14. Then
Then: November 21st
I ’m not sure where my parents currently stand on the D-topic (divorce). Mom hasn’t brought it up and Dad just seems to dodge us both altogether. Making sure he’s gone before we wake up and working late at the office so he misses dinner. When there’s a change or something that makes him uncomfortable, like whatever is going on between him and Mom, he’s like a turtle who retreats into his shell.
I study Mom closely. Not because of what Dad had mentioned about her new medication, but because ever since she’d talked to me about her and Dad that day, she hasn’t been the same. Not really.
It’s hard to explain.
Before, she would have just as many happy days as gloomy days. On the bad days she stayed in bed for hours. Somehow sleep helped her cope with whatever was troubling her that day. But this is different .
Mom has grown quiet. Even her steps seem lighter, as though she’s in a constant state of tip-toeing through the house. Afraid if she says the wrong thing or makes the wrong move, we will all break into a thousand tiny pieces. Truthfully, we just might.
She hardly feels like eating whenever Dad or I are eating, she just walks into another room in the house and comes back when we are finished. She doesn’t ask me about my day at school or bother to ask if I’d like to have any friends over.
When she does speak, it’s like she’s speaking through a muted volume. Her tone is soft and her words are slow. And she always says as little as possible, as though she isn’t allowed to say too much.
It’s a strange side of her I’ve never seen before. But I haven’t been brave enough to ask Dad about it yet. While he’s busy hiding in his shell, and Mom in her own sort of shell, I’m just trying to be the glue that holds us all together. And it’s exhausting.
It’s Friday afternoon and I just got home from school. I don’t expect Quiet Mom to greet me at the door, but I’m surprised when I don’t see her in the kitchen when I walk in. Backpack still on, I peer into the living room. The curtains are drawn, and the only sound is the soft hum of the furnace.
“Mom?” I call out, hoping she will respond in some way. Where is she?
I feel my heartbeat start to pick up speed as I fling open my parents’ bedroom door. I suck in a breath, as though I’m entering something sacred. Of course, I’ve been in here before, but it’s not like my parents have an open invitation to their room. This has always been their private space, and I’ve always respected it. It’s like some kind of unwritten rule, I don’t come in here, and they don’t come in mine. The only times I’ve come in here recently are to check on Mom.
The first thing I notice about the room is how spotless everything in it is. The closer I glance around the room, the quicker I realize that the reason it’s spotless is because there’s hardly anything left in here.
All the shelves are empty. They are normally full of Mom’s books. I haven’t seen her pick up a book to read in a while, but she loves her collection with all her favorite authors, and it’s odd that they aren’t in her bookcases.
I step further into the room, my backpack starting to sag down on my shoulders from the textbooks weighing it down. I open Dad’s closet first. He’s always been the organized one. He mostly wears polos or button-downs and they are all displayed neatly, by color. His shoes are the same way, not a single one out of line. I let loose a breath. I had the panicky thought that maybe Dad already moved out, and they separated after all. Have they signed the papers without telling me? They wouldn’t, would they?
Surely they wouldn’t do that without talking to me about it first, right? Sadly, I don’t know what to expect from either of them anymore. Panic creeps back in as I shut his door and move to Mom’s.
Closing my eyes briefly, I ease her door open on the exhale. Opening her door wider, I step inside and gasp. Nothing is in here. Every little piece of her is gone. Her closet was never as neat as Dad’s. Oftentimes she’d just thrown clothes, saying she didn’t have time to fold them and would get to it later. But there is absolutely nothing here.
My worst fears have come alive. It’s not Dad I have to worry about moving out.
It’s Mom.