This is an apology letter to the both of us
for how long it took me to let things go
Maria wakes up two minuets before the alarm starts to shrill. She stares as the neon lines steadily shift to form 6:00. Full of foggy distance all the while trying not to move or blink at the brightness, only to accept the futility with a dry sigh as she reached to silence the start of a new day.
She hadn't been counting, not this year. Not when she had so many that needed her in the present. But she never forgot, even on the days she had willed away one of the worst nights of her life. All it took was a glance on the calendar and her heart was weighted with a familiar grief. Her son to scowl in just the way his father used to and it would take her breath away. Her mother in law always commented that Little Liam was so much like Big Liam and sometimes Maria couldn't help but be amazed the toddler could be so influenced by a man he was never able to meet.
Forcing herself into an upright position she shivers against the morning chill and wonders why summer was always so brief. Fumbling to put her arms in the sleeves of the dressing gown she finds her son's bed already empty, covers kicked messily by a restless little boy who knew nothing of the coming day.
A faint gurgle of baby gibberish he hadn't quiet grown out of from the next room causes her lips to twist into a faint smile as her toes curl into the texture of the carpet. Maria stops in the doorway quietly watching her son race a toy truck around the race course that was usually a sofa.
Her sister in law/friend/flatmate/enemy/ally sits across from him, on the edge of a dining table chair, legs pulled under her body staring at him with such gentle intensity Maria fights the urge to stand in her line of vision.
Raven hair untamed curls around shoulders carrying the weight of the world, eyes bright with fever like wakefulness. She was already dressed in a short black skirt (thick tights covering skin Maria had not seen since another more recent awful night) and a slouchy off white sweater so uncharacteristic it looked a lot like surrender. Maria's heart breaks every time there is a new (the oldest) hurt put upon the already fragile woman.
But she never stops being amazed by her pig headed, almost impossible strength.
"Did you even bother going to bed last night?"
Carla doesn't jump but Liam squeals and hurries over to his mother, burying his face and truck into the curve of her leg. It's not a question she believes will receive an honest answer. The numerous nights her insides constricted painfully as she listened to the strongest women she knew sob endlessly.
There had been no tears the pervious night and it was almost worse. Listening to the soft muffled noise of the other woman moving around her temporary room like the ghost she was remembering.
She keeps waiting for Carla to crash. The drinking, the lack of sleep, and the way she picked at food and constantly seemed to punish herself. It makes Maria nervous because she would not even know how to stand under the weight of it all let alone trying to run forward (away). She thinks about slipping a sleeping pill into Carla's hot chocolate with the subterfuge of a mother used to hiding broccoli in mash potato. The guilt is almost instant as the relief that she never saw the other woman unconscious and near death. She just wants her to rest; she just wants her to recover.
"There didn't seem much point on trying and the little man was rearing to go this morning. Hope you don't mind I got him up." Carla's voice is tight with lack of use, her tone low and carefully close to empty. She glanced up at the smaller woman through her dark eyelashes, watching mother and son interact with pinched eyes.
"You know I don't mind. He loves you, Carla." Maria cringes internally as soon as the words leave her mouth. She couldn't escape the way the other woman's form stiffened so much she worried she might finally shatter.
Some days everything she said felt like the wrong thing. This new day was filled with even more minefields.
"Just like his fathe…" She is not even able to finish the word. Her first admission of her deceased husbands feelings to the woman herself and yet it costs her nothing. It was nothing she had not always known. And now she was not the one running from it.
"Don't." It was a sharp little warning. One Maria had grown used to over the past few weeks. After advice from Carla's kind faced councillor she knew it was not the time to push. No matter how much she felt she had something to say or how much she thought the other woman needed to hear it.
Carla stands suddenly. Digging through her bag for a hair brush, a compact and lipstick, clearly readying herself to head into work. Armour of chic perfection in place as perfect as possible.
"You're leaving already?" Maria asks in surprise, picking her son up with one arm, stopping his truck getting tangled in her hair with the other. "At least have some breakfast."
Carla laughs humorously but carries on brushing her hair.
"I have a phone book full of contacts I need to sweet talk, blackmail or beg otherwise I'm going to have to ruin the lives of people who have stood by me. I don't think I could stomach food." Her voice catches on certain words and the idea of the other woman having to submit herself for her livelihood to survive made her feel nauseous herself. This was wrong, after everything this was very, very wrong.
"None of this is your fault." Maria tries gently but firmly trying to catch pained green eyes in the reflection of the mirror.
"Isn't it?" The doubt in Carla's voice is something Maria does not know how to challenge. "But I'm always the one hurting people."
She kisses Maria and the drooling toddler on the cheek in an apology, a thank you and a goodbye all rolled into one. Words may still be too much (never enough) but every physical touch initiated was a victory in itself.
"I will come get you after I finish work." Maria calls; not wanting to leave her alone too long on a day that meant so much, but Carla had already left.