Chapter 23 Vanessa
Vanessa
When Jason died, I thought I’d never recover. I felt so broken. I felt downright shabby. I was so crammed full of emotions, memories, and sorrow that I thought my life would never be clean, tidy, or welcoming ever again.
I felt like this little gardener’s cottage looked.
Overstuffed, overrun, and run-down.
But now, it’s sparkling, fresh, and new.
Samantha and Natalie did this for Trish, but really they did it for me.
They’ve been doing it a little at a time, as a secret.
But when I look at the tiny cottage, I can’t help thinking that they’ve been doing the very same thing for me, too.
I’m happier. I’m brighter. I’ve been clearing out my damage and my hurt feelings and the memories I clutched to my chest like they would save me.
Really, they were drowning me.
But now, like this cottage, I’m clearing things out.
I’m cleaning things up. I’m refurbishing.
Ireland has been a really cathartic way for me to do that.
Trish, my past, came with me, and maybe it’s time for me to move on from having her quite so close.
Maybe Natalie and Samantha are right—we both need a little space now that we’re healing and growing again.
So a few days after I discover their secret, a few days before Christmas, we decide to move her, my mother-in-law.
Trish is a very small woman.
It makes sense that she would have very few things. Even so, this is kind of pathetic. “Three suitcases?” I blink. “That’s it? That’s all you brought?”
She shrugs. “You already had furniture you had brought with you, and at my age, I’ve discovered that stuff doesn’t mean much.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Natalie says there was enough furniture for a dozen houses crammed in there. They’ve refurbished some of it, and you can pick whichever other pieces you want.
You’ll have a house full of everything you need in no time.
Plus, the appliances are all new. I’m actually a little jealous.
” Mostly, I’m jealous that the new cottage’s electrical was brought up to code.
I swear, having haphazard electrical outlets scattered through our house, with flickering lights in most rooms, makes me completely nuts.
“That sounds like a really fun adventure.” She beams. “And I want you to know how grateful I am, to you and to your friends. I’ll still be close, but I won’t be here to drive you insane anymore. I did worry about that.” She looks pleased, but for the first time, I wonder.
“Are you actually excited to move?” I peer at her. “Or are you sad? Will you miss being here, surrounded by kids and drama?”
Her smile’s warm. “Ah, Vanessa. You have such a big, warm heart. I knew it would be hard for you to live with your mother-in-law, and Jason’s not even here to tell me when I’ve overstepped.
I’m sure I’ve made you crazy, but you never complained.
” She reaches up to brush a hand against my cheek.
“I love you so much, and living here has been wonderful.” She looks like she might cry.
“Ever since Jason and Jeremy moved out years ago, my house felt so empty, and being here, it felt full again. But I also want you to have your space, and I’ll be so close in the new cottage that it’s really the best option in all the world. ” Her smile looks entirely genuine.
Within ten minutes, we’ve loaded up her suitcases, driven them around the corner, and unloaded them again. Natalie and Samantha already had Rían help them move a bed, a chest-of-drawers, a nightstand, and a kitchen table into the place.
“You don’t even have a sofa,” I say. “Maybe you shouldn’t move in yet.”
“They’re coming to hook up the internet this afternoon, and I need to be here to meet them,” she says.
“And the sofa you and I picked out is coming tomorrow, along with my new television. Plus, you know Jeremy’s in town.
Now he can come visit me without bothering you.
” She inclines her head. “Don’t you worry about me.
I’m going to be great in here. I have a dozen books I haven’t even read yet in my blue bag. ” She winks.
“But—”
“I’m not feeble,” she says. “I can unpack my own bags, and these kitchen cabinets are amazing.”
“You don’t even have dishes.”
“What do you think is in this bag?” She points. “I never unpacked it at your place, because you had a kitchen full.”
“You have one bag of clothes, one bag of housewares and toiletries, and one bag of kitchen stuff?” I scrunch my nose. “That’s not nearly—”
She waves something at me, and when I focus, I realize it’s a credit card. “I’ll buy the things I’m lacking, so stop fussing.”
I sigh, but I listen. Moments later, I’m headed out the door with her promises that she’ll call me when she’s ready to go out shopping. “Furnishing and outfitting a new house is a lot of work, and I’m just right there.” I point. “I can pick you up at a moment’s notice.”
She has a car now, the funniest little smart car ever manufactured, and watching her drive it makes me laugh, but if she wants to buy anything bigger than a toaster, she’ll need me to take her.
“You have your medicine, right?” I ask.
She shoos me out the door. “I’m not a stray duckling.
” She shakes her head. “I know I have to take my medicine, and I’ve been taking it every day.
I can also wipe my own bottom.” She’s smiling.
“Now, out with you. Go enjoy yourself. Walk around in your underwear or eat ice cream while binging Bridgerton.”
“I can do those things while you’re around,” I say.
“But you don’t,” she says. “And now you can.”
Only, when I get back home, the place feels oddly empty. The kids are at school, and it’s entirely quiet. I walk the whole place, stopping in the room Trish just cleared out.
She was making me crazy.
She was rearranging things without asking.
She was throwing out perfectly good snacks the kids liked.
But ever since Jason died, I’ve been totally alone.
I didn’t have another adult to bounce ideas off of.
I’ve been the only one to match up socks, to organize the pantry, and to tell the kids to eat their vegetables.
Trish was a little irritating, sure, but she cared.
And now she’s gone, and I miss her a lot more than I expected I would.
I sit down on a chair in the corner, and I cry.
Not for long. I have work to do, so I pull myself together, and when I finish my work for the day, the dishes are still dirty in the sink.
The laundry hasn’t been moved over. No one’s listening to Carol King in the kitchen.
My empty house is terribly depressing. I’m ready to rush around the corner and beg her to move back, but that feels pathetic.
She just got her own place. A cute place.
A place she can decorate how she’d like.
A place that’s not overflowing with chaos and chores.
What if she’s relieved to finally not have to do all our dishes? What if she’s binging Netflix and walking around in her underwear? What if all the things she said about me were really true for her, and she’s grateful to finally have some space?
I make myself a very sad, very lonely lunch, and then I call Jack.
After five minutes on the phone whinging to him, he says, “That’s enough. You know that old woman is just dying for you to beg her to come back. Just go do it.”
“You think?” I wince. “It hasn’t even been a single day. I’m not sure.”
He chuckles. “Vanessa, you two crack me up. I know she’s your husband’s mother, but I swear, she loves you more than my mother loves me.
She watches you, you know, her eyes following you, and if they were turned into emojis, they’d have hearts on them.
She laughs at all your jokes, even the lame ones. ”
“Hey,” I say, but my fake outrage is feeble. Because I’m crying again.
“She supports you with the kids, no matter how strict you get. And she’s always looking for ways to help out around the house to make your life better. That’s not the behavior of someone who wants to live alone.”
“But when they gave us the cottage, she was relieved,” I say.
“She can’t make you think she’ll be lonely there,” he says. “I swear, for a devoted mother, you’re clueless around your clone.”
“She’s older, so doesn’t that make me the clone?”
He swears softly. “Your husband married his own mother. I hear that happens.”
“Stop.”
“I mean it. That woman’s just like you, and I promise, she’s agonizing, too. I would bet—anything, really. What do you want?”
I laugh. “Cut off your mother.”
The laughing dies instantly.
“I was kidding.”
“What happened when you went to tea?”
I sigh. “Nothing, I told you.”
“You’re lying. What did she say?”
“Jack, it’s fine. Your mother didn’t like me much, which you predicted would be the case, and she told me I’m too old for you. That’s something we already knew.”
“She’s wrong—you know that.”
“Only she’s right,” I say. “I am too old for you, even if you persist in saying you don’t care.”
“Women live longer than men,” he says for the fiftieth time. “We’re basically the same age.”
I snort.
“Vanessa, tell me that my mom didn’t get in your head. I told you meeting her was a terrible idea.”
“You did.”
“You’re perfect for me.”
“You seem to think that.”
“Because it’s true.” He grunts. “Now, repeat after me.”
“Repeat after me.”
“Good girl. ‘Jack is perfect for me.’”
I laugh.
“You stopped repeating. Bad girl.”
“Bad girl.”
“You’re very annoying.”
“You’re very annoying.”
“This was a bad idea.”
I agree. “This was a bad idea.” It is pretty funny, in a Trina-esque kind of way.
“Stop being juvenile, tell me you know we’re great together, and then march over to Trisha’s place, and ask her—no, beg her—to move back in with you. She can’t have moved much. What did you take to the new place? A tub full of crackers, a box of shoes, and a vase?”
I snicker. “Close.”
“I’ll come by later and haul it all back.”
“But the kids were going to get their own rooms.”