The phone was still on speaker, so my mother could hear everything.
But she didn't seem to be listening. She just kept smiling, bustling around the kitchen.
I quickly switched off the speaker and told Edward, "Could you please have your assistant pass along a message? When she wakes up, ask her to come home. My mother was discharged from the hospital today, and it's also my birthday. I'm hoping we can all sit down together."
"Sure thing, buddy. I'll definitely let her know."
He put a strange emphasis on the word definitely, almost giddy about it.
I didn't press him on why they'd been sleeping near each other. All I wanted was for Marcia to come home and spend some time with my mother. Just talk to her. Make her happy.
But after the food was ready, Marcia still hadn't come back.
My mother and I sat at the dining table and waited. One hour passed. Then another.
When the dishes went cold, my mother carried them back to the kitchen and steamed them hot again.
We waited deep into the night. The figure we kept hoping would appear in the doorway never came. Her phone was off. Our messages went unanswered.
"Mom, let's just eat."
"We don't need to wait anymore."
This time, she didn't argue.
"Alright. Let's eat."
She still wore that gentle smile, piling food onto my plate without stopping. I didn't know why, but a heavy sense of dread settled in my chest. My left eyelid wouldn't stop twitching.
Later that night, my mother pushed open my bedroom door. She was coughing as she tucked the blanket back around me. "This child. Kicking off his covers in his sleep. How am I supposed to stop worrying about you?"
I wasn't asleep. I hadn't slept at all.
She stood there watching me for a full hour before finally going back to her room.
The next morning, my mother—who had always been an early riser—didn't get up to make breakfast.
My heart lurched, pounding hard, as if I already knew I'd lost the most important thing in the world.
I walked to her room. She was still lying there.
Something felt wrong. I reached out and touched her hand.
The ice-cold skin stabbed into my palm like a blade. My legs buckled beneath me.
"Mom. Wake up."
Her eyes were shut tight, as though they would never open again. Panic tore through me. I pulled her upright, ready to rush her to the hospital, but then I saw the letter she'd left for me.
My dear boy, if you're reading this, your mother is already gone.
Everything between you and Marcia—I knew all of it.
My son, if living like this is too painful, let each other go. Go find your father.
I hope you can forgive me. I've already contacted your dad to come take you home.
Tears blurred my vision. The ink on the letter bled where they fell.
Then I heard noise outside the door.
"Everard, it's already ten o'clock and you haven't made breakfast?"
"Marcia, are you hungry? I can go in and cook something for you."
"See, you always know how to take care of me. Unlike some people who don't have a thoughtful bone in their body."
I set down the letter. I wiped the tears from my face. Then I walked out of the room, my expression carved from stone.
The first thing I saw was Marcia and Edward, their lips inches apart, about to kiss.
"If you two want to swap spit, take it outside. Don't defile my home."
I didn't want my mother's spirit to witness this. I wouldn't let it taint her passage to the next life.
"What the hell is wrong with you this early in the morning?"
Marcia spun around, seething, and grabbed the nearest object she could find to hurl at me.
I sidestepped it.
"Edward had something in his eye. I was just blowing it out for him." She crossed her arms. "Meanwhile, you're completely useless. All you do is throw jealous fits without lifting a finger. Edward and I both have low blood sugar. If we don't eat soon, we'll—"
"You want to eat? You have hands and feet. Use them."
My voice was cold. Colder than it had ever been.
If Marcia had possessed even a shred of decency, she would have come home yesterday to share that meal with us.
My mother was dead.
There was no reason left to tell her.
