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It was the sunrise that was only just now starting to peek up in the distance, giving the dark sky a predawn glow. I linked my arm through hers, and we crossed to the table.
“Wh-what’s this?” she asked with a little tremble to her voice as she took her seat.
“I wanted us to have a memory just for us today,” I explained, trying to swallow around the tightness that was threatening to choke me. “Something we can look back on that was just for you and me.”
She gave up trying to contain her tears. Half a dozen were already falling as she took my hand. “Thank you, baby. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
I entwined our fingers and served her a cup of coffee one-handed before taking a sip of my water. I hadn’t realized how nervous I was for this wedding until this past week. My anxiety had been giving me the worst upset stomach. Even now, hours away from walking down the aisle, I was an anxious mess.
But I wanted this moment with Mom almost as much as I wanted to say “I do.”
We were both quiet as we watched the sun come up over the city. It wasn’t the best sunrise either of us had ever seen, but it would do for the memories both of us were making today. To us, it was one of the most important sunrises we had ever experienced.
Once the sun finally lifted, we settled back to enjoy our meal. Or at least, Mom did. I uncovered my pancakes with sausage and just as quickly put the metal cover right back over it. Mom, already eating, noticed my reaction. “Honey, are you okay? You’re looking a little green.”
I pushed the plate away and scooted my chair back from the table a little, thankful when a light wind blew the scent of sausage away from me. “I’ve just had an upset stomach this week.”
“You’ve been sick all week?” Her eyes narrowed on me, became more assessing. “Are you pregnant?”
I scoffed at her question. “Of course not. It’s just nerves.”
She dropped her knife and fork onto her plate and stood. “Since when do nerves affect you like this? I might have been blind for a long time, but
I know you well enough to know that nervousness never made you nauseous before.”
I took the hand she held out to me. “Where are we going?” I mumbled as we went downstairs. “I wanted to spend a little more time with you before the craziness begins.”
“Oh, honey, we’re about to make a whole hell of a lot of new memories. Trust your dear old mother.” I stopped in my tracks, forcing her to turn and look at me. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re not my mother,” I told her in a firm voice and watched her face fall. “You’re not my mother. You never will be.”
“L-Lucy—”
“Because you are, and always will be, my mom. My mother was just the person who gave birth to me. She didn’t contribute a single damn thing to my life other than bringing me into the world.” I hugged Mom hard and kissed her cheek. “My mom raised me. Took care of me through thick and thin and loved me more than her own self from the moment she first held my hand when I was only four years old.”
Her shoulders shook as she fought back a sob. “I love you so much,” she breathed at my ear. “You are one of my greatest joys.”
I was thankful that it was still too early for most of the hotel guests or employees to be out and about yet. We just stood there, holding on to each other as I let Mom cry. My own tears mixed with hers, and by the time she finally pulled back, we were both a snotty mess.
Laughing, she wiped her eyes and took my hand once again. “Come on. There isn’t much time.”
“But where are we going?” I whined as she pulled me onto an elevator and hit the button for the lobby.
“Just trust me,” was all she would say on the topic. Once the elevator stopped, she pulled me through the lobby and out the main entrance. We walked for three blocks before she stopped, and we walked into Walgreens.
“I have antacids in my room,” I assured her. “And some Pepto. Hell, I’ve been living off that stuff all week.”
“Yeah, I’ve been there,” she said as we walked through the drugstore to the back where the feminine hygiene section was.
“Mom, I don’t need anything from this section. I’m not on my period.”
“Really? And just when was your last period?” she asked in an oddly calm voice as she passed the rows of tampons and kept walking.
I shrugged even though she wasn’t looking at me. “I had it…” I paused, unable to finish the sentence because I realized I couldn’t honestly remember the last time I’d been graced with a visit from the keeper of period hell. My heart stopped as I started doing math, tried to figure out the last date.
“January,” I breathed and nearly threw up right then and there. “I haven’t had a period since January.”
Mom nodded as she grabbed a box off the shelf she’d stopped in front of. Turning, she handed over the box, and I saw it was a pregnancy test. “Let’s figure this out.”
