Mom lets the silence linger while I pull up to our house and shift the car into park.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t need to. Never apologize for falling in love and wanting to take care of your person.” I shake my head, but Mom ignores the self-admonishment. “Now ask me.”
I flash her a deadpan look and she responds in kind. Reluctantly, I oblige. “Tell me something real.”
She takes my hand in her lap. “I’msorry you can’t be there with Han?—”
“Mom, please, that’s not?—”
“Hey,” she scolds. “It’s my turn to talk.” Rolling my lips to stifle my grin, I nod. “I’m sorry you can’t be there with Hannah. The last thing any parent wants is to burden their children with their own needs—stop shaking your head at me, Son. Someday when you have your own kids, you’ll understand. All I could ever want for you is to find someone you love and start a life with them.” Her fingers nudge my chin until we’re eye to eye. “And I’m sorry you’ve had to put that on hold because of me.”
“Stop, please!” I tug her over the console into a hug. “I love you, Mom. And I’m so thankful I don’t have to do this life without you.”
“Me too, sweetheart.”
I take in an unsteady breath, clutching onto my mother like she’s the only one who gets it. And maybe she is. “I’m mad, Mom. Why couldn’t Lydia have been as lucky as you?”
She eases back, and I clear the tears from my cheeks, sniffing hard.
“You’re asking the wrong question,” Mom says. “I only had acouple of conversations with Lydia, but it’s easy to figure out the kind of woman she is. She’s lived life with no regrets. She’s not dwelling on the crappy hand she’s been dealt, calling herself unlucky. So you shouldn’t either.”
I’m taken back to that first night on the dock with Hannah five years ago.If the women in your family are glue, my mom is confetti.
“I’ll tell you what sheisthinking though,” Mom goes on. “Lydia is spending her last days, weeks, whatever time she’s got left, celebrating all the amazing things this life has given her. Her daughter being her pride and joy. Don’t pity Lydia. Or Hannah, for that matter. Celebrate them.”
I lean against my seat, thoughts whirling. “How do I do that from here?”
“Let me help you.” My brows lift. “You think I don’t know a thing or two about long-distance relationships? Your father and I were in one for a good chunk of our marriage.”
Deployment after deployment, I huff a sad chuckle at the memory.
“I’m the queen of care packages, Rowan.” She beams lightheartedly. “We’re gonna make sure Hannah feels your support even if you’re not there.”
Later that night, after Mom and I have schemed up our first care package, ordered the supplies, and scheduled the necessary deliveries, I spend an hour on the phone with Hannah. Her voice is weary when she answers. I resist the urge to ask how she’s sleeping, though the thought of her tossing and turning all night without me there to rub her back until she drifts off makes my throat tight. Even worse is the possibility of another run-in with Daniel—my stomach recoils at the image of her coming face to face with him again.
But I refrain from talking about any of that.No pity. No guilt.
Instead, I ask her to tell me her favorite memory of Lydia. When her smile feels like it might leap through the phone, I ask her to tell me about a time her mom embarrassed her in public. Her laugh through the receiver as she tells the story is the most beautiful, soul-filling sound I’ve ever heard.
For the first time since I left, Hannah doesn’t cry when we talk. The call doesn’t end with me clutching the phonein my fist to keep from launching it out the window. And when we say goodbye, her voice isn’t weak or lifeless.
She sounds content. Steady. Strong.
And so damn hopeful.
56
care packages and dates
Hannah
It’s beenthree weeks since the care packages started showing up on Mom’s doorstep.
The first came on a Saturday morning. Inside was a bag of strawberry Dum-Dums for me and a package of Almond Roca candies for Richard. I was exactly that-day years old when I learned they were his favorite.
With the candy was a novelty popcorn bucket, six bags of microwave popcorn, and two throwback DVDs: the originalSabrinaand the 90’s remake. I think Richard lit up as much as I did when he saw them. Ever since he told me about their movie theater meet-cute, I’d been hoping Mom would wake long enough for us to watch it together. And I know how much she loves listening to DVD commentary.