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I jog back upstairs to the bathroom and whisper through the crack, “You good, Mom? Need any help?”
She sighs heavily. “I wiped your ass for years, Samantha. I don’t need you wiping mine.” Her tone is cutting, but I shrug it off. She’s always been a fiercely independent woman, and having her kids wait outside the bathroom with the door cracked must be kind of humiliating.
“Okay, well, Vanessa and I will be out on the patio. Let me kno–”
“If I need anything, yeah, yeah,” she interjects, and I can practically see her shooing me away.
I join Vanessa on the patio with two large glasses of lemonade, and the moment she sees me, she licks her lips like a cartoon dog seeing a steak. “Ooh, I love your mom’s lemonade.”
“Pretty sure Marty made this batch,” I tell her after taking a sip. Marty’s batches are just the tiniest bit sweeter because he adds two extra tablespoons of sugar. He always has. “Mom and I are going for a walk in a bit if you want to join us.”
Vanessa pulls her sunglasses off her head and down over her eyes as she leans back in our old Adirondack lounge chair. “That sounds nice. How’s she doing?”
“Not great. I’m not taking on any new assignments for the foreseeable future so I can be here with her,” I explain. “It’s not like I need to watch her constantly, but…it seems like we’re getting closer to that point.”
Vanessa turns to face me. “Oof, that’s hard, Samwich. I’m so sorry.”
I reach out and give her arm an appreciative pat. “Thanks. I’m glad I get the opportunity to spend time with her, you know, before…” I don’t finish the sentence because I don’t need to, and also because I refuse to acknowledge the inevitable. “I’ve been gone too long, you know?”
She takes a big sip of lemonade. “Don’t beat yourself up about that. It’s your job, and your job just happens to take you all over the globe.”
I wish I could believe that, but I’ve reached a point in my career where I can pick and choose the photography assignments I take, and there have been dozens close to home that I passed on because of that very reason. I should’ve taken them. That’s time with her I’ll never get back.
“Enough about me,” I mutter as my gaze drifts over Vanessa’s face. She’s had this ever-present faint smile since she met Axil, and now she’s having his baby. I couldn’t be happier for her. “How’s Baby Vanilla doing?”
Her hand rests reverently on the lower part of her stomach. “So far, so good. I can’t go to a human doctor for anything because…” she looks around, making sure no one overhears us, “it’s part alien, so Luka’s mate, Harper, has agreed to help me during the pregnancy. She’s given birth to two of her own, and she’s a veterinarian, so she’s got enough medical training to oversee the growth of my little monster.”
“Don’t Harper and Luka live in Salem?” I ask, nervous about what this means for Vanessa. “That’s a forty-five-minute drive. What happens if you have an emergency? Or go into early labor?”
“When Harper was last here, she brought her head technician, um, Ryan, I think. He helped her through both pregnancies, delivered both babies, and has cared for those boys ever since. He’s the closest thing we have to an alien doctor,” Vanessa explains, seeming unbothered. “She brought her boys too. So cute. They’re teenagers now. Harper’s going to come up every month for a sonogram and will stay at my house when I get closer to my delivery date.”
I suppose that’s the best-case scenario. “And how’s Mama doing?”
“Just tired, for the most part. I’ve gotten sick a few times, but it’s been at night, so I can’t even call it morning sickness.”
“Psh,” I say, waving a hand, “you’re creating a life inside your body. Call it whatever you want.” I kick my slippers off next to my lounge chair and wiggle my toes in the warm sunlight. “How’s Axil? Is he treating you like a queen?”
Vanessa chuckles softly. “Oh hell yeah. Last night, I came so hard, I saw God.”
A loud cackle escapes me. “God? Really? What’d she look like?”
“Um,” she begins, giggling too, “kinda like Charlize Theron inMad Max,with that no-fuss, societal rejection, apocalyptic vibe.”
I nod. “That makes sense. She doesn’t have time to style her hair into perfect beachy waves. Girl’s got shit to do.”
“Exactly,” Vanessa agrees, still laughing. “And she wears the same outfit every day to eliminate decision fatigue.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Didn’t you tell me once that you have a crush on Charlize Theron?”
“Oh yeah, that sounds right,” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips. She’s quiet for a few minutes before bringing up Mylo. “I don’t want to keep harping on this, but since you’re home for a while, maybe you and Mylo should grab a bit–”
“Ugh, seriously?” I say, cutting her off. “I’m not interested in dating anyone. You need to let this go.”
Mom opens the sliding screen door a moment later, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Sammy, have you seen my car keys? I can’t find them anywhere.”
Vanessa and I exchangethelook. It’s one I’ve become very familiar with as I’ve shared it with my siblings several times. Every stage of grief can be identified in that look.
“Mom, you don’t drive anymore, remember?” I tell her gently. “Your license was revoked last year.”
