“Thanks,”I muttered under my breath, wiping my dirty hands on my apron and noticingflour on my leggings and grasping at the opportunity to step out. “I'm justgonna change—”
Guiltwashed over Mer's face. “Andrea, I wasn't saying you have to—”
“It'sfine, really. I just gotta change these pants and I'll be right back,” I cuther off, leaving the kitchen and heading for the stairs, when Mom stopped me.
Ourrelationship had been strained ever since the wedding, but not from a lack oftrying. It’s just that, sometimes pushing for a relationship to work, is moredamaging than simply letting it be. I felt that was very much the case for usand I hated it. I hated feeling that I was to blame, just for falling in lovewith a guy my family didn't approve of. I hated feeling like I'd thrust a wedgebetween us with every poor decision I had made. It was crippling and enough tomake me cry if I let myself think about it too much.
Now,she stood next to me at the bottom of the stairs with a soft and sympatheticgaze, as she asked to talk to me. I shrugged like it didn't make a differenceto me either way, while also desperately wanting that connection we once had toreattach itself.
“What'sup?” I asked, when we were behind the closed door of my bedroom.
Mommoseyed around, like she was wandering through a museum. Her hands stayedclasped behind her back, as her eyes surveyed the scrapbook of memories, tackedto the walls and closet doors. Pictures of the past. Posters of bands I doubtedwere still together. Things I never thought to take down.
“Ican't believe you still have these,” she commented, pointing at my pyramid ofBeanie Babies.
“They'reworth something on eBay,” I reasoned with an I-don't-care shrug.
Shetouched the edge of my four-poster bed and asked, “What did you ever see inhim?”
Ifroze on my way to the dresser and stared ahead at the chipped white paint andcrystal drawer pulls. Without asking for clarification, I turned to her andreplied, “I-I don't know. We don't always choose—”
“Humorme,” she said quietly, as she lowered herself to sit on the bed. “I get thathe's a good-looking guy, and he's funny and ... well, I'm assuming the sex is—”
“Mom,”I groaned, turning and shaking my head as I resumed the walk to the dresser.
“Anyway,I'm just saying, I get it on the surface. But ... after everything else ...”She sighed noisily. “I guess I'm just confused about what the appeal is there.I don't understand it, Andrea, but I want to. I want to get it.”
Keepingmy mouth shut, I rifled through my drawer for another pair of leggings. My mindwas caught somewhere between wanting to scream at her to leave and laying itall out on the table, in its purest, grittiest detail. But what good would itdo either way? It wouldn't change anything. Nothing could bring him back to meor change the opinions of my family. It would serve only as wasted breath andnothing more.
“Idon't want—”
Thedoorbell interrupted my protest. I looked over my shoulder at my mother,silently asking if she'd been expecting anybody and she only shrugged.Together, we strained to listen through the closed door as Willa answered thedoor.
“Um... yes, I'll just go get her ...” There was uncertainty in her tone, and thenthere was the sound of footsteps against the stair treads. “Andrea?”
Mystomach performed somersaults as I called out, “Yeah?”
“Someone'shere for you.”
Fidgetingwith the leggings held in my grasp, I hoped with every hope I could muster thatit was my lost husband, coming to reclaim the heart that was rightfully his.“Who is it?” I asked, all but crossing my fingers.
“Someguy named Moe?”
Allhope was washed away with a nauseating tidal wave of dread. My mouth floodedwith the taste of bile as every possible horrible reason for him being hereflooded my mind. Mom watched me curiously, asking what was wrong and who wasMoe.
“Tellhim,” I swallowed at the sour taste on my tongue, “tell him I'll be rightthere.”
Ignoringmy mother, I pulled in a deep breath, pressing a hand to my stomach and beggingthe rumbling organ to stay calm until I knew exactly why Moe had come for avisit. Then, I left the room, still in my dirty leggings, with my motherfollowing close behind.
Hestood on the other side of the door, his long, thin dreadlocks pulled back andhalf-hidden beneath a grey knitted cap. The look of disdain on his face waswarning enough and I said a silent prayer as I took the last few steps to thedoor, promising that I would never ask for anything else, as long as Vinnie wasokay.
Please,please, please, let him be okay.
“Hey,Moe,” I greeted him through the glass storm door, before opening it and saying,“Come in. It's freakin' cold out there.”
Heshook his head, putting on a painfully forced smile. “I'm good out here, honey.Thanks, though.” Then, as I stepped outside to join him in the cold, he took a moment,taking me in with kind, somber eyes. “You look good, girl. You been takin' careof yourself?”
Inodded, crossing my arms against the bitter chill. “Trying, anyway.”
