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Her race for her toothbrush slows when I ask, “Do you think you can handle a full brush? Maybe rinse out your mouth first and see how your stomach handles it.”
After a short deliberation, she says, “I can brush. My stomach will be fine.”
She knocks over the toothbrush holder and the brushes inside when she launches for them. Her perceptiveness is off since her veins are still primed with alcohol.
I can’t help but grin when she murmurs, “Maybe I should gargle.”
“Good idea.” I clutch the mouthwash so firmly the bottle indents when Henley traces the grooves of my smile with her index finger. I don’t have dimples—more creases from smiling too often. I also wasn’t aware of how close I was standing to her until she didn’t have to overextend her arm to touch me.
With her fingertip still exploring, she asks, “You were happy once, weren’t you?”
I wait for her eyes to lift to mine before nodding.
“Then she died, and you became sad.”
“Not exactly,” I reply, shocking us both with my honesty.
Things weren’t great between Caroline and me before she passed. My hours were draining, Caroline was itching to get back to work, and we hadn’t been intimate since Lucy was born.
I often wondered if that is why Chelsea responded how she did. Perhaps she knew we were fighting and that much of the tension centered around Caroline’s family wanting her to return to work sooner than I’d hoped.
For a drunk woman, Henley has way too much wisdom. “No matter what was happening between you two when she died, you shouldn’t keep who she was a secret from Lucy. She deserves to know what her mother was like.”
“I tried,” I reply before I can stop myself. “It just…”
When words elude me, Henley fills in the blanks. “Hurts?”
Again, I nod. “I kissed her goodbye, but I was still angry that she was returning to work sooner than we had agreed, so I didn’t wish her well. I didn’t hope she’d have a great day. I resented her putting her position above our daughter’s needs.” My laugh is brittle and echoes in the bathroom. “I was a fucking hypocrite. She always put Lucy first. Even right at the end.”
I cough, hopeful it will hide the croakiness of my voice, before filling the cap of the mouthwash with minty blue liquid and handing it to Henley.
She appears as if she still wants to talk, but she instead downs the burning liquid, swishes it around her mouth, then spits out the now-frothy concoction into the sink.
When she heads back to my room, I assume our conversation is over, but the faintest mumble announces even if we talked for hours, I still have so much to learn about this woman. “I was older than Lucy when I lost my mother, so my memories are stronger, but as the years move on, they fade more and more.” She looks me dead in the eyes. “I don’t know if I could have forgiven my father if I found out he was purposely hiding memories of her from me. He was hurting too, but he never pretended she didn’t exist.” She stops, slowly breathes out her nose, then whispers, “I was the only one he forgot about.”
The tip of her nose reddens when she rubs her hand over it. “He wouldn’t look at me after she died, and it was only after you ignored me the same way that I realized how much it hurt me.” She scrubs at a tear rolling down her cheek. “I get that it hurt him to look at me, and that he was reminded of what he lost, but I was grieving too. I was just as upset. I didn’t deserve to be ignored.”
“You didn’t,” I agree, mindful not all my agreeance stems from how her father handled the loss of his wife. “Not back then or now. I just…” I stop talking when I fail to find the right words.
Several long sniffles pass before I give the truth a whirl. “I fucked up. Grief makes you stupid. It affects you in ways you can’t comprehend even while wading knee-deep in it. I—”
There is so much more I want to say, but Henley’s interruption assures my focus remains on Lucy. “Promise you won’t do to Lucy what my father did to me. That you won’t put your grief above hers.” I feel like a complete fucking ass for how I responded at the Fourth of July barbecue when she says, “You lost your wife, but Lucy lost her mother, and as much as she is desperate to find her replacement, deep down inside she knows Caroline is irreplaceable. She lives inside her. She has her blood pumping through her veins, so she will always be her mother.”
When her words overturn every worry I had about her trying to replace Caroline, I murmur, “I promise.”
