Midnight
"A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong it is until it's in hot water."
- Eleanor Roosevelt
The first time Lianne woke her up at midnight, it had been fun and exciting.
Her mother had bounced on her bed like she was the child, clapping her hands in excitement. Some old movie Lianne loved was playing on the T.V. in the sitting room and two cups of hot chocolate and two bowls of ice-cream sat on the coffee table.
She dragged Veronica in her pale pink pyjamas to the couch where she pulled an old Afghan over both there knees. Together they giggled at the cheesy romantic lines, laughed at the villain's bad haircut and pencil moustache and swooned at the gorgeous furs and dresses worn by the heroine. When all the ice-cream and hot chocolate had been consumed and the credits began to roll Veronica could already feel her eyelids turning to lead.
"Come on now, off to bed, we'll tidy up in the morning" her mother chirped as she wrapped an arm around her sleepy child's waist.
Veronica allowed her body to sink into her mothers as she was lead back into her room. Gracelessly she collapsed onto her bed and was out before Lianne killed the lights. Bending over her only daughter she stroked her golden tresses, a reflection of her own fair hair, before placing a kiss on her forehead.
The second time Lianne woke her at midnight, it had been unintentional.
She had stumbled over a small end table in the hall sending a particularly ugly vase crashing to the ground. The sound of the impact and the giggles Lianne was unsuccessfully trying to stifle were enough to stir Veronica from her sleep.
Bare footed she shambled to her bedroom door to watch the teetering progress of her mother. Stilted steps played out an uneven rhythm as shaking fingers traced a line across the wallpaper, tethering her to the home she could no longer navigate.
Her bedroom door opened before she reached it, meet by a silent scowl and then the resigned sigh of her better half. Veronica watched the door swing shut before closing her own.
The third time Lianne woke her at midnight, it had been heartbreaking.
She was still wearing her damp coat, her hair wet with the nights rain. Her make up running, dirty grey tears staining her flushed cheeks.
She sat on the edge of the bed swaying slightly to some unheard melody. A song of faithless, whiskey drowned failures on the tip of her tongue.
She sank into the warmth of her daughter, wasting words on aborted explanations and artificial apologies. Veronica had rested her hand tentatively on her mothers trembling shoulders while desperately holding back her own quivering emotions. Like butterfly's in a jar of cloudy glass, sheltering her mother from the storms she was too young to comprehend in her yellow daisy covered comforter.
The smell of alcohol, cologne and quite misery smothered the mother and child, unsaid words and desperate sobs humming a lullaby till oblivious sleep took the older and fitful unrest became the youngers burden.
The last time Lianne didn't wake her. She gingerly placed the music box on her night stand almost panicking when the slight impact jogged the mechanism leaving a single note hanging in the air.
The orphaned sound didn't wake her, nor did the gentle kiss or the mumbled goodbye. Veronica dreamed while Lianne left.
"It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world."
- John Green, Paper Towns