“So, along with healing after being gang-beaten, moved intoa new space, worried what your ex’s club has planned for you, and concernedabout the activities of the man you’re currently in love with, you’re alsobearing the burden that if you try it with him, the way it started between you,he’ll never truly trust you.”
There was absolutely all that.
There was also the scar thing, but Snapper took care ofthat.
Gah!
“Yes,” I answered Mom.
“And what does Snapper say about all of this?”
“I think this is going to be our conversation tonight.”
All of a sudden, she leaned into me, latched her fingersaround my forearm and whispered fiercely, “Be the daughter I raised andrecognize what’s good for you, fuckinggrab hold, keep it close, andkeep itprecious, Rosalie, for as long as God gives you the privilegeof having it.”
I stared at my mom with big eyes.
My father was a swearer.He could be working on something inthe garage that wasn’t going right and let out a string of swear words thatlasted five whole minutes that would make a sailor raise his brows.
My mother hardly ever swore.
So the f-word was huge.
But what she was urging me to do was even more huge.
“You like him,” I whispered.
She let me go, sat back, and said exasperatedly, “Oh forgoodness sakes, Rosalie.Obviously.I mean, what’s not to like?”Thenshe sucked back an irate sip of her coffee, tasted it, and the irritation fledas the miracle of a serial-killer-but-not-serial-killer-looking barista’sartistry touched her taste buds.
“Mom?”I called.
She turned her eyes to me.
Myeyes to me.
I loved my eyes.I loved my mother.
But I wished I got just a little piece of my dad.
“I miss Dad,” I admitted.
She leaned back toward me, her face melting into sheerbeauty.
“Of course you do, sweetie.He was the kind of man who wasalways going to leave a huge hole in the world of those he loved when he leftthem.The kind of hole, honeypot,” she leaned even closer, “that feels whenhe’s gone like it’llneverget filled.Don’t try to fill it, Rosalie.Let it sit because it’s not empty.It’s filled to bursting with the love he hadfor you and the memories he gave our family.It isn’t the same as having him.It never will be.But it’s a treasure regardless.So learn to treasure it anddo what he’d want you to do.Find someone to love you, to make new treasuredmemories with.And don’t let fears and loss hold you back.That isn’t thedaughter I raised.But more, that isn’t the daughter your father raised.”
I stared at her, muttering, “Oh no, I’m going to startcrying.”
“Okay, I have Kleenex,” she replied.
“Mom!”I exclaimedkindaloudly.“I don’t want to start crying.”
She looked perplexed.“Why in the world not?”
“Because…because…because…” I didn’t know why.“Because I’mseeing Snapper later.It’ll mess up my makeup and make my eyes all puffy.”
She waved her hand in front of her face, took another sip ofcoffee, got a fleeting look reminiscent of what she looked like after Dad wasdone with her, then said, “That’s why God made washcloths and Visine.Coldcompresses take the puffy away and Visine rids the red.Walgreens is just downthe street.If you don’t have Visine, we’ll get you some drops before you headhome.And some condoms.I’m sure with the man Snapper is, he’ll come prepared,but just in case.”
I stopped wanting to cry and started smiling.
