Her words followed me through the darkness as I got into my car. It was a short drive home, but I made it with the windows down and the music up as loud as it would go.
THREE
McKenzie
“What about this one?”My mom wore a wide grin and high ponytail, a plastic hanger looped over her finger with a faded red tee attached.
I squinted to read the text printed across the front. “The Sun is Always Shining Down on Beaver Town.” My nose wrinkled involuntarily. “Gross. Put it in the cart.”
She laughed, and we continued flipping through the racks of The Thrift Stop. It had been our Thursday evening tradition for as long as I could remember. First we’d consume a ridiculous amount of tacos from the truck down the street, and then we’d spend a couple hours hunting for T-shirts with funny sayings.
“Right next to Guitar Man Tony,” she said, tossing the fabric next to a gray tee with the name spelled out in license plate letters.
I slid garment after garment down the rack, the sound of metal scraping metal producing a sharp, steady rhythm.
“So,” Mom said, tucking a loose strand of brown hair peppered with silver behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”
I didn’t look up from my T-shirt treasure hunt. “Fine. Work is busy, but I love it. I forgot to tell you about the mulled cider donuts I made this week. Katie wants to add them to the menu.”
“That’s great, honey. You’ll have to bring me one next week.”
“Of course.”
“And how have things been otherwise? I know it’s…well, it’s a hard time of year for the both of us.” Her voice was soft and timid. “Have you been going to your group?”
“Mom, I’m fine. I went to group last month,” I lied.
I didn’t need any reminders to knowthat daywas approaching. I’d stopped keeping track because when I allowed myself to soak in that claw-foot tub of sadness, it became harder to get out. So, I was left with two choices—wring myself dry from the memories or drown in them instead.
Still, every year as the breeze turned chilly and the leaves began their descent, crashing to the earth, I did too. I didn’t need a calendar to remember a time my body could never forget.
“I’m glad you have people in your life who understand and that you’re making new friends,” she said. “It’s important.”
My eyes lifted to meet hers. “You’re the only person I need, Mom.”
The lines on her forehead appeared more pronounced as her mouth turned downward.
“Kenz,” she said. “You know you need—”
“More friends,” I finished for her. “A lot of mothers would be thrilled their daughter wanted to hang out with them all the time, you know.” My eyes darted back to the row of clothes. “And it’s not like I don’t have anyone. I have the people from the grief group and Katie. I’ve even been going to her monthly game nights, and I’ve been becoming friends with some of her friends.”
She raised her brows in surprise. “Any potential suitors on the horizon?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut me off.
“Your cats don’t count.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said as we moved to another rack. “Binx and Earl Grey are distinguished gentlemen.”
“They are, but you do have to shovel their shit.”
I shrugged. “Better to put up with their shit than some overgrown man-child’s.”
“Touché, kid.”
We went back to silently shuffling through the racks for a moment.
“There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” Trepidation frosted my mother’s voice like icing on a cake.
