“That’s to be expected,” Ireland says. “I can’t even imagine. If something happened to my mom…” she trails off. “I wouldn’t survive.”
I tell her about the breakdown I had, courtesy of my necklace breaking. I eye the pendant sitting on my vanity as I tell the tale.
“You’re being really strong,” she says softly when I finish.
Everyone keeps telling me that. Ever since the accident, everyone keeps telling me how strong I am, but I don’t feel strong. Most days, “being strong” feels more like a job I never applied for. I don’t want to be strong. I want to set this grief down more than anything, but I don’t knowhow.
“Thanks,” I say with a sigh.
We sit in silence again for a few moments before I hear a crash in the background and she tells me she has to go. We hang up and I’m left alone with my thoughts. The hum of the air conditioner keeps me company as my eyes settle on the calendar on the opposite side of the room.
The date stares back at me as if it has a flashing neon sign around it. June thirteenth is in two days, marking six months exactly since the accident…and my mother’s birthday.
I know her birthday will be hard. Mother’s Day was hard enough to face without her. I’m not prepared for her actual birthday.
Every Mother’s Day, we would go to her favorite restaurant for lunch and then spend an afternoon picking out flowers to decorate our porch with for the summer. She loved gardening and said it was a great stress reliever for her. She adored mixing and matching different plants and flowers, turning our porch into a jungle oasis for the summer months.
This year, I spent the day alone. I did not get brisket for lunch. I did not help pick out flowers, nor did I push a cart overflowing with plants and flowers. Instead, I spent some time at the hospital where she worked, and with their permission, scattered some of Mom’s ashes along their small garden by the cafeteria. I packed boxes to prepare for the move, reducing a lifetime of memories into a few cardboard boxes.
I keep trying not to think about her birthday. There will be no cake baked, no horrendous off-key singing, no special presents opened, no home full of laughter. If I ignore it long enough, the calendar will just skip it and it’ll be a normal day.
Except it can’t be a normal day. I can’t just skip it. I have to face my mother’s birthday alone.
Of course, I know I’m not really alone. I’ve got Aunt Beth, Ireland, Raquel, and Penny. Heck, even being around Charlie, Judith, and Graham at the diner is enough to lift my spirits.
But still…her birthday looms and it puts ice in my veins. It makes me scared that I’ll never feel the sun again.
Beth and I are up early the next morning, preparing for our beach day. She packs a cooler full of water bottles, fruit, various snacks, and sub sandwiches. I grab our sunhats and the bottle of sunscreen. Really, we don’t need to pack as much as we do — we could always run back up to the house if we needed anything. I just don’t think either of us wants to run back and forth all day.
Wooden planks creak under our feet as we trudge out to the beach. When we reach the end of the boardwalk, I reach down and kick off my sandals, letting my feet sink into the sun-warmed sand. I keep sinking as I walk, lugging the cooler along with me as I follow after Beth. She’s headed towards the water with our umbrella thrown over her shoulder and chairs in her other hand. It’s a perfect day for a beach trip — the sun is shining brightly and glittering off the water, it’s warm, but there’s a nice breeze. The seagulls are chirping happily overhead, as if they’re trying to talk to me.
Beth finds a spot she deems acceptable and sets our chairs down. She kicks off her sandals and lets her toes settle into the sand before she decides to tackle securing the umbrella.
I straighten my chair out and throw my towel over the back of it and set the cooler down between us as a makeshift table. Beth wrestles the umbrella deeper into the sand.
“There,” she says, wiping at her brow. It’s beyond hot out already. She tests the umbrella to see how far it will give and once she is satisfied, fixes her own chair and sits down.
There’s quite the crowd on the beach already today. Someone is blasting music from a speaker down the beach, but I can’t make out the words.
“This is nice,” Beth murmurs as she stares out at the water.
“It is,” I agree.
“I couldn’t tell you the last time I got out here,” she says quietly.
“A shame,” I say, sliding my sunglasses over my eyes and reaching for the bottle of sunscreen. If I had lived here as long as Beth has, I’d have made it a point to be out on the beach at least three times a week.
“Life just happened.” She shrugs. “I got busy and time just got away from me.”
“I guess it does make it harder, being out here by yourself and with the diner.” I coat my arms in sunscreen and hand the bottle to her.
“Speaking of the diner,” she says cautiously as she rubs sunscreen on her legs, “I’ve been thinking. I was wondering if you’d like to become a more permanent part of the diner.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I want you to take over the baking.”
“Really?” I can’t believe what she is saying.
