by RH Tucker
“I’m still here.”
“You had no choice,” I counter, and instantly regret it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. You’re right, in a way, but also not. I could’ve done everything different. I’d like to think I was a good motherly figure.”
I sit up, my blankets still around me, and give her a hug. “Nancy, you weren’t a good motherly figure. You are a great mom.”
“Thanks, baby,” she says, and a frown crosses her lips. “But I don’t think I did everything right. As a matter of fact, I know I didn’t, and I need to apologize.”
“For what?”
She looks at the ground, pursing her lips together, as if she’s deep in thought. “Get dressed.”
“How come? Where are were going?”
She stands up and walks to the door. “If you’re going to make a decision on your heart, you need to have all the facts. And I just hope you forgive me.”
Her ominous words rattle around in my head as I get dressed and we drive out of town. She doesn’t say anything on the drive to wherever we’re going. She switches the radio station a couple times but that’s it. I’ve asked where we’re going, what we’re doing, and what I have to forgive her for, but she just stares straight ahead.
“Nancy, you’re scaring me now.” We’ve been driving for nearly an hour.
“I know and I’m sorry, but I can’t explain it to you. Not yet. You just … you’ll see.”
“See what?”
No answer again, just a silent shake of her head.
After another fifteen minutes, we pull into a large, grassy area covered with trees. Off in the distance there’s a small parking lot and I see a sign.
“Rosewood Memorial?” I look at her. “Nancy, why are we at a cemetery?”
Again, she doesn’t answer. Pulling into a parking spot, she gets out of the car and I sit there, watching her through the front window. She stops at the front of the car and gives me a slight wave, calling me to follow her.
“Okay, this may be morbid and possibly disrespectful, but I guess if you were going to kill me, a cemetery makes sense.”
She gives a light laugh. “I never told you, but you’ve always had her humor.”
“Whose?”
“Your mother.”
With her words I take another look at my surroundings and I instantly know why we’re here. I just don’t know why now?
“This way,” she quietly calls to me and I realize I’ve stopped walking.
There are headstones set up all around. Some of them are extravagant, some glimmer the reflection of the sun off their marble sides. Others are ornate, cement in material, but designs etched in to them. There are large bouquets set up on some plots or single flowers set up on others. And then we reach it.
There’s no marble headstone―no headstone at all. Just a small grassy area and a bronze plate at the front. It reads: Kelly Romilly - Daughter, Sister, Mother.
“So,” Nancy says as her eyes stay glued to the bronze plate. “I never thought I’d bring you here, but here we are.”
“There’s no date of birth or date of death.” I don’t know why it’s my first thought, but it is.
She lets out a small chuckle. “No. We had this idea, which is a little weird thinking back on it. I mean, what kind of kid thinks about death when they’re still so young. Of course, I was always the older one and she overheard me, so I can only assume she was just saying it to be like me. I was talking to a friend one time and said when I die I didn’t want any dates on my tombstone. I still don’t. It’s mysterious, like I could’ve been alive at any point in history. A wandering gypsy … I’ve always loved gypsies.” She cracks a smile, and I see a small tear run down her cheek.
“Anyways, your mother overheard and said she wanted the same thing. I was just about to graduate high school, she’d barely turned eleven. But there she was, talking about what was going to be written for her when she died.” She sighs. “We never think about dying when we’re young, even if we talk about it.”
I continue to stare at the name on the plate. Kelly Romilly. Not Harris, the only thing I ever received from my father. Another disconnect whenever I’d think of her from time to time, our different last names.
For the first time in I don’t know how long, I try to remember what she looked like. It’s hard to make out her features now, I’ve forgotten so many of them. Any pictures Nancy has I’ve made it a point to never look at. I just remember her words. Her words that echo in my head.
“Why did you bring me here?” I stare down at the plate, refusing to feel anything for this woman. “I have nothing to say to her.”
“Because I made a mistake.”
“No, she did.”
She takes a step closer to me. “Yes, she did. And she regretted it, I know she did.”
“How could you know that? You can’t. Nancy, she left me. She didn’t want me. So now, what? You bring me here and I’m supposed to feel something for a dead mother that never loved me?”
Even as I say the words I feel no sadness, only anger.
“And that is my mistake. Because I do know how sorry she felt. How much she regretted leaving you with me. She stayed away for years, Jen. And then, the summer before you started high school, she got in touch with me.”
“What?” My head snaps up, my eyes meeting hers.
“You were out with friends, thankfully.”
“Thankfully?”
She’s crying but never breaks our stare. “Yes, because she was in a bad way, Jen. She showed up at the house, telling me how she messed her life up. How she made every mistake imaginable, but the biggest mistake was giving up on you. She wanted to see you. She begged me to let her see you, because she said you were starting high school. In a year, you’d be the same age as her when she had you. I told her she could, but not that day.”
“Why not?”
“Like I said, she was in a bad way. She was thin, too thin. Bone thin. Her eyes were sunken in, dark rings around them. Missing teeth. Her hair, the same blonde hair you have, was matted or falling out. She had scars along her arms and wrists. Puncture marks. She―” A sob takes control and she brings her hand to her mouth. “She looked horrible, like death. And I told her that. I’ll forever regret those words, because I told her she needed to clean herself up. To get better before I let her see you. You deserve a mother who wanted to look her best for you. Who wanted to be her best for you. I told her that, and I said that you don’t deserve a mother that looks like she just wants to die.”
Somewhere along her words, all my anger has vanished, and I find my hand wiping away tears.
“She steadied herself, there in our living room, and nodded. She said I was right. She thanked me for taking care of you all these years and she promised she was going to get better. I asked her for any type of contact information, but she didn’t have any. She said she was staying with a friend of a friend, but she said she’ll get better. She wanted to see you and that you deserved to have a good mom. She told me I’d been a good mom to you and I told her she could’ve been a good mom, too. And that she could still be one.”
I drop to my knees, my fingers running over her name on the plate. Nancy sits down next to me.
“The next week, I received a called from the police department. She overdosed.”
I don’t know what to think or what to feel. So, I just sit there, crying, my fingers still rubbing back and forth over her name on the plate.
“She loved you, Jen, I know she did. Yes, she made a horrible mistake, but that didn’t change the way she felt. And I believe she wanted to change. I believe … no, I know she wanted to be a good mom to you. But by the time she realized that, life caught up.” She wraps an arm around me. “The only way the police knew to contact me was because she was wearing a pendant. It was old and rusted, probably why it wasn’t stolen and overlooked. Inside it had my name and number. There was also a small picture of you, about six months old. On the ba
ck of the picture, well …” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the pendant she just described.
Handing it to me, I stare at her, almost asking permission to take it. She gives me a gentle smile with a nod and I look back down at it. I open the pendant and see Nancy’s name and number there, just as she described. Then my baby picture. Pulling the picture out, I flip it over, seeing something my mom must’ve written.
My baby. I’ll always love you. I’m sorry.
“Why―” My words choke off with emotion. I take a deep breath and try again. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”
“I’m sorry, Jen. I’m so, so sorry. I debated with myself that entire week when she showed up. Should I tell you? Shouldn’t I? What if she never got better? I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to feel any pain at the thought of her being back in your life and then her leaving again. And then, when she died, I argued with myself again. Would it be better to tell you? To let you know she was gone and not out there living somewhere? Or would telling you she died make things worse? All the while, I wasn’t even sure if I made the right decision with her. If I’d let her see you, would she have had more resolve to get better? More strength? I didn’t know what the right thing to do was, but I thought I could be enough. I believed I could protect you from anymore hurt you had felt from her. I’m so sorry, baby.”
Time seems to stand still while we sit at the gravesite, both of us staying silent. I stare down at the name plate again and I want to hate her still. I want to feel the same hate I had when I got here, but I don’t. Now I just feel sorry for her. I wish she could’ve been stronger. I wish things had been different. I look back over at Nancy, her eyes still on me.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I’m sorry.” Her tears start to fall again. “Please don’t hate me, Jen.”
I lean into her and we wrap our arms around one another. “I could never hate you, Nancy. Never. I just wish I would’ve known.”
“I understand, but now you do. Now you know that she made a mistake. Yes, it was a huge mistake, but that’s what it was. It wasn’t that she didn’t love you, Jen. She always loved you. She was just scared. And sometimes, fear can change things for the worse. Don’t let fear run your life, baby. Because no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, clutching the pendant to my chest.
Chapter 31
Lucas
Another week of school down, another week of feeling like crap. Only now I only have myself to blame. Because I don’t feel bad about the rejection or Jen being too afraid of being with me. Now I feel horrible for how I treated her and what I said to her. Since that night, I made it a point to avoid any and all things that might even happen to have me come into contact with her.
I also haven’t seen Jackson much. Just like I feel so stupid and terrible for how I acted with Jen, I’m equally embarrassed for doing it all in front of him and everyone else.
Jackson: u cant hied 4eva
Jackson sends me a text. It’s his fourth one today. Looking back at our text conversations, after ignoring his texts the last couple days, I start to feel bad for another reason. I shorten words when I text or change things up. Like typing ‘kool’ instead of spelling it correctly. But seeing how he types, I know the letters are probably a struggle for him. It should’ve been something I picked up on sooner. It just goes to show what a great friend I am.
Jackson: TXT!! ME!! BAK!!!!
He sends another one and I decide I should finally reply to him.
Me: You need a gf
Jackson: Andu need 2 asnwre ur fone!
Me: And you need to start texting using voice text
He replies with the middle finger emoji
Jackson: hwos that 4 vioec txt???
I let out a small laugh and my phone starts ringing.
“What’s up?” I answer, still laying in my room.
“Finally, you reply to something, you assmunch.”
“Screw you.”
“Dude, where you been?”
“School, man. Some of us haven’t entered the workforce yet.”
“Yeah? Must be nice mooching off your parents.”
“Again, screw you.”
He laughs. “How come you haven’t stopped by the deli the last few days.”
“I dunno,” I reply, sitting up.
“Dude, stop it. It’s cool, we all have meltdowns.”
“Gee, thanks, that makes me feel so much better.”
“Seriously though,” he says, laughing. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
I make my way out to our kitchen and grab an apple. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t snap at both Carter and Matt’s girlfriends, make a fool of yourself in front of people watching, and make Jen feel like shit by acting like a dick.”
“Yeah, well, other than all that you’re fine.”
“You’re just one big ball of optimism today. What’s with you?”
I hear a rustling sound in the background and plop down on the couch, taking a bite. “No, it’s fifteen. Fifteen,” he enunciates the word and I can only imagine he’s talking to an older customer at the deli. I was surprised when I started going in how many regulars they have that are in their sixties and seventies.
“You gonna get in trouble for talking on the phone at work?”
“I can do what I want,” he replies confidently before I hear his mom in the background. “Oh, damn. No. Sorry, Mom,” he calls out before whispering back in to the phone. “Damn it, I gotta go. Call me later.”
“All right, later, man.”
I hang up and hit the remote for the TV when Rich walks in.
“What are you doing?” he asks, sitting down next to me. He grabs the apple and takes a bite.
“Hey, I was eating that.” He rolls his eyes at me, before turning his attention to the TV. “Anyways, you’re looking at it.”
“Cool, at least you’re not moping anymore.”
“You’re an ass.” I shot him a glare as he laughs. “I’ve evolved from my moping phase. I’ve promoted myself to couch potato.”
He chuckles. “Anyways, get some pants on and let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Mom and Dad’s anniversary is next week. We need to get them something.”
“Oh, yeah.” The dickish feeling creeps back up, forgetting my parents’ wedding anniversary. “Why don’t you just get something, and I’ll sign my name.”
“No, butt-nugget, get your ass up. We’re going.”
I know there’s no arguing and honestly, I’d feel like such a loser if all I did was sign my name to a gift Rich picked out for them. “Fine,” I mumble and go change.
Driving around to a few stores, we can’t decide what to get them as a couple, so I finally say we should just get them separate gifts. Technically, they’ve been married twenty-one years, but they hit a rough patch when Rich was a freshman in high school and I was in sixth grade. They separated for a few months, but thankfully they got back together after counseling, and then renewed their wedding vows. They started counting new anniversaries from their renewed vows. I asked my mom why once and she told me it’s because it makes it feel fresher for them. Like their relationship is still new. Whatever they’ve been doing since it’s working, because they both seem happy.
After stopping at a sporting goods store, we decide to get our dad a new bowling ball and shoes. He’s in a league with some of his friends from work. Bowling. That’s one sport Rich and I never got into.
We drive down the street and decided to look at a jewelry store for Mom’s gift but can’t really find anything we’d like to give her.
“Hey, let’s go next door to the makeup place. I think she’ll like something from there.”
Rich cringes. “I don’t know. Jewelry and makeup? I feel like my man bits are gonna shrivel up if we don’t do something that requires some testosterone soon.”
There’s a giggle behind us
and we both look and see a cute redhead, standing behind the counter.
“On second thought,” Rich says, casting me a glance. “I’m gonna stick around for a few more minutes. See what I see.”
I let out a chuckle. “All right, I’ll be next door.”
“Hey, want to get a burger across the way?”
“Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”
“Cool.”
I exit the store and can hear Rich starting up a conversation with the girl at the counter, but don’t pay much attention. Entering the makeup boutique, I really have no clue where to start. I know some brands my mom likes, but other than that I’m lost. It must show because a lady walks over to me.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Uh, yeah. Maybe. I don’t know …” I laugh at myself. “Sorry. I’m looking for a gift, but really have no idea where to start.”
“Okay, maybe I can help, I’m Ginger. What kind of gift are you looking for?”
“My parents’ anniversary is coming up, so my brother and I are getting split gifts for them. We’re not sure what to get our mom, but I know she likes MAC and Clinique.”
She flashes me a smile. “It’s so nice you know that. I’ve had guys in here before looking for gifts and they couldn’t even name one name, let alone two.”
“Thanks,” I reply still looking around, unsure what I’m looking for.
“We have both of those products right over here.” She heads to another aisle.
A younger girl walks over to here. “Ginger, your three-thirty is here.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“You take appointments?” I ask, looking at her confused.
“We do consultations. Let me just get an associate to help you out and I’m sure we’ll find something for you.”
“Okay.” I shrug and look around aimlessly.
My head snaps back to her, as she talks into a small microphone on her collar. “Jen, we have a young man up front, looking for a gift. Can you please come up?”
