Finally, after months of treatments and medicines, and the constant cloud of whatever was round the next corner, finally Mum was done. No more chemo, no more radiotherapy. Her most recent scans were clear, and she had moved into hormone therapy. Her hair was growing back, and it had almost gotten to the point where we could pretend life was normal. We knew it wasn’t, and maybe it never would go back to how it had been. I didn’t know if a person could after going through something like that.
Dad caught me once. Looking at her like I knew exactly what I might have lost. I’d glanced away and found him watching me, a small smile on his face as he reached over and lightly patted my thigh. He knew too, because that was the love of his life sitting on the floor, giggling as she rummaged around under the tree for yet another present.
“Hows’ Becka?” Dad asked as he conceded defeat by the Twiglets, putting them down.
“Drunk,” I answered with a smirk.
Dad looked at his watch, frowning as he did the mental calculations.
“Bit early, isn’t it?”
It was a touch on the early side.
“They start early,” I explained. “I think she’s been knocking back homemade mulled wine since lunch.”
She was home in Oakland with her family, and their family, and their family’s family. She was family-ed out. I didn’t know what that was like, but it sounded like it necessitated a drink.
“’Tis the season,” he shrugged, holding up his own glass of wine before taking a sip.
Christmas had always had this weird, timeless quality to it. Like, at any given moment in the day it could be either 11 am or 9 pm. The topography only changed with the television’s programming. Once the Queen’s Speech had been watched, the rest of the day became a lawless expanse of space where ‘dinner time’ was a vague concept for whenever the roast potatoes were done, and drinking is socially acceptable at any point after breakfast.
Regularly throughout the day, my mind had helpfully supplied comparisons to last Christmas.
A different day. A different living room. Different people.
A very different me.
I’d squashed the memories down each time.
They were moving into less painful territory but… I couldn’t pretend that it was okay. Not yet.
I kept meaning to take off my necklace – the little gold Swallow he’d given me last Christmas. To put it away. Sometimes, my hand would hover over it as the thought crossed my mind, thinking where I might put it. In a box? Give it away? But every time those thoughts occurred, I experienced a momentary pang of anxiety at the thought of not having it.
It had inadvertently become a sort of touchstone for me, and so, though it reminded me of him, I couldn’t bring myself to take it off. I could barely look down at the ring I still wore. I could feel it every time I flexed my fingers.
I’d briefly taken it off but not wearing it for the day had felt like I was trying to erase a part of myself.
If the jewellery had been generic, pretty pieces, it might have been easier, but both of these were symbolic, and representative of the milestones in our relationship. The swallow was a symbol of us – our long-distance perseverance.
The ring was to honour the Korean tradition of couples exchanging rings.
I’d had to confront myself with the knowledge that I simply was not ready to put them aside.
I comforted myself with the vague idea that one day, I would cherish the memories, instead of using them as the yard stick by which I measured my own strength.
Mum’s voice floated in from the kitchen, breaking through my reverie.
“Pudding’s ready!” She called.
Dad and I groaned in unison.
It was late by the time I went up to bed. Mum and Dad had gone up a while ago, but I’d wanted to finish watching a movie. My parents hadn’t been interested, so they’d left me to it.
I tried to be quiet as I headed up the stairs, treading carefully around each creaky step, and cursing myself for missing the forgotten ones.
Moving by habit, I walked over to where I’d plugged my phone in to charge after calling Becka, not really expecting much.
It was the usual list of notifications – music industry related news, a smattering of Christmas greetings from old school and uni friends, and a few new acquaintances from The Loop and my journalism course. A bunch of comments and reactions on my social media, and… a voicemail?
