Holy Hot, Martha
*
These boots were made for walking.
The first day after Martha died was quiet. My dad went to the funeral home with Eddy and Matt while Louisa and Jason attempted to salvage their broken relationship.
Jean was MIA.
I went for a hike, something I rarely did alone. I always needed someone, usually Robert. Classic codependency.
I was too short for the peephole. I always called Robert to meet me for lunch and avoided solo drives that were over an hour long. Anxiety ruled the map.
However, I had to adapt once Robert was fourteen hours away.
Today, I decided to adapt further, go into nature, my peaceful place, and expend my energy. I also challenged my fear of being a True Crime special, snatched by some creep in the woods.
I hoped three hours of hiking would give me clarity on why I wasn’t sad about my mother’s death. Yet, it only gave me bug bites, a sunburn, and sore feet.
On day two, my dad asked us to clean their old barn because he was moving into a new house.
I met Matt, Eddy, and Jason at our parents’ old rental and hesitated.
I hadn’t been in the house since my mother collapsed in May.
Everything was left exactly how it was as if the house was just waiting for them to return.
I looked at Matt and frowned. “Do we need to pack up the house?”
He shook his head. “Renee, Kirk, and Louisa are coming over to do that.”
Jason coughed—a lungful of what smelled like last night’s rum, Diet Coke, and menthol. He winced, then added, “Lily is bringing Marisela to help.”
I frowned. “Is Tom going to help us with the barn?”
At this, Jason burst out laughing. Tomas was fifteen; if Eddy was helping, why couldn’t he?
He shook his head. “Tom will not be helpful. I told him he could stay sleeping at Matt and Glenda’s.”
I accepted the answer as the barn doors opened and the odor of decay assaulted us. Nearly 300 crumbling cardboard boxes sat, holding almost 100 years of Soot history, left to the elements and wildlife.
“What does Dad want us to do with it all?”
Matt shrugged. “He said burn it.”
“Burn it? These are family pictures!”
Matt sighed. “I mean, pick through them, and we can rebox them, but magazines, books, and other crap that Dad doesn’t want to keep, we should burn.”
I scowled. “You know, that’s what the Nazis said.”
Jason let out a bellowing laugh as Matt shook his head at me. “I don’t think the Nazis said, ‘Burn these fifty identical issues of ‘TIME Y2K.’”
I started opening the boxes as I grumbled, “You never know.”
Fifteen mice (four dead, eleven alive), dozens of spiders, screams from Jason, and 100 boxes later, we ended for the day.
I entered the house to find Lily and Louisa cackling in my parents’ room and Marisela pulling books and pictures off a shelf at a glacial speed. I crept quietly up to the thirteen-year-old, digging my fingers into her ribs.
“Ahhhh!”
I let her go, and she turned around. “Aunt Bree!”
Her tiny arms wrapped around my neck, and I was reminded of how much I missed her. In the last two years, they’d moved to California, so I saw her less and less. She was a little teenager with a “Team Jacob” shirt.
Her nose curled up as she exclaimed, “You smell terrible.”
I nodded. “The barn is disgusting.”
Before I could help her with the books, she crossed her arms and scowled at me.
“Oh no, what did I do?”
She frowned. “You took Sol and Aurora to dinner, not Tomas and me.”
I wanted to laugh, but she was dead serious. I had forgotten the sacred rule of my favorite aunthood: balance.
“You are correct, but I thought you two would rather do dinner with Uncle Robert and me.”
At this, her eyes lit up. I may have been the favorite aunt, but Robert would always be the favorite uncle.
Despite the dust, dead mice, and emotional landmines, I kept showing up. For the next week, I helped pack up the house, only once running out when Louisa tricked me into opening the top drawer of my mother’s side table. I would have a new topic to discuss with Paige.
Between the laughter, buckets of unsweetened iced tea, and being around those I loved, I didn’t feel as guilty. I would never love my mother as much as the others would, but I could be there for them and their pain.
Also, I wanted to be there for my mother’s thigh-high suede boots in the closet. Holy hot, Martha.
Two days later, Robert returned home. I cracked when he walked through the door and immediately pulled me into his arms.
All my jokes, the facade, and the steely exterior melted away, and I sobbed.
For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.
Martha was a narcissist who pitted her children against one another. She spent money she didn’t have on things she didn’t need. She manipulated anyone who challenged her desires.
Yet, at this moment, with Robert telling me I’d be okay, I could only picture the good moments.
She baked cinnamon rolls with me and Louisa. We sat on the patio with a canvas and paintbrushes as she helped me bring my vision to life. She sewed little cat ears and tails for my robotics team.
She took me for Chinese food takeout when I called her from school, saying I was sick when she knew I couldn’t stand being teased that day.
I was reminded that I could have empathy for my mother. I could see her as a woman who made the most of her knowledge and emotional capacity. However, I didn’t have to love her.
For the first time in days, I exhaled without flinching. I could let the good moments breathe without letting the pain take all the air.