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By the time Noah got home last night, we were all in bed. I woke up around three in the morning because Fin was crying only to find him holding her in the chair downstairs with the humidifier blowing on them. She was fast asleep on his chest and he had his eyes closed, singing to her. She’s been sick with a cold the last couple days and barely slept. My heart lurched at the scene before me. It reminded me of times when Mara was going through chemo and vomiting for hours at a time, all while either Noah or I held her.
Finley never lets Noah hold her, so I snuck back upstairs and let them have their moment together, relieved to know they were finally connecting on some level. Either that or Fin was so tired she couldn’t decipher if it was me or Noah.
I wish he was home more so we could have more moments like that, but I fear this new job is going to be his new distraction away from home. A way to not have the reminder that we’re here.
And, since the time in the haunted house, we haven’t had sex. What the fuck? I don’t get it. We’re back to square one all over those damn BB’s in Hazel’s stomach. I’m happy to report, she pooped them out, wanted to keep them, and then finally flushed them down the toilet.
To top all this off, my sister is getting married. We have to go back to Texas for the wedding in two weeks. I can only imagine what being back in Texas is going to do to Noah and me.
It’s a Saturday night. As luck would have it, Noah snuck out to the shop and we’re set to have our friends over for dinner tonight after Hazel’s school play. Maybe even get Noah drunk to the point he relaxes.
“What time is the play?” Kate asks, her attention on her phone as she’s texting Jason.
“It’s at four.”
“Who’s that?” Kate asks, staring at my front porch when we pull into the driveway. To my surprise, my mother is sitting on my doorstep when I get back from the grocery store.
Oh, fuck.
“It’s Nana Nina!” Hazel and Oliver yell, barreling out of the car the moment I stop. Sevi, he couldn’t care less and Fin, well, you know. She only likes me. Because I feed her.
Before you meet her, I need to let you know she comes with a warning label. I love my mother, I do, but I can’t say I like her. I also don’t like when she shows up unannounced at my house.
With my kids wrapped around her legs, I stare at her emotionless eyes that mirror my own. I may have her looks, but I hope, no, I pray I don’t have her personality and treat my children this way when they grow up. “What are you doing here?”
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she hands the kids a stack of presents. She does this every time she sees them. Buys them gifts to make up for the fact that they haven’t seen her in a year. Yes, an entire year and we lived in the same city as her up until a month ago. The last time I saw her was after Mara’s funeral. I sat there holding my newborn baby and grieving the one I lost, and my mom had the nerve to tell me, “You have your children to think of. Stop crying.”
Kate scoots past me with her boys and inside the house, taking the bags of groceries from me. “I’ll put these in the fridge.”
Mom watches Kate and doesn’t meet my questioning stare. “Do I need an excuse to come see my daughter and grandbabies?”
I sigh. “I suppose not, but look, you haven’t seen this one since she was born.”
Mom takes a look at Fin as I set her on the floor to run after Sevi as he crawls on all fours toward his water dish on the floor. Mom follows me into the house. “How are you holding up?” And then she points to Sevi. “Is he really drinking water off the floor?”
“Yes, he thinks he’s a dog.” I get this question a lot, and I hate it. Not the one about Sevi thinking he’s a dog. The one everyone who knows we lost a child asks. How are you holding up? What does that even mean? I don’t think I’m holding up. I’m surviving, yes, but if only they knew the noise inside my head and saw the hole in my chest.
I shrug and offer, “I’m fine, Mom. Why are you really here?”
“I wanted to see my grandbabies.” Her judgmental eyes lower to my body. “You look too skinny.” She pauses, pointing to Sevi. “That’s weird. He shouldn’t be doing that at his age.”
His age? He just turned three. Most three-year-olds I know throw tantrums and their moods change in an instant. The fact that he’s fairly normal, I think is pretty good. “Well, I eat, and what’s wrong with him acting like a dog? He’s three. Three-year-olds are weird.”
Kate takes the kids outside to play, her boys taking turns pushing Hazel on the swing. I smile. She looks to Jagger as if he’s her hero. She has the biggest crush on him, but don’t tell Noah. He’d freak out.
My mom sighs, her eyes drifting around the house and the mess. There are laundry piles on the couch, dishes stacked up in the sink and my floors haven’t been washed in weeks. It’s just not a priority most days. “Kel, this place is a disaster. What are you doing?”
Please tell me you don’t like her already. Are we on the same page? “I’m trying to raise kids and be a mom.” Peeking inside the bag of groceries, I take out the steak seasoning. “Sometimes it’s hard.”
“And a wife,” she adds, as if I’ve somehow forgotten that. “It’s okay to not be okay. You lost a child. It’s okay.”
I slam the steak seasoning in my hand on the counter and wish I was throwing a glass at the door. “I know it’s fucking fine to not be okay,” I snap, my heart pounding in my ears. The thing is, I’m not okay, and I don’t want the reminder. Not today. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get Hazel ready for her play.”
“Oh, well, I’m coming then.”
“Awesome. Noah will be so happy.” In case you didn’t know it, that’s me being sarcastic because if there’s one person Noah doesn’t get along with, it’s my mother.
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