10. Then
Then: October 24th
M om is sitting at the kitchen table with a heaping plate of cookies when I get home from school today. Since she started her new medication, she seems to be in better spirits. I still have no idea what they are giving her, but as long as it's working and she’s happy, it doesn’t matter.
So seeing her with freshly baked marshmallow oatmeal cookies doesn’t surprise me. While reading and writing are my top love languages, hers, hands down, is baking. I shove a cookie into my mouth, and she motions for me to join her. I set down my backpack and wipe the crumbs from my lips.
Instead of grabbing a cookie, she reaches for my hand and holds it softly in hers. “How was your day Sweet P?” she asks.
Her eyes are bright today, shiny like a penny. I like seeing Mom like this. “It was pretty good. We have a field trip coming up. It’s a tour of the local university to introduce us to college and get us thinking about where we might want to go someday. ”
I usually avoid the “college talk” altogether, as it can be a sensitive topic for Mom. She had plans to graduate from college, but had gotten pregnant with me her freshman year and dropped out. She never tried to go back and finish. She told me once that being a mom means more to her, and for the most part I believe her, but some days I can’t help but wonder who she’d be if she had continued her education.
She pats my hand and nods her head. “That sounds fun, honey. Just remember you don’t have to pick the one you’re visiting. Jot down your favorites and make a pros and cons list. That’s what I always do. And then I pick the best option!”
She giggles at an unspoken joke. “Better than doing eeny-meeny-miny-moe!” She laughs again and finally pops a cookie into her mouth.
“That’s a good idea, Mom. I’ll do that, thanks.” I reach for another cookie. I know I shouldn’t eat too many before dinner, but at least one more won’t hurt.
Her copper eyes flicker with something else and her spine straightens. For a moment I think Dad is home and he’s just come in the door, because she’s staring off somewhere behind me. I turn in my chair, but nobody is there. She blinks and she’s back with me. It was like she’d thought of something and then it’d vanished into thin air.
“I actually have something to talk to you about.” She offers me another cookie, and I gladly accept the offer. Okay, this one will be my last.
“It’s about your dad, honey. He told me he wants a divorce.”
I freeze and the cookie goes dry in my mouth. Suddenly, I crave water or a tall glass of milk. Did she say divorce?
Forcing it down, I manage, “What do you mean? Did he say why?”
She takes my hand in hers again and, this time, stares at our interlocked fingers as though they are the only thing providing her with stability. How is she so calm right now? Here I am already freaking out, and she’s sitting here with a plate of cookies holding my hand. I should be the one providing her comfort, not the other way around.
“He just said it’s all getting to be too much,” she says. When I don’t immediately respond she adds, “And by that, he means I’m too much.”
Sure, Mom isn’t perfect. She has her really good days and her really bad days. But she’s been better the past several days. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I’m sure Dad has paid attention too. How could he not? He told me to let him know if she was different towards me, and she’s been nothing but amazing. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I don’t understand at all.
I stand up quickly, almost knocking over my chair in the process. I’m angry. How could Dad do this to her? To us? He’s just giving up? Is she giving in too?
“Mom, he can't divorce you. That makes no sense.” I don’t bother hiding the frustration in my tone.
Her eyes soften, while mine harden.
“I’m sorry, Spider-Girl, but he can. He’s already handed me the papers,” she says, defeated.
He’s already handed me the papers.
Now, I’m fuming. He can’t do this. He didn’t even try talking to me about this. He never talks to me about anything!
“Don’t sign them!” I demand. It’s not her I’m angry at, but she flinches back into her chair at the blow.
“I haven’t signed anything yet. But I think he’s done this time. I mean, he’s threatened it before, but this time he’s serious. This time he brought papers, and he’s never done that.”
What does she mean before ? I can’t stand to be here any longer. I don’t know how to comfort her when it feels like she’s already waving her white flag high into the air. Do whatever pleases Dad, because apparently, he gets to call the shots. That’s not fair.
“I need some air. I can’t face Dad when he comes home. Tell him whatever you want. I’ll be back in a bit.” I grab a water bottle from the fridge and her car keys off the small table by the front door (The bowl hasn’t been replaced since their last fight). I still haven’t gotten my permit yet, but that didn’t stop her from throwing her keys at me before. Today, she doesn’t have to force me to drive. I take her car and do just that. I drive.