by Jiffy Kate
“I’m going to need to take a few days off,” I tell her once we’re on the sidewalk in front of the diner. “My mom’s dying. I have to go home.”
Chapter 3
I’m surprised by the number of people at the bus station this early in the morning. Why do so many people need to leave Dallas for Houston at four o’clock on a Wednesday morning? Whatever the reason, I’m relieved that no one seems to be super chatty. I guess it’s a benefit of traveling at such an insane time of day and thankfully, everyone seems to be a walking zombie, just like me.
As we board the bus, I’m hoping for sleep, but I doubt that’ll happen. I wasn’t able to get much last night. My mind hasn’t shut down since I talked to my dad. There’s too much to think about. Finding out your mother—who you haven’t seen or spoken to in years—is dying from cancer and your father—who you speak with every few weeks—has been taking care of her, while keeping it from you, for the past four months, is a lot to swallow. I think he was worried I would be angry with him for keeping her secret, but I don’t blame him; it’s just… weird.
The last time I saw the two of them in the same room together was the day my mother walked out on us with only a small rolling suitcase in her hands. She left a hormonal teenage girl to be raised by a father who was clueless and could barely take care of himself. Other than the occasional phone call to announce who she was marrying next, we never heard from her.
Until now.
She must’ve been desperate to even think about calling my father for help, but then again, I’ve always suspected he never stopped loving her. She has to know that. He never dated after she left. His days have consisted of working at the garage. That’s it. So, I’m not really surprised he agreed to take care of her. He’s always been tender-hearted when it comes to her and it makes me sad to know he’s going to lose her all over again.
As far as me losing my mom a second time, I’m not sure how I feel. I’ve been without her for so long. And to be honest, I never felt like I had her, even when I did.
I finally manage to doze off for a few minutes before the bus pulls into the station, only to jolt awake when the bus driver hits the brakes. It’s like a mass exodus as everyone fights for a spot in the center aisle. I grab my bag and file in behind the older man who sat beside me.
When I step off the bus, I immediately remember another reason why I left this place. The freaking humidity. It’s crazy how traveling just four hours south can make a difference in climate, but believe me, it does. It doesn’t take take long for little beads of sweat to gather on my brow and I’m sure if I’m out here long enough, I’ll look like a drowned rat with frizzy hair.
Shading my eyes from the morning sun with my hand, I look for my dad. When I finally spot him, he gives me a small wave. Nostalgia, love, and a hint of guilt swirl within me, and when I reach him standing by his car, my eyes fill with tears as he hugs me.
“Kadi, it’s so good to see you. Thanks for coming home,” he says with a whisper laced with a twinge of sadness.
“Hey, Dad. It’s good to see you, too.”
He takes my bag and puts it in the backseat of his truck. It’s about a thirty-minute drive to my hometown and I know we have a lot to say to one another, but as we pull out of the bus station, I take a moment to look at my father.
He looks the same, more or less, but there are some differences. His wrinkles are more pronounced and there are more gray hairs on his head than not, but it’s his demeanor that hurts my heart more than anything. He simply looks worn out. He’s worked six days a week for the last twenty-five years, but it’s more than that. He’s too thin, too frail, and appears to be much older than the last time I saw him. He must be doing everything he can to take care of my mother, while neglecting himself in the process.
This makes me both sad and angry. Sad, because he cares so much for someone who doesn’t deserve him; and angry, because I want better for him.
“How’s Dallas treatin’ you?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders, not really wanting to get into my own business. Besides, he knows I’m still working at the diner so, what else is there to say? Our phone calls are very superficial because I’ve never felt comfortable sharing anything deeper with him. We’ve just never had that kind of relationship.
“Same as usual,” I answer.
He nods his head in understanding and continues to drive. My father is a man of few words, but I can tell the silence between us is making him uncomfortable. He’s trying to put off talking about my mother.
“How is she?” I ask, needing to rip the bandaid off and acknowledge the elephant in the truck with us.
“Dyin’.” It’s blunt and sad and raw. There’s never been much pretense with him, but I can tell he’s at his end as well.
“How much time does she have?”
“A few days… week at the most,” he says with a heavy sigh. “That’s why I called you. She doesn’t know. She didn’t want you to know, but I couldn’t do that to you. You’ve got just as much right as anybody to say your goodbyes. She owes you that much.”
This is how it’s always been with us. He recognizes the kind of mother she is and I think he hates her for it, yet he also remembers the woman he fell in love with and who stole his heart, and he can’t let that part go.
“Why’d she come to you?” I ask, hating the way I feel saying that, but also hating my mother a little for putting my dad in this position. She’s been gone for so long. Why come home now?
“She didn’t have anywhere else to go. She’s been divorced from her last husband for a while, livin’ from place to place. No way to be when you can’t even take care of yourself.”
I sigh, understanding where my dad’s coming from, but still hating this whole thing. Rubbing at my chest, I try to will the pain that’s been building away.
“I think she’s been waiting on you,” he says barely above a whisper. “I know she said she didn’t want you here, but I think that’s what’s had her holdin’ on.”
I sit in my seat, unable to speak. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll cry, and I don’t want to cry.
“Don’t expect too much when we get to the house. She’s been pretty out of it the past two days.”
“Okay,” I tell him, swallowing down the lump in my throat. Tears are at the corner of my eyes, threatening to fall. I don’t know who they’re for—her, him, me… all of us.
“I brought her home from the hospital last week. I thought about calling you then. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he says, his words taking an angry tone, still tired, but fueled by years of bitterness. “I shouldn’t have let her call the shots. I just didn’t know what to do. She showed up out of the blue and looked like she was already knocking on death’s door. I—”
“Dad, it’s fine,” I say, stopping him, because it really is fine. I don’t know why, but it just is, and I don’t want him beating himself up over it. Reaching over, I place my hand on top of his and squeeze the leathered skin.
We ride in silence for the next twenty-five minutes until the gravel drive crunches under the tires of the old truck. I notice a grey car in the driveway, but before I can ask whose it is, my dad answers the question for me.
“Hospice,” he says. “They come out twice a day. I made sure she could stay while I went to pick you up.”
I just nod my head and clear my throat as I step out of the truck, nerves flooding my body.
Table 10
I’ve experienced death. My best friend’s brother died in a car accident when I was fourteen. And my dad’s only brother died of a heart attack the next year. I’ve also lost both sets of grandparents and two dogs. But I don’t think we’re ever prepared for it, even when it’s happening right in front of us, to a mother we haven’t seen in ten years.
She doesn’t know I cried myself to sleep for a week after she left.
She doesn’t know I got my period a month after and used up two rolls o
f toilet paper before I worked up enough courage to ask my dad to take me to the store.
She doesn’t know I waited until I was seventeen to kiss a boy. Or that I lost my virginity two weeks later.
She doesn’t know anything about me.
I’m not sure if she can hear me, but now that I have her undivided attention, I’m telling her everything she missed out on. She deserves to know. And I deserve the chance to tell her.
I sit by her bed until the sun starts to set.
Eventually, my dad comes into the small bedroom that used to be mine and tells me he made some sandwiches and that I should eat.
Chapter 4
Nathan
It’s only been two days since I had the package delivered to Kadi at the diner. I know that’s not long, especially for her to think about the contents and make a decision, but I guess I expected to hear from her by now. Or maybe I was just hoping.
Not that I thought sending her the package would change her mind about me or us.
Again, maybe I was just hoping.
“What has you so distracted this evening?” my mother asks, setting down her fork and patting the sides of her mouth with her linen napkin.
We’re at her favorite downtown restaurant for our usual Wednesday night dinner. My father is back in New York again this week, so it’s just the two of us, and I’m being horrible company.
“Sorry,” I tell her, picking up my wine glass for a much-needed drink. I could use something stronger, but my mother frowns on hard liquor with dinner. “Work, as usual.”
“I’m sure. Especially with your father out of the office.”
“Right.” I try to give her a smile, but I doubt it looks very genuine.
She sighs, folding her napkin and laying it in her lap. “You’re still not obsessing over that girl, are you?”
“The girl has a name, mother. And she’s not a girl… or some girl. She’s a full-grown woman and her name is Kadi. You can say it. It’s okay.”
I’m edgy. I know. But I’m really tired of everyone treating Kadi and our relationship like it was a phase or something I’ll get over in a few weeks. I’m not in high school, or even college, for that matter. And Kadi wasn’t a phase or a project. The frustration from being unable to get that through to everyone around me is making me feel like a lit fuse, ready to explode.
“Maybe you should talk to her,” she says, her tone taking a softer turn. “Maybe you need more closure. I just hate seeing you so distracted. It’s not healthy or productive.”
I don’t respond, because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll have to apologize for weeks for what I would say.
“Have you talked to her since the night of the gala?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re a resourceful person. I’m sure you know how to get in touch with her. And she still works at the diner. So, you could visit her there.”
“I don’t go there anymore.”
“But you could. It’s a public place, Nathan. Just because you’re not dating the waitress… Kadi,” she corrects. I’m sure the look on my face helped that. “You can still go there.”
“I’ve been giving her space. She can’t help that she works there, but I can help going there and making it difficult for her.”
“Always thinking of others,” she says with a tight smile. “I’ve always admired that about you.”
“Believe me,” I say, tossing my napkin on the table and causing my mother’s eyes to widen in surprise. “This is more about me than it is about her. I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s not someone I’m going to get over or a project I’m going to complete and be done with. She’s so much more than that. Even if we’re never together again, a piece of me will always belong to her.”
“Okay, Nathan,” she says, lowering her voice to a near-whisper. “Okay.”
“I need you to understand my feelings for her. It’s important to me.”
Her hand slips across the table and covers mine. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me. She’s important to me.”
“Thank you.”
I don’t know why, but I really needed to hear that. Even though I’m thirty years old, I needed to hear that someone is on my side. Everyone needs to have their feelings validated.
Especially Kadi.
Which gives me a new reason to need to talk to her, if only to tell her I understand and that I’m here for her, in whatever capacity she’ll allow me.
Table 10
Walking into the diner, my heart feels like it’s in my throat. I try to take a deep breath and mentally kick myself in the ass.
What’s the worst thing that can happen?
She refuses to serve me a piece of her mouth-watering pie?
Actually, that is the worst thing that could happen. I’m not sure I can take any more rejection from Kadi. Sure, I’m used to rejection in my professional life. Not ever boardroom meeting and acquisition can go in my favor. I’ve become accustomed to losing a few battles, being told no. And I’ve definitely experienced rejection in my personal life. But being rejected by Kadi ranks up there with the biggest of blows. It cut deep and I’m still bleeding from the wound. Today’s rejection would only add salt.
The thought of her never being a part of my life again haunts me. In the couple of months I’ve known her, she’s managed to weave herself into every fiber of my being.
When I’m standing in my kitchen, I think about the first night she slept at my apartment. When I’m in my car, I think about driving her home and on dates. When I’m walking down the street, I always look for her, just in case, by some slight chance, she’s walking on the same sidewalk at the same time.
And of course, the moments I can never get her out of my head are when I’m lying in bed. Because she’s everywhere: hair fanned out on my pillows, body writhing in pleasure on my sheets, her in my t-shirt and sweatpants, mornings waking up wrapped around her. For a few days after she left, I could still smell her. But not anymore. Occasionally, I’ll imagine I catch her scent and the world stops on its axis while I try to hold onto it, but it’s phantom. She’s gone.
“Are you just gonna stand there blocking traffic?” a familiar voice asks and it’s then I realize I’m still standing at the door, frozen in place.
“Your usual table?” LuAnne asks and I immediately begin to scan the room.
“Uh, yeah, that’d be great,” I tell her, trying to sound normal and not half as nervous as I feel.
“Coffee?” she asks as she leads me to my table.
“That’d be great.”
I slip into the booth and resume my inspection of the diner. Everything seems to be in place. I even recognize the people sitting at the table to my right. They’re here every morning at the same time. What used to be my usual time.
And I see Mack in the kitchen, turning out orders.
The other waitress that Kadi always complained about is delivering orders to a table in the back.
The only thing out of place is a new girl I don’t recognize.
And Kadi.
She hasn’t come out of the kitchen yet.
When LuAnne walks out with a pot half-full of coffee and a cup, heading to my table, my heart drops to my stomach.
“Here you go, hun.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry to report that we don’t have any pie this morning.”
“What?”
She laughs and if I’m not mistaken, there are a few nerves in it. “Yeah, no pie.”
“Why?” I’m sure I sound demanding and desperate, but I can’t help it.
“She’s not here,” she says, slow and low, like she’s comforting an injured child.
My heart that was in the pit of my stomach is now at my feet.
“Why?”
LuAnne lets out a deep sigh and scans the diner, looking for what, I don’t know. She scratches her head with her pencil and then sticks it in her bun at the back of her head. Leaning over the table, she drops her voice to
a whisper.
“Her mother’s dying. I shouldn’t be telling you, but I know you came to see her. And if she was here, I think she’d like to see you. So, I’m going on gut instinct here and telling you anyway.”
Her words are rambled and rushed.
“Listen, I saw the two of you together, and you were good for her. She got scared. But can you blame her? She doesn’t know what to do with a guy like you. You were like a fantasy and she was afraid you were gonna break her heart.”
She continues with the rambling, but I don’t stop her, because she’s talking about Kadi and freely giving me the information I would’ve paid her for.
“So, of course, she ran. She’s still running. Well, not home. She took a bus. But she’s still running from her feelings for you. So, I think you’re not too late. If you want to prove that you’re after more than just a good lay and whatever the hell this project is she’s been going on about, then I think you have a chance.”
“Project?” I ask, hating that word more and more with every mention. “She told you that too?”
“Yeah, something about an ex-girlfriend telling her about you and projects and once it’s complete, you’re done. She didn’t want to stick around and find out what it was like to be a completed project.”
“She was never a project,” I seethe, gripping the napkin to keep from punching the table beneath my fist.
“I know that, but you’re going to have some convincing to do when it comes to Kadi. She’s a stubborn one. She’s had to be. The few people she’s let into her life have mostly been disappointments, so she might be a tough egg to crack.”
“What’s this about her mother dying?” That’s what I’m more concerned about at this point. I know everything else LuAnne is saying is true. About Kadi and her past. But I need to know about her mother.
