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“You know I would have brought you something if you’d have asked.”
She waves me off, patting at the wheel, so I slip behind her, gripping the handles. “I wanted to go with you. I hear the decorations are still up in there.”
Smiling, I nod at Cathy and off we go.
Two slices of chocolate cake and an abandoned cup of coffee later, my mom sighs, her eyes on the giant nutcracker outside the long windows. She trails along the lit-up garland to the snowman holding a Christmas book.
“Do you remember the year we spent Christmas in the mountains?” She looks to me. “You said you didn’t want any gifts, but a night in the snow, so we booked that small cabin for one night?”
“And then we got snowed in and got to stay for another night for free.”
My mom laughs, a softness falling over her. “Yeah, we got lucky, didn’t we?”
She turns back to the table, picking at the frosting left on her plate, her eyes roaming the room with such joy, my throat thickens.
I’ve waited for this for so long, to see her up and around and happy to be in the world again, but her body has been too weak. She would try but moving into the chair alone would take so much energy, she’d be too tired for anything other than a short walk around the rehab facility.
The hardest part for me was not knowing the way she felt when she was alone, but I imagine the undeserved guilt she had in the beginning seeps in sometimes, and a wave of helplessness follows, but she still has so much life in her; I see it when I visit her. Every time I step into the room, she’s the mother I’ve always known, kind and loving and selfless.
Today helps prove it.
She’s getting stronger, there’s light in her eyes, and her movements have yet to grow heavy, even though we’ve been sitting here for over an hour now.
I needed this.
My world is so fucked up, but right now, seeing my mother turn to the woman a table over, chatting about the poinsettias and how red is the classic color everyone should stick with, everything feels okay. For the first time in forever, I feel like I can breathe.
A little while later, it’s time to take my mom back.
Inside her room, she ushers for me to sit, so I drop in the chair across from her.
“I had a dream last night,” she whispers softly. “It was Christmas Eve, and you were sitting by a tree with a box in your hand. You opened it and this…” She digs inside the small pocket over her chest. “Was inside.”
A small frown builds along my brow as my mother lowers a wedding band into my palm.
“Do you remember this ring?” she wonders.
Shaking my head, I lift it, eyeing the little diamonds along the side. “You found it when you were six or seven. You saw the neighbor using his metal detector, and he let you borrow it, so we took it down to the pier. We spent hours walking around and didn’t find a thing. Not even a bottle cap. You were about to give up, almost in tears, when suddenly, it beeped.”
A vague memory settles over me as I set the ring in my palm and look to her.
“This is the ring you dug up. You wrapped it and gave it to me for Christmas that year.”
“I do remember,” I rasp, a smile tugging at my lips. “You cried.”
She laughs. “I did. And then I had it properly cleaned and I saved it for you. I almost forgot about it until last night.”
“Your dream?”
She nods. “Yeah, it was sitting there in the box, and your hands started shaking when you pulled it out, but they stopped the moment you slid it on her finger.”
I swallow and my mother’s eyes grow soft. She takes my hand, squeezing.
“Mom…”
She reaches up, cupping my cheek as tears pool in her eyes.
“I am so proud of you, Noah Riley. You have become the man I always hoped you’d be.”
Moisture builds in my gaze, and my jaw flexes. “I had one hell of a woman show me the way.”
“You did, didn’t you.”
My chuckle is laced with emotion, and she smiles. “I love you, honey. With all my heart. Always.”
“I love you, too.”
With a deep breath, she pats my cheek, and I help her into her bed. “Today was a good day,” she whispers, a heaviness growing in her words, and I know it’s time to go.
I step out into the cool January air, and I ignore the moment of reprieve I feel.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scroll to the long list of missed calls and hit send.
Trey answers on the first ring. “Well, fuck me, he’s alive.”
I point my smile to the sky. “How about that beer?”
