Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Mom, you here?” I walk into my childhood home and drop the keys on the kitchen table. The house always looks and smells the same, but it’s never felt the same. Not after the phone call that changed our lives. My dad was the foundation of this family. When he died, everything crumbled.
“Hello?” I turn toward the back door, finding her outside in the garden. “Hey,” I call out as I walk onto the small patio. I survey all the dug-up flowers. This is the same place I found her last week. If she isn’t drowning her sorrows in booze, she’s torturing herself with these damn flowers.
“I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Yeah. Thought I’d stop by. What’s with all the new flowers? You just planted all this last week.”
She doesn’t raise her head to acknowledge me. “I did. But the salvias weren’t blooming as I’d hoped. You know your father always liked the deep purple ones.”
No. I don’t. Because it’s been thirteen years. His shirts still hang in the closet, and the table is set for three. Every decision she makes is based on his approval. Thirteen years, and still, she does everything to try to please him. “Mom, you have to stop this. You know he’s not coming—”
“Oh, Ben, not today. I don’t need you harping on me. I know he’s not going to see these. I’m reminded every single day when I go to sleep alone and wake up with his side of the bed empty.”
But she doesn’t, or she wouldn’t be torturing herself like this. Living a half a life waiting for him to return. I want to shake her and yell that she’s living in this fantasy. To wake the hell up. She jams the shovel into the ground, tension prominent in her expression. I’ve upset her. I sigh in frustration. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Just let me be.”
I would, but I can’t deal with this person she’s become. “He wouldn’t want you to be this way. He would never want you to stop living because he didn’t.”
“I’m living just fine—”
“You’re not, though. You do all these things to please him—and he’s not here.”
She slams the shovel into the dirt. “You think I don’t know that? Why are you here? To remind me?”
“I’m here because I worry about you. I know the anniversary is coming up—”
“Will you just stop?”
“I want you to be happy. To move on—”
“How dare you ask that of me? He was the only man I ever loved.” Her words slice through me. They do every time. Heat burns in my chest at the reminder that I'm standing in front of her, her son, who she's supposed to love too. “He was my other half. There’s no getting that back. So, yes, I will walk around my home and tend to it like he’s still here. It gives me a sliver of happiness to feel like I’m doing something for him. Even if he is dead.”
With her truth comes pain. Memories. This is why I don't do love. It has the power to take everything from you—even yourself. My parents had been in love since they were kids. The perfect romance story. And then he died. And my mother has been a hollow shell ever since.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
I bend down and pick up a small potted plant. “Replanting the same flowers every week? Making meals no one eats? Shutting out your entire family and friends? I ran into Raquel the other day. She said you haven’t returned her calls or shown up to Bunko in months. You’re shutting out the world like you died too.”
“Maybe I wish I had.”
Her words are a slap to the face. My father died—I didn’t. I think she’s forgotten that over the years. He was her world. And I faded into the background. Since the moment he passed, there's been so much pain and darkness. She barely saw me before. Now, she doesn't see me at all.
“Thanks. Glad to know I mean so much you couldn’t care less to stay in this world for me.” This is a constant fight between us. Her depression. Her nonexistent fight to get better. It’s not the first time she’s made comments about wishing she had died. She resented my choice to join the fire academy. She couldn’t see past her own suffering to see I was doing what I thought felt right. “You know what? Forget it.” I’m not in the mood to do this with her today. Or any day. I drop the plant and straighten, walking toward the back door.
Her harsh words halt me. “You point out my flaws, but what about yours? What about what you did to me when you took that job?”