J
The next few weeks come and go. Eddie helps out with watching the boys until Lisa gets home on the days I take my mother to her treatments. Lisa leaves every morning at six-thirty and doesn't return home until after five-thirty. We don't see each other. I make sure we don't see each other. We've resorted to texting and phone calls when it comes to Kel and Leo. My mother has been pressing me for information, wanting to know why she doesn't come around anymore. I lie and tell her she's just busy with her new internship.
She's only been to the house once in the past two months. It was the only time we've really spoken since the incident in the laundry room. She came to tell me she was offered a job at a Junior High that starts in January.
I'm happy for her, but it's bittersweet. I know how much the job means for her and Leo, but I know what it means for Lisa and I, too. Deep down there was a part of me silently counting down the days until her last day of internship. It's finally here, and she's already signed another contract. It solidified things for us, really. Solidified that they're over.
We finally put the house up for sale in Texas. Mom has managed to save almost 180,000 dollars from life insurance dad actually had. The house isn't paid off yet, but after all is said and done we should get another check from the sale. Mom and I spend the majority of November focusing on our finances. We set aside more for our college funds and she opened a savings account for Kel. She payed off all the outstanding credit cards and charge cards that are in her name, and instructed me to never open any in my own name. Said she would haunt me if I did.
Today is Thursday. It's the final day of school for all the districts; including Lisa's. We have early release today, so I bring Leo home with us. He usually spends the night on Thursdays while Lisa goes to the slam.
I haven't been back to Club N9NE since the night Lisa read her poem. I understand what Javi meant in class now-about having to relive heartache. That's why I don't go. I've relived it enough for a lifetime.
I feed the boys and send them to their bedroom and then head to my mother's room for what has become our nightly chat.
"Shut the door, these are Kel's," she whispers.
She's wrapping Christmas gifts. I shut the door behind me and sit on the bed with her and help her wrap.
"What are your plans for Christmas break?" she asks.
She's lost all of her hair now. She chose not to go with a wig-said it felt like a ferret was taking a nap on her head. She's still beautiful, nonetheless.
I shrug. "Whatever yours are, I guess."
She frowns. "Are you going to Lisa's graduation with us tomorrow?"
She sent us an invite two weeks ago. I think each graduate gets a certain number of guests and her grandparents are the only other people she invited besides us.
"I don't know, I haven't decided yet," I say.
She secures a box with a bow and sets it aside. "You should go. Whatever happened between the two of you, you should still go. She's been there for us, Nini."
I don't want to admit to her that I don't want to go because I don't know how to be around her anymore. That night in her laundry room when I thought for a brief moment that we could finally be together; I had never felt so elated. It was the most amazing feeling I've ever experienced, to finally be free to love her. But it wasn't real. That one minute of pure happiness I felt and the heartache that came moments later is something I never want to experience again. I'm tired of grieving.
My mother moves the wrapping paper from her lap and reaches out and hugs me. I didn't realize I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve.
"I'm sorry, but I think I may have given you some terrible advice," she says.
I pull away from her and laugh. "That's impossible, Mom. You don't know how to do terrible."
I take a box from the floor and pull it into my lap as I grab a sheet of already cut paper and begin to wrap it.
"I did, though. Your whole life I've been telling you to think with your head, not your heart," she says.
I meticulously fold the edges up and grab the roll of tape. "That's not good advice, Mom. That's great advice. That same advice is what has gotten me through these past few months." I tear a piece of tape and secure the edge of the package.
My mother grabs the box out of my hand before I'm finished wrapping it and sets it beside her. She takes my hands and turns me toward her.
"I'm serious. You've been doing so much thinking with your head that you're ignoring your heart completely. There has to be a balance. The fact that both of you are letting other things consume you is about to ruin any chance you'll ever have at being happy."
I shake my head in confusion. "Nothing is consuming me, Mom."
She shakes my hands like I'm not getting it. "I am, Nini. I'm consuming you. You've got to stop worrying so much about me. Go live your life. I'm not dead yet, you know."
I stare down at our hands as her words soak in. I have been focusing on her a lot. But that's what she needs. It's what we both need. She doesn't have that much time left, and I want to be there for every second of it.
"Mom, you need me. You need me more than I need Lisa. Besides, Lisa has made her choice."
She darts her eyes away and lets go of my hands. "No she hasn't, Nini. She made what she thought was the best choice for her, but she's wrong. You're both wrong."
I know she wants to see me happy. I don't have the heart to tell her that it's over between us. She made her choice that night in the laundry room when she let me go. She has her priorities, and right now I'm not one of them.
She takes the box I was wrapping and returns it in front of her and starts wrapping it again. "That night I told you I had cancer, and you ran to Lisa's house?" Her voice softens. She clears her throat, still avoiding my eyes. "I need to tell you what she said to me, at the door."
I remember the conversation she's referring to but I couldn't hear what they were saying.
"When she answered the door I told her you needed to come home. That we needed to talk about it. She looked at me with heartache in her eyes. She said, 'Let her stay Julia. She needs me right now.'
"Nini, you broke my heart. It broke my heart that you needed her more than you needed me. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, I realized that you were grown up…that I wasn't your whole life anymore. Lisa could see that. She saw how bad her words hurt me. When I turned away to walk back to the house she followed me into the yard and hugged me. She told me she would never take you from me. She said she was going to let you go…let you focus on me and on the time I had left."
She places the wrapped gift on the bed. She scoots toward me and takes my hands in hers again. "Nini, she didn't move on. She didn't choose this new job over you…she chose her new job over us. She wanted you to have more time with me."
I take a deep breath as I absorb everything my mother just revealed. Is she right? Does she really love me enough that she would be willing to let me go?
"Mom?" My voice is weak. "What if you're wrong?"
"What if I'm not wrong, Nini? Question everything. What if she wants to choose you? You'll never know if you don't tell her how you feel. You've completely shut her out. You haven't given her the chance to pick you."
She's right, I haven't. I've been completely closed off since that night in the laundry room. Maybe she just needs to know it's okay. I need to let her know that it's okay for her to love me.
"It's seven-thirty, Nini. You know where she is. Go tell her how you feel."
I don't move. My legs feel like jell-o.
"Go!" she laughs.
I jump off the bed and run to my room. My hands are shaking and my thoughts are all jumbled together while I throw on my pants. I put on the purple shirt that I wore on our first and only date. I go to the bathroom and inspect my reflection.
There's something missing. I run to my room and reach under my pillow and pull out the purple clip. I snap it open and remove my mother's strands of hair and place them in my jewelry box. I go back to the bathroom and brush my bangs to the side of my head and snap the clip in place.