She handed the pot to Sweeney and, with a cheery goodbye, departed the store.
*
It was one in the afternoon before the lull hit and Sweeney was able to go to the bakery, buy two sausage rolls and two peach blossoms and take them out the back, where her mother was already sorting through the mountain of donations. Two dainty, mismatched china cups of steaming tea were sitting nearby on a desk that was covered by white plastic bags, each filled to the brim, puffy as marshmallows, their contents threatening to spew out.
‘This is a lot of stuff,’ Sweeney said as she glanced around at everything that needed to be sorted.
‘We’re the only charity shop in the district so we get all the donations from the other centres nearby.’ Connie sat on a rickety old chair and bit into the warm, flaky sausage roll. She sighed as she chewed. ‘Mmm, these are my favourite bakery item.’
Her mother said that every time she ate a sausage roll. Sweeney, on the other hand, had always had a sweet tooth, like her father.
She claimed another rickety chair and, in what was a familiar routine, she bit into the peach blossom first. A family bakery trip had always involved sausage rolls and peach blossoms, but whereas her mother had gone with the savoury option to start, Sweeney and her dad had always gone for the pink fluffy goodness, their fingers smothered in cream, their mouths covered in pink coconut.
Her mother laughed as cream oozed out of the sponge and coconut stuck to Sweeney’s nose, and then they were both laughing. And she knew in that moment her mum was thinking about those long-ago bakery visits, too. Surprisingly, the memory no longer hurt—it just glowed warm between them, a candlelit snow globe-esque bubble from their past so alive with scenes of family and laughter Sweeney felt as though she could reach out and touch it.
‘You’re doing really well,’ Sweeney said after she’d devoured the peach blossom and washed the sweetness and coconut down with a couple of sips of tea.
Her mother glanced over the rim of her cup, taking a slow sip before placing it back on its mismatched saucer. Connie gave her a soft smile. ‘I’ve been doing really well for a long time now.’
A sudden lump rose in Sweeney’s throat, threatening to choke her, and she swallowed it down with another sip of tea. ‘Yeah, I guess you have,’ she murmured eventually, returning her mother’s soft smile.
‘I should never have leaned on you like I did back then.’ Connie shook her head, her eyes clouding over, her forehead crinkling. ‘It was unfair of me.’
It wasn’t the first time her mother had apologised. Most recently she’d done it the night of the surprise party—although that was slightly dubious given it had been a brief segue on the road to emotional blackmail—and she’d expressed how sorry she was multiple times to her teenage daughter after she’d come out of her funk.
Sweeney had been in her last two years of high school and so damn relieved her mum was back that she’d accepted the apologies readily, eager to move on, to get back to normal. But the truth was, she’d never quite forgiven her mother.
‘It’s okay, Mum,’ she said gently. Sweeney might not have been ready to forgive in the past but, looking into her mother’s eyes, seeing her obvious regret and contrition, she was now. ‘You lost the love of your life. And you missed him.’
‘You,’ Connie said, her voice wobbly, her eyes glassy, ‘are the love of my life.’
Her mother’s words hit Sweeney right in the place she’d papered over all those years ago so she could just get herself and her mother through another day. She swallowed against the thickening in her throat. ‘Grief is hard.’
Her mother nodded. ‘Yeah, it is. Oneveryone. And I’m so sorry I privileged my pain and grief over yours.’
Sweeney sucked in a ragged breath. Her nose itched as tears burned in her eyes. With her heart open to forgiveness,thisapology was a balm to the jagged wound left behind by her suppressed childhood grief. ‘I get it, Mum. I really do. It’s really okay.’
And it really was. It hadn’t been, but today—finally—it was. It had been a shitty time, and grieving people weren’t rational.
Standing, Sweeney took the three paces to her mother, who also stood. They were crying as they embraced. Not the deep wrenching cries of raw, new loss but the quiet, bittersweet tears of sorrow and regret.
‘I love you, Sweeney,’ her mother whispered, hugging her tight, her voice deep and husky with emotion. ‘And I’m so very,veryproud of you.’
‘I love you, too, Mum.’
Sweeney wasn’t sure how long they embraced but she wasn’t in any hurry to leave the comfort of her mother’s arms. It felt good—cathartic. Like the mum hugs of old.
‘So, you’re not mad at me anymore for flaking out those three years?’ Connie asked when they finally eased apart, her hands finding her daughter’s and holding tight.
Sweeney opened her mouth to deny the claim then shut it again because, deep down, in a place she’d never wanted to acknowledge, shehadalways been a little… resentful. Angry that she’d had to be the adult in their household. When all the other teens had been out there living their lives, pushing boundaries—going to parties, getting drunk, getting boyfriends—she’d been cooking and cleaning and forging notes to her teachers. She’d been prodding her mother to eat, to get up, to shower, to go to work.
And maybe that resentment was the real reason she’d stayed away from Ballyshannon.
‘No.’ She probed the taut, tight space where the anger had resided to find it gone. Time and distance and finally confronting her true feelings had slashed a huge gash in the space, letting it all out. ‘Not anymore.’
Her mother’s smile wobbled a little and she blinked furiously but she didn’t cry again. She was relieved, though; Sweeney could feel it in the sudden easing of tension in her mother’s body. The sag of her shoulders, the relaxing of her grip.
‘I don’t suppose that extends to the fake engagement thing?’ Connie asked, her gaze mischievous in what Sweeney guessed was a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood.
