I lean forward and lay my hand on the table, palm up.Mum’s lips curve in a small smile as she takes my hand and squeezes my fingers.“Anything I can do to help with that?”
She sighs and shakes her head.“I think it’s all part of the adjustment period.There are a million little things every day that are different and that I have to get used to.Sleeping without your dad beside me is one of them.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut.I know exactly what she means, just like I know our experiences, while similar in some ways, are also entirely different.I still pick up my phone to call or text Dad, or think of things to tell him or show him.Those seemingly small moments feel like losing him all over again, and send a wave of grief crashing through me each time.But Mum lived with him and saw him every day.Their lives were completely entwined.If the reminders are hard for me, the constant barrage of them must be hell for her.
“You can come get me any time you need to, you know,” I tell her.“Even if I’m sleeping.Or I can start sleeping with you if it would help.”
She shakes her head again, her grip on my hand tightening briefly before she releases me.“I appreciate that, but you’ll be gone soon, and I need to get used to this being my life.”
There’s that gut-punch feeling again.This time, it’s paired with what feels like a vice around my throat, making it difficult to breathe.“I can stay.”The words are barely audible.I suck in a breath and try again.“I can stay for as long as you need me to.Orwantme to.”
Mum gives me a sad smile.“You have a life to get back to, Fiona.And a job you love.We knew this day was coming—both your father’s death and what the aftermath would look like.As hard as it is and as different as it’ll be, life goes on.”
Life goes on.It’s a statement of fact, spoken in a steady voice, but Mum can’t hide the sorrow in her eyes.She’s been dropping subtle comments here and there recently about ‘when you leave’ or ‘when you go back to London’.As much as I’m certain she’s not in a hurry to get rid of me, it’s hard not to take it personally.Even though I haven’t told her the truth behind my extended stay, I need to be here.Iwantto be here.And yet I know that the longer I stay, the more suspicious she’ll get and the more she’ll push me to return to London.
Do I tell her the truth and add to her already overflowing plate, or do I keep putting her off when she mentions me leaving?
“Why don’t you go get dressed while I wash these dishes?”Mum suggests.“Then we can get started on party prep.”
Call me a coward, but she’s just handed me an easy way out, and I grab it with both hands.
* * *
After hours of cleaning and food prep, Mum proclaims we’re finished for the day, and suggests I go take a shower.
“Is that your subtle way of telling me I stink?”I ask.
“No, it’s my way of telling you that I’ve invited a few people over for dinner, and you look like you’ve been cleaning and cooking all day,” Mum says.
A frizzy lock of hair falls into my face as I glance down at my clothes.Not only are they dust-streaked, I also somehow managed to get bits of carrot peel stuck to me from when I was preparing the veggie tray.I pluck them off and throw them in the compost bin.“You sure you’re up for that, especially with the party tomorrow?”
There were moments over the last few hours that almost felt normal.With my parents being pillars of the community, I grew up helping them prepare for various events and gatherings, both at the house and at the café.Mum has always thrived around other people, especially when she’s the hostess and gets to feed people, but she’s also in her element during the prep stages.Give her a to-do list and a playlist, and she’ll show you the most efficient way to get things done, all with a smile on her face, and the occasional impromptu dance move for good measure.
There were glimmers of that version of her today.While I caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes more than once, she also smiled, kept up a steady stream of conversation, and even sang along to a few of her favourite songs.
“Positive,” she says.“It helps to stay busy, and I promise I’m not just saying that.Maybe one of these days, I’ll tire myself out enough to finally sleep well.”Despite doing my best to keep my expression neutral, she must sense I’m fighting both sympathy and a desire to make sure she’s not overdoing it, because she adds, “I know my limits, Fiona.You don’t have to worry about me.”
She kisses my cheek and shoos me from the room.It’s probably for the best, before I accidentally veer too far and risk sounding patronizing.The truth is, Idoworry about her.It’s a completely new sensation.Mae Murphy is the strongest, most self-sufficient person I know, but she’s also just lost the love of her life.And before that, she went through months of my dad being sick, and the anticipatory grief of knowing he was going to die.Even the strongest people in the world have a breaking point, and I can’t help worrying she’ll reach hers.
I take my time in the shower, letting the warm water pound against my tired muscles.That’s a new experience too; I’ve mastered the art of the quick shower after years of staying in countless hostels and campgrounds where other people were waiting for the facilities.I smile to myself at the flood of memories—some good, some worthy of a horror movie—and imagine the tension and worry washing down the drain.
Twenty minutes later, I return to my room to get dressed.I nearly drop my towel when I step through the door and find someone sitting in the middle of my bed.
“You weren’t kidding about this room being a living time capsule,” Mila says.“I feel like I’ve stepped into a late ’90s/early 2000s teen drama.”
I barely hear the last of her words as I let out a cry and launch myself onto the bed.Mila laughs and wraps her arms around me as my tackle-hug knocks her onto her back.Within seconds of inhaling her familiar jasmine scent, my own laughter morphs into uncontrollable sobs.
“Hey, hey,” Mila says soothingly, easing me away from her and fixing the precarious placement of my towel so I don’t flash her.The towel around my head has unravelled, and wet strands of hair stick to my tear-dampened face.“Not quite the reaction I was expecting.”
“They’re happy tears, I promise.”Mostly, anyway.Mila’s unexpected appearance in the last place I ever expected has jolted something loose inside me.There’s a layer of grief and overwhelm mixed in with the joy of having her here.With a series of pathetic sniffles, I let my best friend guide me into a seated position.“I feel like I’m dreaming.What are you doing here?How did you get here?”
Mila’s gaze slides past me, a small smile ticking at the corners of her mouth.Without looking, I know Nathan is standing in the doorway, so I adjust my towel before shifting to face him.
“Did you have a hand in this?”I ask.
“Mae arranged it,” he says.“I was just the chauffeur.”
There’s no ‘just’ about it.It’s a five-hour round-trip to the airport and back.While Nathan would do anything my mum asked him to, this feels like an offshoot of the proverbial olive branch between us.He brought me my best friend when I needed her most.
