At first, I’m not sure what’s come over my mother, but I answer my own question. These fabulous people have pulled her back in.
She ambles her way to me and Danny. “And I’m taking you two out to Nicole’s crêperie for dinner. Her menu sounds enticing, but also, Callie? You need a break. Is there ever a time when you’re not cooking for everyone?”
Before I can answer, Danny does. “No, there really isn’t. She’s unstoppable when we try to go out or order in food. So, she does need a break. We’re in.”
“Then, it’s settled.”
Later that night, after I’m dressed and ready to go out and my mom is still in my old bedroom, primping and checking herself out in the mirror, I hear her phone ring. As usual, she’s lost track of it, so I rush downstairs.
Erica is calling her, and impulsively, I answer. “Hey, Erica. It’s me.”
“Oh. Callie. Hi.”
“Mom is still getting ready to go out. Thought I’d pick up. To say hello.”
“Okay. Hello.”
This is super weird and awkward.
“Did you get the pictures I sent? Of the renovations?” Obviously, she did. No one doesn’t get texts these days.
“Yeah. Thank you for those.” After what feels like a million years, she says, “It was really nice to see the old house. As it was and how it looks now. You did a great job.”
And then I wait for what feels like another million years to say, “No problem. And your post the other day? Where you weren’t wearing any makeup? You’re really beautiful, just as you are. All stripped down and stuff.”
Suddenly, our mom yells out in a panic, “Do I look okay? It’s the first time I’ve worn jeans in so long. And I brought a pair of flat shoes, thank God. I know I’ve looked like an asshole here.”
Erica laughs. “I definitely have to see a picture of this shit. Send me one right now! And, Callie? Thanks. That was awesome of you.”
We hang up and I drop the phone to my side and admire my mother. “You look great. And Erica wants a picture, so pose!” I laugh as my mom strikes more than one silly stance and a few normal ones. After I’ve sent my sister a few, I stand in the doorway for a bit and take my time before I ask what I have to. “Mom? You must blame me.”
Her reflection catches mine. “What do you mean? Blame you for what?”
“I’m the reason Dad was out that night. I made him take me to a stupid movie. If he’d been home, he’d be alive.”
She whips around. “No. Callie, no. His death could never be on you.” She steps toward me. “Sweetheart, he wanted to be out with you that night. To take you to see that movie. Being your father and doing stuff like that? It brought him joy.”
“Okay,” I say weakly.
“You hold zero blame in your father’s death. Got it? Zero.” My mom puts her hands on my shoulders and literally shakes me. “Don’t you dare. I didn’t know you’d been carrying this kind of weight, but I’m telling you to let it go as of now. Got it?”
“Sure.”
Now, she cops a smile and wriggles her arms about until I smile too. “Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“So, now, let’s go have fun. I can’t even remember the last time that I did anything totally fun, so let’s go have some drinks and enjoy ourselves.”
“I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done with my serious mother, but I’ll take it.” Then, I make her pose while I snap photos of her and text them to my sister.
As we walk down the stairs, she beams. “Honestly? I think I’m the old me again. Amewithout your father, but themehe taught me to be. I feel lighter than I have in years. As though I had ten years of therapy packed into a few days.”
“I like that for you.”
Matteo is our designated driver for the night, and he picks us up and chauffeurs us to the bar, wooing my mother with his accent as she asks prods him for stories about his life in Italy. Mary Ann ushers us in with her usual high energy, announcing that there are shots waiting for us.
And we drink and dance, and my mom doesn’t embarrass me. She just talks to my friends and asks questions. She gets to know them.
And the night is utterly perfect.
Until it isn’t.
Until the bomb that I’ve been waiting for hits.
