Dearest Series Boxed Set (48 page)

T
he white house
sits nestled in a blanket of snow, but the walkway is clear. Never in my life have those steps been harder to make. I thank Susan for the ride and force myself forward, my eyes trained on the slight figure sitting on the couch near the large front window.

“Mom?” I call out in the entryway after letting myself in.

“In here,” a weak voice says.

After I close the door behind me, I pause. The air is cold, not quite as frigid as outside, but cold enough that I can see my breath. It should smell like cinnamon and sage, my mother’s favorite spices. Instead, antiseptic and bleach scent the air.

I drop the handle to my luggage, turn up the thermostat in the hallway, and head toward the living room where I stare at the person in front of me, not quite recognizing my mother.

“Hi, darling.” She waves me closer.

She’s a rail. Thin and pale. Like she hasn’t left the house or eaten properly in months. She’s swimming in a bright red sweater that features Rudolph, whose nose blinks on and off like a broken stop light.

“Like it?” She points down at her chest, and I try to ignore her bony fingers.

“Yeah.” I have to clear my throat. “It’s great, Mom.” I sit next to her and wrap my arms around her narrow shoulders. Tears sting my eyes and the back of my throat as she pats my shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo. I’ve missed you.” She kisses the top of my head, and I almost lose it.

I will not break down. I will not break down.

Biting my cheek until it hurts, I focus on that pain instead of my dying parent. When we break apart, the look of love in her eyes threatens to shatter me. Where will I ever find that kind of love again? Once my mother is gone, I’ll be alone.

“None of that!” she chides. “No crying before Christmas. That’s some kind of sacrilege. Susan left a few meals in the fridge for us. Why don’t you pick one out and pop it in the oven for dinner.”

I bring the food to her when it’s ready so she doesn’t have to expend the energy to get up. She smiles, tipping her fork toward me. “I love your red hair. It’s beautiful. It’s bold. It’s perfect.”

In the blur of coming home, I had forgotten she hadn’t seen it.

I return the smile and push the food around on my plate.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “I’m considering getting a small apartment in Boston. What do you think?”

Staring into my bowl of noodles like I might be able to find the right words somewhere in the Alfredo sauce, I nod and force another smile.

“Sounds great, Mom.” The lie slips off my tongue. But I’ll play along through Christmas. Maybe even through the New Year. After that, I won’t be able to hide my plans to come home.

She talks animatedly while I eat the casserole, but I know what she’s doing—pretending this isn’t as bad as it is—but it’s hard to ignore how she picks at her food and clenches her jaw like she’s trying not to throw up.

Our discussion about Boston reminds me of how I’d always ask for a pony when I was a kid, and she would describe where we’d go to buy one and the stall where we’d keep him, the kind of apples he’d like and the little sounds he’d make when we’d pet him. We could talk about my horse for hours even though I knew we could never afford one. The talk was what mattered, the possibility, the hope. I see the same look in her eyes now. She just wants hope. A reason to live.

After I put our dishes away and settle back on the couch with two mugs of hot chocolate, my mom reaches for a manila folder and hands it to me. I open it and stare, not sure what I’m looking at.

“Those are all of my accounts. Our accounts. I had your name put on everything—the deed to the house, my bank account, my IRAs. Oh, and that stock you suggested has performed really well this month. I’m glad that school is teaching you something.” She reaches for my hand, her cold skin a reminder of what’s to come. “I left you off my credit cards, though.” She chuckles. “I figured you could do without those balances.”

“We don’t have to do this right now.” The numbness inside me grows, like roots pushing up through a sidewalk.

“Yes, honey, we do.” Her eyes, deep pools of green with flecks of amber, look dim.

Her words ricochet inside of me until I can barely breathe. I curl up, dropping my head into her lap and cry, for all the time we won’t spend together, the memories we won’t have, the laughter we can’t share. She strokes my hair softly, her gentle touch making me sob harder. She’s dying, her last breaths are numbered, and I’m the one crying. I’m suddenly furious that I let myself get distracted all semester by some guy when my mom’s been here dealing with this by herself.

When the tears stop and all I can do is whimper into her flannel pajama bottoms, I sit up.

She clears her throat and whispers, “Do you have friends you can go to… afterward? I need to know you’re not alone.”

“I have Travis.” I wipe my face with sleeve of my sweater. “I had some pretty great roommates this semester too.”

“Anyone else?” she asks hopefully. “A boy?”

I stiffen, not sure what to tell her. I want to make her feel better, for her to know I’ll be okay, but the aftershocks of what happened with Jax are too fresh.

“No.” My eyes shift to my lap. “Not really.” She lifts my chin, forcing me to look at her, so I add, “There was someone, but it didn’t work out.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “What happened?”

A thousand things run through my mind. Jax is a total player. I lied to him by not telling him what happened on his birthday. He ran off with a blonde and left me in his room naked. I finally go with, “It’s complicated.”

Her mouth twists, and she gives me a knowing look. “Was it the boy who hit you with his car?”

My mouth falls open. “Seriously, how do you do that?” I never gave her any indication I liked Jax.

She laughs. “Ah, I nailed it.” With a little wink, she pats me on the hand. “I thought you sounded a little too happy after getting knocked on your ass by a BMW.”

I groan, embarrassed.

“Okay, so tell me about him. I want all the details.” She watches me over the lip of her mug as she takes a sip of her hot chocolate.

“How about
some
of the details?” I ask, feeling my face flush.

Her grin widens. “It’s juicy. I can tell!” She wiggles a little in her seat like I just dropped the best bit of gossip in her lap.

I’m not used to talking to my mom like she’s a girlfriend. Sure, she’s always been supportive, but deep down I’m kind of a shy person when it comes to talking about my love life, especially with my mother.

“Spill it. I’ve been cooped up all fall. I need something good. Let’s start with the basics. How cute is he?”

I drop my head into my hands and groan again. “He’s definitely
not
cute. So not cute. He’s hot. Like off-the-charts hot. Like out-of-my-league hot.” The word volcanic comes to mind.

She tsks me like I’ve been bad. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You are gorgeous, my girl. A guy would have to be a total dumbass not to see that.”

I laugh and shake my head. It’s still weird that she curses.

“Well, he
is
an ass, so there’s that.” I start to tell her how we met, leaving out my goal that night of a one-night stand. I change the “he went down on me at the club” to “we kissed.” Scrubbing the rest of the story to give it a parent-worthy PG-rating, I finally get to the end, that after hanging out the entire Thanksgiving break “snuggling,” he bolted with another girl.

“Hmm,” she says. “Well, I’m surprised ‘snuggling’ got you to turn that shade of red, but I’ll let it go for now.” She nudges me with her elbow, and I fight the fire that’s taken residence in my face. “It sounds like you weren’t super honest with him, and I’m surprised you left without a fight, especially since it seems like you were pining over him all semester.”

I gasp. “I was not pining.”

She snickers at me. “Here’s the thing, Dani. You said his family is estranged, that he comes from a very wealthy background. Those kind of people aren’t exactly known for their love and affection for their children.”

My lips twist as her words seep in. Having lived with Clementine for the last several months was eye-opening. Her parents have all but disowned her, which sucks because she’s amazing. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her brother.

And then my mom really surprises me. “I think you should give him another chance.”

“What?” This is the last thing I expect my mom to say. “Why should I do that? He’s a total man-whore, Mother. I can’t believe you’d want me with someone like that.”

“Someone who waited on you hand and foot while you recovered from your injuries?” she asks, all judgmental.

“Ugh. Fuck. Why do you have to remind me?” Realizing I dropped an f-bomb, I apologize.

She laughs. “It’s okay. But if you’re going to say it, really mean it. It’s better that way.” She elbows me again. “So I’m guessing the sex was good?”

“Holy shit.” I cover both of my eyes like she’s blinded me. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.” Who is this person and what has she done with my parent, the one who used to block the TV from my view when people kissed?

She continues as though she did not just ask me about screwing. “Sexual compatibility is very important in a relationship. I wish someone would’ve told me that when I was younger. I probably wouldn’t have married your father. I mean, a penis should be good for something.”

I might die now.

She adds, “Of course, I’d go through it again just to have you, but our sex life was about as exciting as grouting a tub.”

Okay, my parents did not have good sexy times. Duly noted. That must explain the divorce. But I probably could have done without that bit of information. I scratch my head, wondering if this conversation is going to land me in therapy some day.

Eventually, my horror begins to subside, and we move on to other things. I even get the nerve to show her my tattoo, which she loves.

By 7:30, I can tell she’s exhausted. I help her use the restroom before I tuck her into bed.

I’m just about to walk away when she grabs her chest and winces.

“Mom? Are you okay? What do you need?”

She points to the closet. I think she’s going to direct me to a stash of meds or painkillers or even a bag of pot, but she has me grab a wrapped gift.

“Why don’t we do this in the morning?” I hand it to her, worried that I’m wearing her out.

“No. I want to give it to you now.”

I swallow hard, afraid to speak, knowing that we’re running out of time. When I can breathe again, I tell her I need to grab her gift, and I use those few minutes to collect myself.

She laughs when she opens my present and reads it out loud. “I paid for my kid to go to Boston University, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.” She looks at me and grins. “I fucking love it!”

I shake my head at her and chuckle at her profanity.

But my laughter fades the moment she pulls off her sweater and I see her skeletal frame. Slowly tugging on the t-shirt, she mumbles something about how the school should give these away considering how expensive the tuition is.

By the time she settles back on the pillows, she’s out of breath but pushes on to talk. Grabbing my wrist, she says, “Promise me you’ll graduate. There’s enough money. I took out a decent life insurance when your father left, and it’s all yours.”

She rattles off more mandates, like I should sell the house because there’s still a big balance on the mortgage; I should trade in her car and get something new; I might want to move somewhere warmer eventually. I can tell she’s running through a checklist in her mind, the kind you make just before going on a trip.
Take out the trash, unplug the coffee maker, lock all the doors.

She grips my hand again. “Danielle, don’t be afraid to fall in love. It’s scary as hell, but it’s worth it.”

The tears drip down my face so when she eventually motions to open the gift in front of me, it takes my eyes a few moments to focus.

It’s hard to unwrap something you know is probably the last gift a loved one will ever give you. The paper is beautiful, and my shaking fingers struggle to open it without tearing the pattern, but with each tear, the fabric of my life unravels just a little more.

The gold locket glimmers in my hand.

It snaps open. Inside is a picture of my mom and me, cheek to cheek, grinning like lunatics before I left for Boston my freshman year.

“One side for all my love that you’ll always carry with you. The other side is for that special man who knows a good thing when he sees it.”

The empty side feels like such a huge void, and my chest clenches at the reminder that Jax is no longer in my life.

Nodding, I smile, wanting her to see only my gratitude. She doesn’t need to see my heartache.

She helps me put on the delicate chain, and as it dangles down my collarbone, she puts her frail hand across the gold heart and sighs.

“Danielle, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m so proud of you. Never forget that.” And for the first time today, tears stream down her cheeks. “I’m sorry we don’t have more time.” She scrunches her eyes. “Goddamn it. I never showed you how to change a tire.”

I laugh at the absurdity of my mom even knowing how to change a tire, much less wanting to show me how to do it. We hug, and I hold her close, grateful for every minute we have together.

By the time I close her door, I’m somehow sure that tonight is one of the best and worst nights of my life.

Before I go to bed, I text Jenna four words:
Please send my stuff.

I
f I knock any harder
, Travis might call the cops, but I have to do something. I couldn’t sleep after I got the text from my sister telling me Dani isn’t coming back, and after some major creeper-type behavior on Google, I tracked down her best friend at his house in the ’burbs.

The door finally swings open, and one very pissed-off and disheveled-looking Travis answers the door. “I should kick your ass. Waking me at the asscrack of dawn on Christmas isn’t even at the top of my list why I should smash that pretty face of yours.”

I hold my hands up, trying to make peace. “She’s planning to stay in Chicago.”

He rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Shit.” He rubs his face again. “Yeah, I knew that was a strong possibility.” He shoots me another dirty look. “You didn’t exactly help the situation any, asshole.”

“I want to make it up to her. I need to make it up to her. But to do that, I need your help.”

“Explain why the fuck I should help you on Christmas when you’ve only been a shithead?”

“Because you care about Dani, and you know she’s going through a lot right now. And I can help her if she’ll let me.”

An older female voice yells from the hallway behind Travis. “Who’s there, son?”

“No one, Mom. Just an asshole.”

“
Mijo
, that’s not nice. Tell your friend to come in. I’m making coffee.” Pots and pans clatter. “Ask him if he wants some breakfast.”

I smile at Travis, breaking out the charm. “Your mom sounds lovely.” My smile broadens as his eyes narrow.

“God, you’re a good-looking fucker.” He sighs. “Fine. Come in. But this doesn’t mean I’m helping you.”