Rachel’s unwavering strength. The safe haven of her love. Despite having these thoughts as a balm for my mounting anxiety, my body becomes more tense, my mouth more dry as I near Jocelyne’s home.
My breathing shallows, and my palms get sweaty against the steering wheel that I hold in a death grip.
When I park in the driveway, terror seizes me like a vice.
I barely have time to unbuckle my seatbelt before Mom comes running out the door, still in her pink and black polka dot pajamas, the short regrowth of her salt and pepper hair a poofy cloud around her head without her headscarf to keep them at bay.
“Karan!” she exclaims as she runs down the snow-laden steps with her slippers.
“Mom, what are you doing?” A different flavour of terror winds its way around my heart; terror for her safety.
She’s going to slip and fall, break a hip, wind back at the hospital, an—
The memory of her against the drab backdrop of the hospital room, face pale, hair all gone, squeezes my chest in a painful grip.
I run to her and catch her just in time when she inevitably slips on the last step.
“Martine!” my father cries out from the door.
The next few minutes are a blur. The whole family is outside as they fawn over Mom, until we’re finally ushered inside. It all happens too quickly for me to get a word in or process anything as it’s happening.
Next thing I know, I’m at the kitchen table, sitting across from my parents. Dad holds Mom close, and I recognize the pained expression painted across his face as the same one I’ve worn for Rachel since yesterday.
Anjali sits next to me while the rest of the family simply hovers around the room. The air is heavy, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
I’m the one who finally breaks the silence.
“You could have hurt yourself, Mom. Why would you rush out like that?”
Mom’s lower lip trembles. Dad tightens his arm around her shoulders. “I couldn’t wait another moment to see my baby boy.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mom…”
“I knew you’d be back,” she continues, too much hope coating her voice.
She has completely misconstrued what this is about.
“I knew you wouldn’t turn your back on your own parents. I only wish you’d brought the boys with you.”
