Page 72 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
Those two admissions are completely unrelated, and I didn’t plan to say either of them. But they’re out there now, slipped away when I wasn’t watching them closely enough, so I wait for my mother’s response.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says softly after a second of surprised silence. “Does it bother you that I’m selling the house?” I can picture exactly how she looks right now, her soft, kind face pulled into a concerned expression, her curly blonde hair tumbling around her.
“Kind of,” I admit. I fiddle with the fuzzy pillow. “It feels a little bit like my childhood is being sold.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she says in a heartbreaking voice—it’s devastated, full of regret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. I should have asked you—”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m glad you’re doing it. I am. I know you need a smaller place, and it makes sense. Plus I really like the pictures of your new place. It’s a me thing,” I finish, my voice stilted. “I’ll be okay. I truly will.”
“Will you?” she says.
“Yes,” I say, more firmly. “I’ll be okay.”
“But you know, sweetheart,” she says, “that house was just a house.” She’s quiet for a second, and then she goes on, “You loved it because you love your family, and we were there with you.”
“Maybe,” I say. I don’t know. What makes a house a home? What turns four walls and a roof into a place where laughter springs forth spontaneously and the children know they’re nothing short of adored? “Is it just love?” I say, more to myself than to my mother.
Luckily, she doesn’t seem to hear me. She moves on to my other confession.
“Now,” she says. “Tell me about the guy.”
And it’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, how my heart starts to beat faster just because my mother has asked about him.
“He’s great,” I say quietly. “He’s gentle and kind and he’s giving me so much time and space to figure out what I want.”
“I like him already,” my mother says, her voice teasing. “Is he cute?”
I smile in spite of myself. “Very,” I admit.
“What does he do for work?” she says.
“He writes books,” I say. “Really great books.”
“Does your brother like him?”
I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter if Eric likes him.”
Except, truth be told, Eric has an uncanny knack for being able to tell the true character of a man; I’ve never seen him get it wrong. If Eric says a man is no good, I listen.
“Does he?” my mother persists, because she knows this about him, too.
“Yes,” I say grudgingly. “He likes him. He told him to take care of me.”
“Oh, good,” she says, and I can hear the relief in her voice. “He sounds lovely, Heidi. I’d love to meet him someday.”
I swallow. “Do you think it’s—you know.” My voice cracks as I go on, “Do you think I could be in a relationship with someone?”
“Of course,” she says, sounding shocked. “Of course you could.”
“Even though I’m a wimp about feelings and stuff? And even though…” I trail off, unable to finish.
She sighs. “I think if you want to be in a relationship with a man who cares about you, you absolutely can.” Her words are softer as she continues. “You had that bad surgery, sweetheart, and I know that was hard on your body, but you’re fine now. You’ve been fine for a long time.” She pauses. “Is it the kids?”
“Kind of,” I say, rubbing my stomach absently—my lower stomach, beneath which are the scarred, surgically altered remains of my ovaries. “Yes. What if he wants kids? Not necessarily Soren,” I add quickly, because we’re nowhere near ready for that kind of thing. “Just…in general. If I meet a man I want to marry…he might want children. And I can’t give him that.”
“There are other ways to have children,” my mother says firmly. “And children are not the only part of a woman’s future. We carry that role, yes, but we do so many other things.”
“That’s true,” I say, and a tear slips down my cheek at her words. “We do.”
