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The sun was bright. The sky was blue. It was an early summer afternoon, and I had the windows of my apartment open as I packed some more of my belongings into boxes. J.R. and I were moving soon back to my home, Tybee.
I was halfway through the chorus of a song that I was probably singing way too loudly when my phone rang, catching me off guard.
After I confirmed my identity to the man on the other line, a voice I had never heard before began to deliver some news.
My mother had died.
I didn’t really say anything after he told me that my mother was dead, but I did thank him for the news. I was just about to hang up the phone when the man asked that I come to the mortuary to identify her body and make the funeral arrangements. But I didn’t want to. My mother and I hadn’t spoken in a while at this point. Even if I did plan her funeral, I knew that I couldn’t possibly plan it to her expectations. She would have no issue coming back from the dead to tell me so either. But she was my mother.
I hung up the phone almost robotically. I was in deep thought, trying to determine howIfelt and how Ishouldfeel. My apartment was quiet—full of boxes. The song I had been singing along to had ended, and nothing else had started to play. The silence allowed my mind to land on a thought that I found comical. It would seem that no sooner had we decided to move home, my mother had decided it was time to die. If I hadn’t known any better, I would think she had done it on purpose.
My mother and I were a mismatched duo. She always told me how hard she had to fight to have me. She also reminded me of how expensive it had been to undergo in vitro fertilization just to create me. Sometimes, I wondered if she ever liked me. I wondered if I was worth the money it costs to make a pregnancy happen. I was certain that my mother had loved me. In her own way. Even still, I found myself hoping that now that she was dead, all the doubts she had ever put in my head would disappear.
I wondered if I might be a good mother one day. I didn’t have a great example of a good mother, and wasn’t that how you learn how to be one?
“You’re quiet tonight,” J.R. said to me later that evening as I picked over my dinner. I wasn’t very hungry.
“I’m sorry. Just a lot on my mind.” I had not yet told him about my mother.
J.R. looked at me a bit deeper. “Is everything okay? Are you down because we’re moving? I know it’s a big decision, and we don’t have to rush it.”
“No, it’s not that, J.R.” I sat back in my chair and sighed. “My mother died today.” My voice didn’t even sound like my own as I told him this bit of news.
J.R.’s mouth hung open slightly for a minute like he was waiting for a punchline. When he realized that there wasn’t one, he jumped to his feet with a horrified expression on his face. “Rach, are you okay?” He knelt beside me as I remained in my chair at the table, emotionless.
“J.R., I’m fine. That’s what’s bothering me. I’m not sure that I care my mother is dead. Doesn’t that make me a terrible person?” I had been tormented by that thought all day. No one should be elated about anyone’s death, but there I was, fighting the urge to pop open a bottle of champagne and throw a party.
J.R. took my hand in his. “There’s not a terrible bone in your body, Rach,” he said gently.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was afraid of my thoughts, so my words couldn’t be trusted.
J.R. stood up and pulled me up to my feet. “You’re the best person I know.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me close to him. I felt his lips against my forehead, and I nestled myself into the warmth of his body.
13
Present
Knox is calm. We’ve been on the road a couple of hours, but she hasn’t said much. She’s guarded. Unsure. She’s like me in so many ways.
I haven’t been a perfect parent, obviously, but when I found out I was pregnant with her, I determined quickly that I wouldn’t keep her. Abortion was never an option, but adoption was. I didn’t trust myself to be a good mother, and I was afraid of what it would do to her to grow up without a father. Back then, I still had no intention of going home to J.R., no matter how badly I wanted to.
Knox has been fine all these years without her dad; but she’s getting older, and I think that if it’s possible, every girl should have a dad. There wasn’t a reason for me to keep her from him except my own fear, and I’ve worked through those fears now. Knox needs a man like J.R. in her life.
I only vaguely remember my father. I had been so young when he died, but he loved me from what I can remember, and I think that Knox should feel that type of fatherly love, too.
“You okay back there, Rosie?” I ask, glancing back at her through the rearview mirror.
“Don’t call me Rosie.” She sighs passively.
I smile. I love that she hates the nickname I’ve given her.
“And I’m fine. Just thinking,” she adds.
“Oh, yeah? What are you thinking about?” I ask her.
“If you love him so much, why did you move away?” she asks me.
Knox never minces words. She always says what’s on her mind, and I can respect her for that. It’s a trait she got from J.R.
