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“Well, come in. I’ll make some tea,” she offered, moving back to let me in. “I’d offer tequila, but I’m on shift tonight.”
“Tea sounds great,” I replied weakly.
The house was similar to how it had been when her and Ranger had first moved here. Feminine but not in a way that would make a teenage boy feel ashamed to be living there. It was warm. A plush green sofa with patterned pillows and soft throws on it. Vintage rugs covering the hardwood floors.
Olive had a boyfriend, Bob. He was widowed ten years, owned the hardware store in town. They’d been together for almost five years but still had their own places and seemed perfectly content with that. Ranger had done his whole macho man, protective son thing at the beginning, but Bob was just too nice and genuine for my badass biker to continue his intimidation tactics.
I was glad that Olive had that. Especially now.
Framed photos of Ranger were displayed throughout the house. Pictures of our wedding. Each kid’s birth. All of our milestones collected over the years. These were all she’d ever have. There’d be no more photos of her son.
Would his absence hit me the same every time I walked in here? Or would I figure out a way to deal with it? Get stronger so it didn’t hurt so bad. That was the cliché that everyone spouted about grief. That it didn’t change but you got better at being able to handle it.
Honestly, that sounded like bullshit to me, because I’d never felt weaker than I did right then.
I sat down at the small dining table while Olive made the tea, talking while she did so. The same scenario with my mother would’ve transpired in stilted silence. She would be judging my outfit (tight black jeans, spiked heel boots, a black silk blouse and silver jewelry on both wrists, all my fingers and around my neck), trying to set me up with some guy from her church whose mother still did his laundry.
I felt guilty. Ashamed. Olive was sitting here, pouring me tea, chatting about how big the kids had gotten and helping me with ideas for Lily’s birthday. Doing it all with a smile that was pretty close to genuine, but not all the way there. As close to happiness as someone who had buried their only son would ever get.
“I met someone,” I blurted, unable to sit there with my wonderful mother-in-law who treated me like I was her own daughter, keeping her oblivious to the fact that I was betraying her dead son.
Olive stopped talking, blinked a couple of times, her smile still in place, mostly out of shock I guessed since I didn’t think she’d be happy about this.
“I mean, it’s not serious or anything. The kids know him, but only because he transferred in to the club about a year and a half ago. They don’t know that he’s... anything more than that. I don’t even know what he is.”
The words came out quickly, awkward and jumbled. I was trying to rip off the Band-Aid, doing it quickly, as if that would make her hate me any less.
My body was taut, ready for the inevitable coldness that had to creep in to her gaze. The judgement. Disappointment.
But none of it came.
Olive reached over and squeezed my hand. “I think this is good,” she mused, voice soft and the same it had been moments before. No hatred or even veiled dislike.
I stared at her. “You don’t hate me?”
She laughed, the sound easy and kind. “Of course not, honey.” She squeezed my hand once more before she let it go. “I never expected you to stay single forever, young and beautiful as you are. In fact, it would’ve broken my heart if you didn’t try another version of happiness for yourself. You deserve it.” She paused. “In an ideal world, you would’ve stayed with my son forever. Whatever bumps in the road that came along, you’d overcome them together like you have before. You’d watch your kids grow up, Cody would walk Lily down the aisle.” She wiped a single tear from her eye. “And my son would outlive me. The way it’s meant to be. But, sweetie, we both know that this world isn’t ideal. It can be cruel. Horribly so. But I still have you. My grandchildren. Bob. There are plenty of reasons to continue living. Not merely surviving. Allowing yourself to live doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten about Cody. Doesn’t mean you love him any less.”
Her words sunk in to saturate all of my emotional wounds, like salt and salve at the same time. “Man, I really lucked out in the mother-in-law department,” I choked out.
She grinned. “You totally did.”A weight had been lifted off my shoulders telling Olive. It also let me give myself permission to actually feel happy about this. Content. My kids were, with Jack trying his best to act like he wasn’t.
