Page 15 of All in for Christmas

I lean closer. “Mom, I went to bed last night single and alone in my condo. Then I woke up this morning next to Dean, married and with this family and a brand new life. Only, none of it is mine at all.” Her mouth hangs slightly open.

Her eyes look glazed. “Mom?” I wave a hand in front of her face.

“ Mom? ” I swear I’m on the verge of tears.

She heaves a deep breath and say gently, “Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry. You’re clearly going through something . Have you tried talking to Dean about these…um…issues?”

“Yeah. Sadly, that didn’t go well. I think I hurt his feelings by implying I want a different life.”

“But you do want a different life, according to you.”

“No. I just want things back how they were. I don’t belong here.”

As much as I love the thought of Mom being cancer free, I can’t stop believing this is a temporary state, some kind of glimpse into an alternate world, like a thought bubble that’s destined to pop.

And when it does, I’ll be back on the other side, left to contend with the fallout.

I can’t let my real life run off course when I have so many important responsibilities.

At my school and most importantly to Mom.

“How can I have these kids when they don’t even feel like mine?

” I ask her. “When I have no memories of raising them? This must be some cosmic mistake, or a very unusual time blip. An alternate reality I’ve slipped into without warning.

” I set my chin, deciding. “I’m betting that calendar’s got something to do with it, too.

I just don’t understand why it’s happening or how to make it stop. ”

She takes a while to digest this. “I see what this is.” Her eyes sparkle knowingly.

“You’re having regrets.” What I’m starting to regret is having this conversation.

I don’t regret this life. How can I? It isn’t even mine, except it is.

Strangely. But if that’s the case, what about my past, and why can’t I remember anything at all about the last six years?

Our burgers arrive and we shake out our napkins, laying them in our laps. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says. “I’m trying hard to understand, honestly I am. Maybe this is a phase?” she suggests. “Postpartum depression?”

“For nearly three years?”

She holds open her hands. “It could happen, I suppose.”

I lean toward her. “Can I ask you something?”

“You know you can ask me anything.”

“It’s about Dean and Puerto Rico.” I ball up my napkin in my lap, wring it tightly in my hands. “He was offered a big opportunity in this world, too. Do you know why he didn’t take it?”

“Sweetheart,” she says softly. “It was because of you. You tried to break it off with him, but he couldn’t end it. The next morning, instead of getting on that plane to San Juan, he came running back to you.”

“ Nooo .” I’m plagued with guilt. “I ruined his chances for the internship?”

She slowly shakes her head. “He made that choice, not you. And, if I’m being honest?” She peers deeply into my eyes. “I believe in your heart you were desperate for him not to go. He was the love of your life, you told me. The man you wanted in your future.”

Pain courses through me, but not a recollection. “I said that?”

“I’m not exactly sure what happened during that make-up session of yours,” Mom says coyly.

“But roughly nine months later we all got a happy surprise: Eleanor. Dean wanted you to stay in college, but you didn’t want to attend while pregnant.

You chose a different sort of life. Came to work temporarily for me. ”

I gasp, unable to fathom this. “I styled hair?”

“No. You were my receptionist at the salon, and not so terrific at it, to tell you the truth.” She fiddles with her beach-themed bracelet with seashells on it. “You said I got on your nerves.”

I cover my mouth and giggle. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry.”

She chuckles. “It’s okay. I was a little pushy with my advice on childrearing.”

“You’ve been the very best mom in your own way. Just because your way of thinking is different from mine doesn’t mean it was wrong.”

She reaches out and holds my hand. “Thank you for saying that, Paige.”

We glance down at our juicy burgers, which smell delicious. “Do you think we should eat,” she asks, “while it’s still hot?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Our burgers are loaded with lettuce, tomato, French-fried onion rings, sauteed mushrooms, and cheese.

Gooey condiments squish out the sides when we take big bites.

I could be one of those people whose appetite is adversely affected by stress, but I’m not.

By the way Mom’s tackling her food, it seems I come by it honestly.

This heartens me somehow, making me feel less solitary on these shifting sands.

I pop a French fry in my mouth and it’s so tasty, likely cooked in peanut oil, with a nice crunchiness and the perfect amount of salt.

As we work on our lunches, Mom says seriously, “Paige, I think you should consider seeing a doctor. Maybe getting an MRI.”

“What?”

She sets down her burger. “Honey, I’m worried about you. It’s not normal for someone your age to start forgetting things.”

But I know if I get an MRI, it won’t show anything. I’m not sure how to convince Mom of that fact, though. She’s speaking out of love and concern. “Tell you what,” I say. “If this doesn’t get better—”

“Quickly,” she intercedes.

“Quickly,” I agree. “Then I’ll think about seeing a doctor, all right?”

“All right, sweetheart,” she says pleadingly. “Please promise.”

“I promise,” I pledge, not sure how I’m going to keep it, or if I’ll even be here tomorrow. But I want to make her feel better, not worse.

“How long did I work for you, anyway?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Three months was all you said you could take,” she quips. “Dean pulled some strings to get you an interview at Hillsdale, where he was at the time. Then when Walton opened, you both moved there.”

“I see.” So much is falling into place. I’m grasping the bigger picture of all Dean’s done for me.

The sacrifices he’s made. I guess I made my sacrifices in this realm, too.

Dropped out of college, put my focus on our family.

But what about Mom? “How about you?” I ask her.

A tender spot in my heart aches. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes.” She shimmies her shoulders and her big dangly earrings twirl.

“I’ve got a new boyfriend now, Roger. He’s a retired auto mechanic and very handsome.

Paige,” she says emphatically, “I think he might be the one.” I can’t help being pleased for her.

She’s radiant, with a sweep of color on her cheeks.

“Well, in that case, I’m really happy for you, Mom.”

“I’m so glad you said that.” She preens and pats down her auburn curls. “Because I don’t want you to overreact when I tell you the news.”

“News?” I ask with trepidation.

“Roger and I are moving in together,” she says with a grin. “On his houseboat.”

“Houseboat? Mom. Don’t you know where we live?”

“Oh. His houseboat’s not here in the mountains. It’s down on the coast, in Wilmington.”

My heart sinks like a stone. “You’re leaving Piney Mount?” I can’t believe it. This is her home. Our home , and has been forever.

“Darling,” she says, sipping from her wine. “You have to go where love leads.”

“Yes, but.” I lick my lips, wanting to cry. “What about Eleanor and Henry?”

“I think they’ll love learning to sail, don’t you?” She misreads my panicked look. “Naturally they’ll wear life vests. Safety first at all costs.”

She’s leaving me? No, this can’t be. “Let’s talk this over.”

“It’s not like we won’t ever see each other, Paige. Heavens! I’ll visit—with Roger, when he can join me. Otherwise, I’ll come on my own, and you can visit Wilmington.” My head spins and spins, like my whole world is spiraling away from me.

“What about your shop?”

“I’ll open another. People need their hair done everywhere, my sweet girl, not just here.”

Dread grips me by the throat. Is Mom planning something similar in my other reality?

Is there a Roger there, as well as here?

Is he who she was going to tell me about at lunch?

And how does her medical testing play into all of this?

Surely she won’t flee with Roger to the coast if her cancer’s back.

Then again, maybe she will—deciding to savor what time she has left by doing exactly as she pleases.

My heart hurts. I don’t get it. I never would have left her.

How can she abandon me? Us? My voice trembles when I ask, “When are you planning to go?”

“On Friday.”

“This Friday?” It’s like an entire house has fallen on me. “The day after Christmas?”

“Oh baby.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “If you’re sick, though, of course I’ll stay. For as long as you need.” But after that, she’s going anyway? Who is this guy Roger? Worry claws at me. Maybe he’s a scam artist, unsavory? Out to take advantage of Mom’s sunny nature?

“I’d like to meet Roger,” I tell her calmly, although my knees bob up and down.

I sit up straighter and clasp my hands in my lap, so hard they ache.

Press down on my knees so they stop jiggling.

I’m not letting some random stranger whisk Mom away.

Sure, I want her happiness, but not at the expense of her safety.

Who knows who Roger is? Maybe a psycho, or an axe murderer?

“All right.” She shrugs. At least that’s something. “We’ll check our calendar.” Wait. They’re a unit now? Already? Am I going to have to start calling them “Rogmary”? Nooo. How did this happen so fast? Where was I? Okay. Maybe in the other place. Not fair.

The server clears our empty plates. “Another glass of wine for you ladies?” she asks, noting our drained glasses.

“No, thanks.” Mom smiles. “I’m driving. Maybe coffee?”

“Same. Make that two, please,” I add.

While we’re waiting on our coffees, Mom digs around in her purse and pulls out a small, giftwrapped present. “I brought you an early merry Christmas present.”

I’m feeling far from merry right now. I’m frantic with nerves over the choices she’s making.

“I’m not sure if I…” I pull my purse into my lap and hunt through it.

Yes. Her Christmas gift is there. I take it out and check the tag, which says, “For Mom.” I hand it to her, wondering if it’s those same tin earrings I bought at the holiday market in the other place.

“Should I go first?” she asks glibly like nothing’s wrong, although my world’s falling apart. I’m in a new reality that she doesn’t understand. Probably because she’s too besotted with Roger to contemplate much of anything else. I motion for her to go ahead, and she opens her gift.

“How lovely! Thank you!” She holds the pretty blue and green earrings up by her ears.

“These will remind me of the mountains when I’m sailing the seven seas!

” I hope she’s joking, and they never moor their boat beyond North Carolina.

I’m for sure meeting Roger as soon as humanly possible.

She nods at the package she’s placed on the table. “Now, your turn.”

I carefully unwrap a Christmas tree ornament box, but when I turn it to face me, I want to weep. It’s a miniature sailboat ornament with “Ahoy!” stamped on its hull. “Thanks, Mom.” I work hard not to burst into tears. “I love it.”