“It’s alright,” he interrupts gently. “These memories are good. I’m glad to have something to miss.” And the weight of those words follows me up the stairs.
My parents’ bedroom door is cracked, and music spills into the hallway—Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock.” As I push the door open, I see Emma dancing as she brushes Mom’s hair. Mom is beaming at her in the mirror, her gray eyes conflicted between registering that this is someone she should know and soaking up the joy that billows off of her as she bounces around. The sight pulls a smile across my face, and warmth spreads through me at the two women I love most being happy, if only for a song. As the music ends, Emma collapses back onto the bed, breathless like she just ran a marathon. I laugh at her, and they both catch me in the mirror.
“Don’t laugh. I haven’t been to the gym in months!” She pants, grinning.
I feign innocence and hold the sandwiches up as a peace offering. Emma takes hers, still horizontal on the mattress. Mom watches us with a smilethat’s unrecognizable to me now. A mixture of the one I grew up with and another that’s entirely foreign. I can see it on her face, the weary forgetfulness. The confusion that I’m clearly her son, but not the one she remembers.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, leaning down to kiss her head. Her shoulders ease at my touch.
“Steven.” Her weathered voice is bright as she turns to me, but the moment her gaze drifts to Emma, the light fades. There’s no recognition, just confusion and a flash of sadness.
Knowing Emma, she probably reminded Mom who she was the second she walked in, probably showed her our wedding photos, maybe even videos of the kids, anything to give Mom something to hold on to so the forgetfulness wouldn’t hurt as much. She tries to hide it, forcing a perked-up smile as I sit on the bed.
But when Emma kisses me on the cheek, the smile falls. The sliver of joy she was reaching for disappears, replaced by the quiet ache of not knowing her own daughter-in-law. The wedding, her grandkids, the life we’ve built…it’s all a mystery to her.
And the weight of that truth presses hard on my chest.
I couldn’t imagine forgetting.
Chapter fourteen
Emma
Mydayonlygotworse after Steven left. One crisis after another, all piling up until Cindy called to tell me she was sick—that was the breaking point. My mood was shot, but the way I sprinted across town to grab Josie and still made it back in time for the faculty meeting should’ve qualified me for the Olympics.
I’m panting more than one should be as I wheel Josie into the teacher’s lounge and park her stroller by the refrigerator. The steady hum fills the room, doubling as an impromptu sound machine. A tiny, desperate hope sparks that it’ll lull her through the meeting so I can figure out what to do next.
“Let me see her!” Ellie squeals as she bursts into the lounge. I shush her, furiously pointing to the sleeping baby. She slams to a halt then tiptoes forward like a ninja.
Ellie’s never been a “baby person.” Honestly, she’s never even been a “people person.” So her adoration for Josie still throws me. I practically choked on my egg roll the day she told me she wanted to be a psychiatrist. And yet, here she is now, all gentleness and quiet awe, gazing down at my daughter like the miracle she is.
Her green eyes mist as she watches my daughter’s tiny chest rise and fall. I can’t help but stare with her. My perfect girl. She’s so small, so utterly defenseless, yet somehow holds so much power over me.
“She’s so perfect,” Elliewhispers.
“She is,” I say wistfully, drinking in the bliss wrapped inside a pink fleece onesie.
The serenity that comes with watching a baby sleep evaporates when the lounge door swings open and smacks against the wall.
“Mrs. Jones, can you order me some more bleach?” Bill’s voice ricochets off the tiles, startling Josie awake. And not with the sweet stretch-to-consciousness kind of waking you hope for, but with the I’ve-been-dropped-from-a-cliff and release-me-from-these-shackles kind of waking. She pitches her head back, arches her body, and screams.
“Damn it, Bill,” Ellie growls, already unbuckling Josie.
Bill winces, guilt flooding his face. “Sorry.” He edges closer, trying to help, murmuring soft nonsense to soothe her, but she’s not having it.
Her crying crescendos as the school bell rings overhead, and every nerve in my body frays. My patience is shot instantly, and sharp pain suddenly lances through my chest. I reach for the diaper bag and thrust the mini cooler off to Ellie. She knows the drill, rushing to the microwave and pulling out bottles, baggies, and wipes. Meanwhile, she deposits screaming Josie into Bill’s highly uncertain arms. He holds her like a feral animal, attempting theshh-it’s-okay-you’re-okayloop. Josie is beet red and furious by the time I tug my portable pumps from the bag. The microwave dings, and Ellie is already snapping into action, bottle in hand.
“Do you—” I start.
“I got this,” she cuts me off, gently waving me away. “Go get those things on.”
By the time I get back, pumps on and humming under my blouse, the meeting has started without me. Benny is covering the agenda, and I step in quietly as he goes on about the upcoming sports schedules and need for concession stand volunteers. I stand offto the side, trying to pretend the suction at my chest isn’t audible to the entire room. Margaret volunteers herself and Bill for the concessions. Bill obliges with a playful pinch at her waist.
“Get a room,” Malcolm grumbles from the back.
Margaret just shrugs her shoulders and wiggles her brows at Bill. Most of the room laughs at their blatant affection, but Malcolm rolls his eyes and signals for Benny hurry up.
“Other than that, we are needing a couple of people to stay late next Thursday for the peer interview.” Benny holds up a piece of paper, the résumé for our potential new hire. “She is interviewing for the open theater position and will assist with art classes until we find a more permanent solution.”
