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My throat gets thick, but I finish the sentence for her. “Oreos are in the pantry, right?”
Nodding, she blinks a few times and repeats what I said, voice monotone and laced with discontent. “Oreos are in the pantry.”
Trying to return her to the moment, I ask, “What are the Oreos for? Is that going to be mixed into the filling?”
A smile tugs at her lips as she seems to snap out of her haze. “The crust. Oreo crust is your father’s favorite.” Giggling, she turns to the fridge.
My heart constricts, sending a dull ache through my chest.
Dad’s been dead for two years, and sometimes, Ma forgets he’s gone. And right now, that wasn’t a wistfulI miss himtype of look. It’s a look that sayshe’ll be home soon.
Expelling a weighted sigh, I collect the items and return to the kitchen island. She melts the butter on the stove while I grind up the Oreos. After she shows me how to make a cookie crust, using a buttered spoon to pat it down along the pie plate, she sets it in the fridge, and we start on the filling.
While I’m whisking the tempered egg yolks, she asks, “How’s that young lady you’re dating? What’s her name again? Jessica? Jenna?”
My grip on the whisk tightens. “It’s Jenna, and we broke up, Ma.”
A year ago.
But I’m not telling her that, because the last time I corrected her about a timeline, she ran out of the room in tears.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” She pauses chopping, her knife hovering over the stick of butter she’s slicing into small squares. “Are you okay? I know how sensitive you can be.”
Her eyebrows pinch, and her mouth turns down, revealing a genuinely compassionate expression. She’s so good-hearted. Kindness and love personified. The best person I know, and she raised me to be like her.
Of all the people in the world, why is this happening to her?
Unlike when I first broke up with Jenna, I can answer honestly this time. “I’m fine with it, Ma. It was for the best.”
“Good, but don’t be surprised if you go through waves of sadness. Breakups are never easy. You don’t need to act tough with me. I’m here if you ever need to talk.” With her free hand, she cups my cheek, and a lump forms in my throat. “Like your father, you’ve always loved with your whole heart. It’s a beautiful gift. But it can also lead to heartbreak when that love isn’t returned. If you don’t feel like discussing it with your mother, then your father has a good listening ear too.”
Instead of reminding her that Dad is gone, I simply nod and return to the eggs. As I obliterate the yolks, it reminds me of the turmoil I feel every time her mind slips like this.
I don’t want to lose her— physically or mentally. I’m not sure what would be worse. Losing her body and soul the way we lost Dad or having her here but without anything inside to remind me of the woman I’ve looked up to all my life. The one who taught me how to see the world for its potential instead of the devastation and pain. The woman who gave me her eyes, her heart, her time, and all her love.
On second thought, I know which is worse.
And I’m powerless to stop it from happening. Instead, I’m forced to bear witness to her steady disappearance.
Blinking, I clear my mind and return to today’s lesson. I want to soak up everything she has left to teach me before it’s too late.
After the pie filling is made and poured into the crust, we put it in the fridge to set overnight. She shows me how to make a double boiler to melt the Ghirardelli chocolate baking chips, and we pour that onto a cookie sheet and place it in the fridge to harden.
“Ma, why don’t you sit and relax? I’ll clean the kitchen.”
She rubs her hands along the front of her apron and nods. “I suppose I could use a rest. Are you coming over tomorrow to make the whipped cream and shave the chocolate so we can finish the pie?”
I come over every day, even if it’s just for a minute. The fact that she had to ask is further proof of her current mental state, and it makes my gut feel like I’ve been kicked.
“Of course. How else could I taste it to see how we did?”
“That’s right. Youaremy quality control tester, aren’t you?”
How she can remember so many small things and not the big ones baffles me.
About an hour later, I kiss her goodbye and head home to get ready. I’m meeting my coworkers for a celebratory happy hour.
Once I drive away, relentless worries pelt me. One after another. A nonstop assault on my mind and heart.
