But Mom sounded so excited about it now, so I only said, “Sounds great.”
I’m still staring at the house when the door opens, and for half a second, I don’t recognize her. Age has morphed her face so much more than the eleven years I was gone. Her skin is sun-damaged and loose, her cheekbones too sharp. Her once-round shape now reminds me of Maine’s white pines, spindly and slightly crooked.
And then, all the familiar parts of her hit me at once. The bird brooch she still wears pinned to her cardigan; a different bird for each day of the week. Today, it’s the red cardinal. Her smile, always showing only half her teeth, like she wants to be happy but can’t let herself show it too much. The upturned nose, the scuffed leather shoes, the brittle hair I inherited from her.
Some parts of me immediately turn on high alert, remembering what she allowed this house to become for our family. And yet…
How hadn’t I realized just how much I missed her?
“Oh, Cassandra,” Mom whispers, a hand over her mouth. Tears rim the bottom of her eyes as she takes two unsteady steps. She lifts her arms to me but stops them halfway, as if unsure whether I’ll want the hug. I probably would have, but the pause has drenched me in cold water. We’re both still, until my attention is pulled to the ground where an oatmeal-colored shape darts between Mom’s legs.
“Dottie,” I gasp, kneeling to welcome the dog we got for Keira’s fifteenth birthday. Dad was gone at that time, but I don’t remember where. He’d often leave for weeks or even months at a time, either to go on a bender with friends, or because he’d found the “next big thing” and was going to make us rich and successful.Finally, they’ll take us seriously in that goddamn town.Those weeks were always my favorite. We’d watch whatever movie us three girls wanted in the living room, not needing to worry about the volume. That time, Mom had surprised us by finally getting a dog when my father had always refused, and I remember it as one of the happiest days of my life. She was the family’s dog, but she always felt more like mine. Even when my father eventually returned, I’d prepared myself to run with Dottie if he didn’t allow us to keep her. I’d found my confidante. My best friend during the school year when I was stuck at home because Mom didn’t want to piss my father off by bringing us to Ruth’s, and I was too young to go by myself. Dottie always knew when I needed comfort after some kid hadstuck chewing gum in my hair. She’d come and nudge my thigh with her wet snout, and I could breathe again. Dogs always seem to read the room so much better than humans can.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I say, voice raw. She’s so much calmer now, her tail wagging softly as she approaches. She sniffs my hand once, then licks it. Mom and I aren’t the only ones who’ve aged.
My throat tightens as I pet her yellowed fur. I’ve missed most of her life. She must be getting close to fourteen now. So much time I’ll never get back.
“I was wondering when you’d come see her,” Mom says, still standing.When you’d come see me,is what she means.
“I’m sorry,” I say once I’ve straightened. Then, bitterness bubbles back up. “I had to get over the shock of learning about my grandmother first.”
She inhales sharply. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I…” Her nose scrunches. “I wasn’t well after learning the news. I didn’t feel like I could announce it to anyone else, and I honestly didn’t know you two were still in contact.”
It’s possible Ruth didn’t talk about me with Mom. It would’ve been just like her to hide how much closer I was to her than to my own mother. That doesn’t erase the sting, though. “You still should’ve told me.”
She flinches at my tone, and I instantly deflate. I don’t want to be anything like the person who used to bring that kind of reaction out of her. Besides, I should probably cut her some slack. She did lose the woman she considered a second mother, and grief makes us do weird things.
“What’s done is done,” I say in a quieter voice. “Let’s move on.”
She nods with a grateful look, and then her face changes like a switch has been turned on, and she’s erased the past minute in her mind.
“Ready to cook?” she asks. “Oh, I have so much to tell you!”
I follow her inside, immediately forgetting about the weird moment when I notice her walk. Whereas she used to run around the beach with us like nobody’s business, her steps are now small and unsteady.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, hands braced behind her in case she trips and needs me to break her fall.
“What? No, I’m fine.”
“Mom.”
We reach the kitchen table that’s covered in pots and baking ingredients, where she pulls a chair out and lets her body drop into it.
“I need to tell you about crochet club,” she says, already pulling the bag of flour to her. “Oh, maybe you could attend! Wait until Eileen sees how beautiful you’ve gotten.”
“Mom,” I interrupt, still on my feet. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you mean? Take a seat, honey.”
“You know what I mean.” I take a quick look around the space, which looks exactly the way it did when I left, except there are empty coffee cups strewn on windowsills and dog hair on the carpet. While it’s got nothing on Eli’s place, Mom never would have let her house become this untidy before.
“I told you I had a bit of arthritis.”
My brows jump. “A bit? That’s not a bit.” She’ll probably need a walker soon.
“I’m fine,” she says, then stares at me until I give up and sit. “Now, tell me all about how you’ve been doing.”
Mom knows the big lines of my life. She knows about my job, about my three-year relationship with Michael, and our almost year-long engagement, but she doesn’t know about all the footnotes and appendices. She doesn’t know we’d been trying to get pregnant for years before we broke up. Doesn’t know about the nights I spent eating takeout Indian food on the floor because he’d left with our couch, and I was too bone-deep tired to go shop for a new one. She has the summary during our quarterly calls, and that’s all she has to know.
