“At first. The Santa Claus was a friend of Papa’s, so I was safe. He tried covering for me by telling my mother how helpful I was. I asked if it was okay if Santa delivered my toys to the poor kids in the park instead.”
Taylor’s eyes flutter open. “That sounds like you too. Kind.”
A faint blush creeps on my cheeks. “After thanking him, she whisks me away and gets my shoes without a word to me. I knew I was in trouble. She was beautiful, my mother, but when she was angry her face turned to porcelain. Hard, but still graceful lines and effortlessly regal.
“She had that face on during the car ride home. I’m fidgeting in my seat, waiting for her to chastise me. Suddenly she turns to me and goes, ‘Do you know what you did wrong?’ I nod that I do. ‘And you understand why it’s unsafe, and why I’m disappointed that you would do that?’ My mother was rarely ever angry. But her disappointment was enough to shut me right up.”
“Now that doesn’t sound like you,” Taylor replies, deadpan.
“Hilarious.” I roll my eyes. “She gives the driver a furtive glance, then looks at me and goes, ‘Do you truly want to give your toys to the poor kids?’ I tell her yes, that I don’t need any more toys. She says, ‘Okay. You’ll get a few so Papa doesn’t notice, but you and me will bring the rest to them. Don’t tell Papa. It’ll be our secret.’”
“Did you?”
“Yeah. We did it every year until she got sick.” My eyes drop. “We handed out blankets, clothes. More practical than the presents I got, but I also gave kids my toys. Every year after she—every year after, I snuck out and did it alone, or I dragged Violet or Ruby with me.”
Her hand grasps mine. I stare down at the unfamiliar gesture. Unfamiliar from her, at least. “She sounds amazing,” Taylor says in a slurred mumble, but her tone is earnest.
“She was.”
“I think she would be proud of the woman you have become, Lucy.”
“Maybe. She wanted me to be…well, I already told you. She wanted me to be more.”
Taylor squints in confusion. “You are more. I wouldn’t—” She coughs and shakes her head. “You are more.”
“But what if I’d been better, you know? Maybe there was a karmic tradeoff I was unaware of.” My voice cracks. I drop Taylor’s hand and glance away. “You know, the rational part of me understands the universe is random and chaotic. Everything is molecules buzzing around. Entropy. I get it. But, in the back of my mind, I hope that’s not true. I want so badly for that not to be true. I want there to be a reason I didn’t get to have a mom. I want there to be a reason she didn’t get to live a full life.”
Taylor swallows. “I want that for you too.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“No.” She drinks more water. “I’m sorry if talking about your mother upset you.”
“It didn’t. It was nice to think about her. Sometimes, I’m afraid I’ll forget her entirely. It’s hard for me to recall the sound of her voice. But to tell someone else about her brings her to life again. It keeps her memory alive, since only me and Papa hold those memories.”
To think I could forget this woman who gave me life, who made me her life, is the deepest betrayal. But I do. Every day, she slips from me, falling further into the ether, into the irretrievable well of the past. If I don’t remember her, who will? She’ll disappear entirely, as if she never existed. To forget a love is more painful than losing it.
“You look exhausted,” Taylor says, blissfully unaware that she is the cause of my exhaustion. “You need rest. Do you have a place to sleep?”
“The couch.”
Taylor shuffles over with great effort and looks down at the void she’s made on the bed, then back up to me with big, imploring hues. I slip in the space she’s made and cradle her side. There are so many wounds and injuries to be cognizant of, I let her take my hand and place it on her ribs, below her heart. Gently, she squeezes my fingers.
Smothering my face in her pillow and hair to hide my tears, I squeeze back. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
I’ll never trustany creature that doesn’t crave warmth. This is the first time in months I’ve woken up with the heat of another body beside mine and, despite the circumstances, touching another life fills me with joy. Of course, it isn’t any old life. It’sherlife, which makes it enormously better. I’m completely wrapped around her good arm, my head burrowed into her shoulder. The stiff scent of char hangs in the air, but also antiseptic and soap. It occurs to me I’m probably pretty odorous. I came off a jog and slept in my clothes for two days without taking a shower. Hopefully Taylor is otherwise too disoriented to smell me.
Once I regain focus and lift my head, I realize Taylor is already wide-awake. Her tormented eyes are large, red veins slashing through the whites around her irises. “Morning, princess.”
“Good morning, hero,” I reply automatically.
Neither of us moves. A waning sunlight slips into the room, with thick clouds creating an impasse. It’s still snowing, albeit lightly. No ambulance sirens wail in the distance. No cars slush through freshly fallen snow. There is only the sound of machines. Of steady breathing. I venture a question I know I’m going to receive a lie to in response.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
