“But you don’t,” she says.“And now you can.”
Only, when I get back home, the place feels oddly empty.The kids are at school, and it’s entirely quiet.I walk the whole place, stopping in the room Trish just cleared out.
She was making me crazy.
She was rearranging things without asking.
She was throwing out perfectly good snacks the kids liked.
But ever since Jason died, I’ve been totally alone.I didn’t have another adult to bounce ideas off of.I’ve been the only one to match up socks, to organize the pantry, and to tell the kids to eat their vegetables.Trish was a little irritating, sure, but she cared.And now she’s gone, and I miss her a lot more than I expected I would.
I sit down on a chair in the corner, and I cry.
Not for long.I have work to do, so I pull myself together, and when I finish my work for the day, the dishes are still dirty in the sink.The laundry hasn’t been moved over.No one’s listening to Carol King in the kitchen.My empty house is terribly depressing.I’m ready to rush around the corner and beg her to move back, but that feels pathetic.She just got her own place.A cute place.A place she can decorate how she’d like.A place that’s not overflowing with chaos and chores.
What ifshe’srelieved to finally not have to do all our dishes?What if she’s binging Netflix and walking around inherunderwear?What if all the things she said about me were really true for her, and she’s grateful to finally have some space?
I make myself a very sad, very lonely lunch, and then I call Jack.
After five minutes on the phone whinging to him, he says, “That’s enough.You know that old woman is justdyingfor you to beg her to come back.Just go do it.”
“You think?”I wince.“It hasn’t even been a single day.I’m not sure.”
He chuckles.“Vanessa, you two crack me up.I know she’s your husband’s mother, but I swear, she loves you more than my mother loves me.She watches you, you know, her eyes following you, and if they were turned into emojis, they’d have hearts on them.She laughs at all your jokes, even the lame ones.”
“Hey,” I say, but my fake outrage is feeble.Because I’m crying again.
“She supports you with the kids, no matter how strict you get.And she’s always looking for ways to help out around the house to make your life better.That’s not the behavior of someone who wants to live alone.”
“But when they gave us the cottage, she was relieved,” I say.
“She can’t make you think she’ll be lonely there,” he says.“I swear, for a devoted mother, you’re clueless around your clone.”
“She’s older, so doesn’t that makemethe clone?”
He swears softly.“Your husband married his own mother.I hear that happens.”
“Stop.”
“I mean it.That woman’s just like you, and I promise, she’s agonizing, too.I would bet—anything, really.What do you want?”
I laugh.“Cut off your mother.”
The laughing dies instantly.
“I was kidding.”
“What happened when you went to tea?”
I sigh.“Nothing, I told you.”
“You’re lying.What did she say?”
“Jack, it’s fine.Your mother didn’t like me much, which you predicted would be the case, and she told me I’m too old for you.That’s something we already knew.”
“She’s wrong—you know that.”
“Only she’s right,” I say.“I am too old for you, even if you persist in saying you don’t care.”
