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I wasn’t so sure.
“Sweetheart,” she said. “I’d like you to come. Even if just for a week. Kylee, I need you there. Both you and Sharon. My girls.”
I packed my bags the next week.
* * *
We reminisced on the flight. Sharon and I kept Mum busy. Michael never stopped texting.
“He’s constantly in touch,” my mother said, a judgmental note to her voice. Or was that just me?
“He loves me.”
My mother looked at me and I looked at her, and she said, “Yes. He does, doesn’t he?”
She didn’t ask if he’d ever propose. She didn’t say living in sin was against the church’s beliefs. She didn’t tell me I was getting old and soon would never be able to have kids naturally.
I didn’t remind her to take her medications when it was obvious she was coping.
She patted me on the hand, then squeezed my fingers.
“Hold on to love, Kylee,” she told me.
“I will, Mum,” I said.
Time heals all things, I thought. Even broken families.
