Denver （Eighteen Years Old）
Denver
(eighteen years old)
Denver: It’s officially been too long since I kissed you
Blair: It’s been two days
Denver: Two days too long :(
Blair: I miss you too
Blair: I’ll make it up to you when you visit next weekend
Blair had never lived with us, but that didn’t change how empty and quiet the place had been since her move to Vancouver a couple days earlier. I’d driven down with her family to drop her off in a small dorm room—the apartment plan didn’t make sense anymore, since I was staying in Wells Canyon. It was a long five-hour drive back with her parents, and an even longer forty-ish hours since.
Coffee percolated in the corner, and I took a long inhale, staring down at the unending text message chain between us. Nine months. That’s how much time I had to survive before she would be back home for summer, and it didn’t matter what state my family was in come September, I’d be moving with her.
Mom’s new care aide, a young girl—couldn’t be much older than I was—walked into the kitchen. Kate had moved into Grandpa’s old bedroom two weeks after he died to help care for Mom, since it was all hands on deck with the ranch. Turns out, Grandpa had taught us how to be cowboys, but not much else about how to operate a cattle ranch. We were fumbling things left and right without him, so Dad made the executive decision to hire help.
“Hey,” Kate said, sliding a cup of tea across the table. “Do you mind taking this to your mom for me?”
“Uh, sure.” I stood up, sliding my phone into my pocket and picking up the tea, careful not to slosh it as I trudged down the hallway to my parents’ room.
The old door squeaked a little when I pushed it open, and I gave my mom a weak smile. She was in bed—where she was more often than not, since quitting cancer treatment—and watching Happy Days on the small television sitting on top of her dresser. Dad was famously anti-TV, but when Mom started chemotherapy, and had plenty of days where she couldn’t leave bed, he cracked pretty easily.
“Baby boy, what are you doing hanging around the house on a Tuesday morning?” She shuffled in the bed to sit upright and patted the blanket. Kicking off my boots, I set the tea down on the bedside table and crawled in next to her.
“Wasn’t feeling great when I woke up,” I admitted, leaning back on the pillows and half-watching the show.
“I know it feels like she’ll be gone forever, but she won’t be, honey.” Mom took my hand in hers. So much softer, without hours spent in the garden or saddle, and everything about her seemed tired. Her movements slow and wary, like a chameleon unsure of the next branch.
“Yeah, she’ll be back in the spring. And I’m going to go visit her as often as I can. I mean…not much different than driving five hours to a rodeo for the weekend.”
“You two are lucky to have each other.” Her fingers cinched around mine. “Reminds me a lot of your dad and me. I decided I was going to marry him when I was twelve years old. When I got my driver’s license, the only signature I’d ever practiced was one with Wells as my last name, so I just signed my first name.”
“Damn, you’re like Cher.” I nudged her gently, and her laugh crinkled the skin around her fatigued eyes.
“I bet Blair only knows what her signature looks like with your last name, honey. She’s loved you for longer than you realize, and she’ll be back. She’s gotta set herself—and your future family—up for success first.”
“No way Blair’s taking my last name. Knowing her, our kids are going to be hyphenated. Although, there are worse names out there than Hart-Wells, I guess.”
Her exhale rattled, so I turned to make sure she was okay. Quickly wiping the wetness on her washed-out cheeks, she licked away a tear clung to her lip.
“What’s up?” I asked.
She coughed quietly into her elbow, then dried the last of the tears dampening her eyelashes. “I hope you two have the perfect wedding one day. All the Hart-Wells babies you dream of. And…” Her voice cracked. “I hope you have all the happiness your dad and I have had, and more. ”
“Mom…” The words caught in my throat. Torn between wanting to argue that she’d be around for my future wedding and kids, and knowing all too well that she wouldn’t be.
“You have no idea how happy it makes me to know you found your person, and I got to live long enough to see it.”
She slung an arm around me, and I leaned into it, resting my head in the hollow of her shoulder. Her gentle heartbeat and the Happy Days theme song creating a core memory deep in my soul.
“Honey, I have something I want you to give Blair. Can you grab my jewelry box from my dresser?”
I peeled myself from her embrace, sniffling back the stinging in my nostrils. Her jewelry box was small, and didn’t have a lot in it. Mom was never the type to wear necklaces, and she didn’t even have her ears pierced. But she had a few pieces passed down from her own mother and grandmother, so Dad hand-carved her a wooden box to keep them safe. My fingers ran over the delicate tooling when I passed it to her.
“I love having you boys, but I hate that I don’t have a daughter to give any of these things to.” She opened the box and pulled out a necklace. “This one came all the way from England when my grandmother immigrated to Canada after the First World War. It would be a shame for it to end up in a pawn shop or something.”
“I’ll give it to Blair. She’ll take good care of it.”
“No, no.” Mom shook her head, dropping the gold chain back into the box. “If she wants it, make sure she gets it. But that’s not what I need you to give her.”
Her finger slowly dug around in the small puddle of silver and gold, and she pulled out a simple gold band with a small diamond on it. Mom’s engagement ring. A smile spread across her face when she slipped it onto her ring finger.
“I haven’t worn it in ages”—she wiggled it up and down, showing it was clearly much too big for her slender fingers—“and, as much as I’m sure your brothers might be a little pissed off with you for getting to have it, it makes perfect sense. Blair’s the closest I’ve ever had to a daughter. If she wants something different, you can melt down the gold and maybe add more diamonds to fancy it up?”
“Mom, I can’t take your engagement ring. Besides, we won’t be getting married for years still. She needs to finish school first.” I pushed her hand back when she tried to offer me the ring, refusing to accept it because that felt like she had given up entirely. She was handing her eighteen-year-old son a diamond ring, expecting she wouldn’t be able to give it to me when I was older. I’d never be older than eighteen in her lifetime. “If you really want her to have it, I’ll get it closer to when I’m ready to propose.”
“ Honey. I’m giving the ring to you now out of necessity. I don’t know how much longer I have, or whether we’ll get another moment like this—just the two of us. You’re my baby boy, and I’m so proud of the man you’re becoming. I need you to take this. And I need you to give it to her one day, when you’re ready.”
“Mom, I—” My voice broke, tears falling in steady streams down my cheeks while I choked on pooling saliva. “I wish you could be there.”
She tucked the ring into my palm, folding my trembling fingers around the gold circle. “I will be, baby.”