Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Call me later.” He winks, that dominant tone dipping in before we part. I nod, unsure which cue to follow, as he shuts the door.
Sitting in the back seat I replay the whole evening. I wish he would’ve come home with me and told me more about himself. I enjoyed his company, but the feeling of isolation beings to slip up my chest and snake itself around my neck, strangling my confidence.
7
“Mom!” Banging on my bedroom door wakes me from a hard sleep. Stretching my arms, I arch my back and flip over onto my side.
“What?” I mumble, not wanting to get up yet.
“I think Grandma’s here.” My eyes widen, and I lift my head. The bedroom door opens, and Paige stands in her checkered pajama pants, her hair a mess. Her brows furrow, followed by a quivering lip, anguish brushing across her face. I throw the blankets off me, and Paige points toward the kitchen.
Turning into the open space, I instantly notice a brown package sitting on the counter. The idea that my mother is in a box, horribly taped and covered in dust, makes my chest ache. Is this really what life comes to—dead in a vase, inside a box packed among socks? A woman, who was five and a half feet, weighing over a hundred pounds, reduced to ash in a baggy.
Carefully, I take it into my hands and peel the tape off the sides until I can pull the rest of the cardboard apart. The gold and black urn greets me, and my eyes water. I bite back a sob and slip my fingers into the sides of the box to grip the cool vase and gently pull it out. It’s heavy. I set it beside the box before I drop it. Holding back tears, I can’t help but notice the house doesn’t feel so empty anymore, like she’s actually here with us.
“Well, Ma, this is the new place.” My voice cracks as I speak to the seven-by-nine-inch urn.
“Where are we going to put her?” Paige asks. It’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times.
We both look around the house for the perfect place.
“What about there?” Paige points to the dining room. I follow her hand. There’s a built-in cabinet for fine China on the wall behind the table. We don’t have fancy plates. Half the time, we use paper plates. I had no idea what I was going to put there. Until now.
“That’s a good idea.” Taking the urn, I place her high on the top shelf and center her. She can look over us, and we can see and feel her presence anytime we’re in here.
I take a step back, placing both my hands together, and just stare at it. I can’t believe she’s actually gone, but it’s nice having her here. It a confusing feeling.
“I really miss her,” she mutters, and the tears I’ve been fighting finally cascade down my cheeks. Sniffling, I grab Paige by the shoulder and pull her close. We have each other. Since the day I found out she was in my belly, we’ve treaded through everything that has brought together. And as Paige’s mom, I can’t let this consume her. She has her whole life ahead of her.
“Why don’t you go watch some TV?” I suggest. Walking away, she says, “I’m going to go to my bedroom.” I sigh at her response and go to the kitchen to make some coffee, my eyes slipping over to the urn. I want to tell my mother about the neighborhood and Heston, but maybe it’s weird talking to a bag of ashes—to carry on a conversation as if she can really hear me…
I glance at it again, then over my shoulder, making sure Paige is gone, so she doesn’t judge me.
“Well, Mom, the new place is really nice. Well…aside from a couple weird neighbors.” I pause, thinking what my mother’s response to that would be. Probably something along the lines of weird means character—which this world lacks. Smiling to myself, I continue, “I also met a guy. You’d like him. He’s a gentleman, nothing like Cam.” I turn around, my hands on the counter. The Keurig brews behind me, brushing the air with the scent of light coffee beans. “I wish you could meet him.” I wonder what she would say about Heston. She encouraged me to move on after Cam, but I never did. I don’t know what words of wisdom she’d have to offer now.
She was the type of person who either liked or hated you. She despised Cam from the moment she met him, and I’d been heedless to her opinion. She’d say he looked like an asshole and talked like one—and all I saw was that damn smile and the way his ass looked in a pair of jeans. I’d like to think Mom would approve of Heston being so different from Cam. I’ve always looked to my mom for approval. Not having her to run to has made me make so many bold decisions on my own. Getting a house, going on a date, dressing up—it’s all been amazing but also stressful. It's hard not having someone standing behind me, telling me if it’s a good idea or not.