Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“We split up, Mam.”
“What? Oh no, I’m sorry—”
“I’m not. It needed to be done.”
“Well … good for you, sweetheart.”
My lips curl wryly. I never wanted her to be worried about me, so I always talked up the good times Ben and I had together. And there were a few. But I didn’t bother her with the darker details of our relationship, like his temper, his pressuring me for sex, or the way he’d sometimes demean and degrade me. I’ve never wanted to upset Mam or scare her, so I’ve hidden that all from her.
“What about work? Surely, you can’t miss work.”
“That’s the beauty of doing what I do, Mam—I can work anywhere. All I need is an internet connection,” I say. “Now, any other reasons you want to offer up that I’m going to shoot down? Or can we go ahead and skip to the part where you accept that I’m going to be here for a while?”
Mam smiles as her cheeks flush and her eyes begin to shimmer. “Thank you, dear. I appreciate you coming all this way for me.”
“Mam, after all you’ve done for me, all my life, this is literally the least I can do.”
Her eyes are filled with tenderness and warmth and all the love I remember seeing when I was younger and still living here. It’s something I’ve missed. As much as I love my life out in Southern California, I can’t say I’ve ever met anybody who looks at me with the unadulterated love Mam always showered me with.
“How about some tea?” I ask.
“I’d love some tea,” she replies. “And I wouldn’t mind a splash or two of Mam’s Medicine.”
I pull a face and laugh. “Until the doctor says it’s okay, Mam’s Medicine is off the table. Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m reconsidering how pleasant it is to have you here.”
“Get over it,” I tease.
The sound of her laughter, a little stronger and more vibrant than when I first arrived, follows me down the hall to her kitchen. Planting my hands on the counter in front of the sink, I stare at her backyard through the window and let out the flood of emotions that have been building inside of me since I first saw Mam. My body trembles and the tears stream down my face. Holding my hand to my mouth, I stifle my sobs, not wanting her to hear me.
Five years ago, I left Emerson—I left Mam—after getting a scholarship to attend UCLA. Over the years, I carved a life for myself out there. Mam always tells me how proud and happy she is for me. And I genuinely believe she is. Although she’ll never admit it, I can see she's been a bit lonely out here since I left, even though she’s got lots of friends and stays active. That’s why I come out as often as I can to spend time with her, although it’s admittedly not nearly often enough. It’s why I always have this heavy weight of guilt on my shoulders about building and loving the life I’ve carved for myself out in Southern California. I love my world out there, but it will never truly be home. Not like Emerson is, and that’s because of Mam.
Growing old and eventually dying is all part of life. It happens to us all. One day, I’m going to get old and pass on. It’s the natural course of things. But Mam has always seemed larger than life to me, and I’ve never once stopped to consider her mortality. I’ve never considered a life or a world without her in it, and frankly, I really don’t want to. My grandmother is my hero and a constant source of inspiration for me. I don’t want to think about losing her.
I turn on the sink, splash some cold water on my face, and dry it off with a paper towel, taking a moment to breathe and get my emotions under control. After that, I put a kettle on the stove to boil and fetch a mug for her tea, then walk to the cabinet and pull it open to grab the jar of tea and find the bottle of bourbon sitting next to it.
“Mam’s Medicine,” I say with a laugh.
She always believed that a snort or two of bourbon a day helped fortify a person’s immune system and kept the blood flowing. She’d been saying that as long as I lived with her. And it’s something she always held to—no more than two glasses of bourbon a day. She’s disciplined about her alcohol consumption—I don’t think I’ve ever seen her even close to tipsy. But she indulged in her couple of glasses. I’m guessing it’s an old wives’ tale she learned from her parents back when she was a kid. The habits of our youth often carry over into adulthood.