I straightened, something about her tone setting me on edge. Especially with the way she kept her eyes averted, focusing intently on dicing peppers with meticulous precision.
“I’m thinking about spending some time with your Aunt Violet. The therapist Henry found me has encouraged me to reach out to old friends and family, start taking back my life. So I reached out to your father’s sister. I didn’t tell her everything, just that I’d never had Lewey Body Dementia and had been drugged to mimic the effects. She offered me the guest room in her house if I wanted to come stay for a while.”
I furrowed my brow. “Doesn’t she live on Staten Island?”
“She does.” She stole a glance at me before returning her attention to the vegetables.
No wonder she insisted on cooking. Whenever she had something difficult to talk about, she’d always do it while preparing food. Probably to serve as a distraction.
“I’d have to talk to Henry. This isn’t a decision I want to make without discussing it with him.”
Mom snapped her eyes up to meet mine. “I didn’t mean for you to think you would have to come with me.”
I blinked repeatedly. “What are you saying?”
She set the knife onto the cutting board and grasped my hand in hers. “I’m saying it’s time I finally live my life again. I love spending time with you, and Henry has been more than welcoming. But this isn’t my home.”
“It’s not mine either,” I attempted to protest.
She pushed out a long sigh. “I think it is, sweetie. I think you’ve finally found your place. Finally found someone who can be your home. Just like your father was to me. This is all I’ve ever wanted for you. To find someone who looks at you the way Henry does. Who cares for you the way Henry does.”
“But I just got you back,” I managed to say through the tightness in my throat.
“You still have me,” she soothed, skirting around the island and wrapping me in her arms. “I’m not leaving right away. Maybe in another month or so. Once the dust settles around here.” She pulled back. “You can come visit anytime. And I’ll fly down here to see you, too.”
I parted my lips, searching my brain for something to say. An argument for why she couldn’t go.
But I knew what it was like to feel like a prisoner. To yearn for freedom.
She had that now.
Just like I did.
“This is really what you want, isn’t it?”
“It is. I’m finally able to make my own choices. Live my own life. The same goes for you.”
I nodded, all too familiar with why she felt she needed to do this.
A few weeks ago, I was in her shoes. Planned to leave this place the second it was safe for me to do so.
Now, the only place I wanted to be was with Henry.
It was time for my mother to find her place, too.
“I just hope Aunt Vi has another guest room since I plan on visiting as often as possible,” I said, pulling out of her embrace and swiping at my eyes.
“I think that can be arranged.” She gave my arm a squeeze before returning to the other side of the island and cracking some eggs into the large mixing bowl.
“Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let Aunt Vi take you to her salon. Or clothes shopping. Someone needs to tell her leopard-print leggings and teased hair went out of style in the nineties.”
She threw her head back and laughed, the sound so full of life. Just like my mom.
“You know how it is on Staten Island. Everything’s bigger. And bolder.”