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“I’m going to take a shower.”
I stand up, avoiding eye contact, then walk out of the bathroom and head upstairs to escape him.
After spending a good hour thoroughly rinsing my hair, I head back downstairs, but halt just before the bottom step where the Jerk is standing, staring at the pictures on the wall.
“There’s a picture here of you and him,” he tells me, staring at the wall disconcertedly.
“Yes. He was my fiancé and my parents considered him family.”
“Do they still see him, talk to him?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked them. If they did, it wouldn’t bother me. Jason is great and it’s not fair for anyone to have to cut ties just because we aren’t romantically involved.”
His eyes are boring into the picture; unsure of why it seems to be bothering him so much, I move my gaze to the picture itself to see if I’m missing something. It’s still the same picture I saw yesterday. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“Is there a problem? You look annoyed.”
Abruptly, he turns to face me. “How would you like it if you went to my parents’ house and saw a picture of me and my ex on the wall?”
“I wouldn’t care because it’s your ex. And since we aren’t together, I actually really wouldn’t give a goddamn shit. That would be more appropriate wording for it. Besides, you’re with Eloise now. If I did care for you, which I don’t in the slightest bit, you being with her would be like adding salt to a wound,” I rant.
He exhales with a slight snicker. “Well, I’m glad you cleared up the confusion.”
The Jerk walks away from the conversation and I see him disappear down the hall. How am I going to survive being on the same flight as him? Thank God we didn’t book seats next to each other because I don’t think I could handle any more of his childish outbursts.
We have an early meal before it’s time to pack and head out. With my suitcase ready to go, Mom knocks on the door before entering.
“Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
She comes in carrying a small bag. “Here, honey. I wanted you to have this.”
Inside, I pull out a small yellow blanket. It’s soft and covered in colorful stripes. I press it against my cheek and a very familiar emotion overwhelms me. It smells a little like mothballs, but judging by the age of the blanket, it’s probably been sitting in some trunk in the attic.
“This was your blankie,” she tells me. “You carried this around with you everywhere you went until you were five.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I almost tear up. “What else is in the bag?”
“Oh! Here you go. I kept it all these years.”
She pulls out this yellow bottle-looking thing with a suction cup attached. For some unknown reason, I place the suction cup on my cheek until Mom informs me of its use. “That’s my breast pump.”
I throw it back at her. “Eww, Mom! I can’t use your breast pump!”
“Why not? It’s still in perfect condition.” She places it against her breast, mimicking the sucking motion.
“You know what, Mom? I’ll start a list right now. And a new breast pump can go on the top.”
“Have it your way. I just don’t know why you would waste money when this is in perfectly good working order.”
I don’t say another thing. Instead, I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. I don’t want to let go, frightened that the next time I see her I’ll be in the hospital bed pushing out a watermelon from my lemon-sized vagina.
“I know you’re scared, honey. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”
Letting out thin sobs, I nod my head, trying to translate my fears into words. “Just promise you’ll be there, Mom. I don’t want to be alone.”
“I promise. You won’t be alone.”
We let go of each other and even my mom’s eyes have gone glassy. She carries my suitcase downstairs where everyone else has already congregated on the porch.
