Chapter 24
The sun is starting to set, casting a golden glow across the yard as I pat soil over a cluster of seeds.
Lily is crouched a few feet away, her boots dusted with dirt, hands steady as she digs a hole for a new bush we bought this morning. I watch, mesmerized by her. She’s still every bit the woman I remember, even after all these years.
“Diana,” she growls, pulling me from my daze as she grabs my arm, currently dumping way too much water on the newly planted seeds. “Don’t use so much. They’ll drown before they sprout.”
I pull away quickly, my cheeks heating up like I’m still a teenager. “Right. Got it. Don’t kill the baby plants.”
She snorts, before catching herself, pressing her mouth into a thin line. “What’s gotten into you today? You’re distracted.”
I dig a small hole, carefully, and drop in more seeds. Pressing the soil over them, I don’t look at her. I don’t want her to see the hope blooming on my face. Because this, it’s progress.
She’s talking to me.
I don’t screw that up by telling her I was staring at her, but I can tell her the other reason.
“I have my phone call with my youngest daughter today. She’s away at school in California, but we always make time to catch up on Friday evenings.” I look up, shocked to find her watching me.
“We were always so close. It’s hard not having her here. But I look forward to our talks all week.” I can’t help but smile thinking of my baby girl.
Lily doesn’t answer right away, but then she does, muttering, almost to herself, “That’s nice. Tell her I said hi.”
Tell her I said hi.
I look around the yard, fighting the tears prickling at my eyes. It’s so stupid. But the thought of Lily meeting my children…
I want nothing more.
“I got a few herbs too,” I say, dumping some soil into a medium-sized pot. “Mint, basil, parsley. Figured they might be easier to keep alive.”
“You raised actual kids, Di. You won’t kill a plant.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
We work side by side, moving slower than we used to. She’s still sharp, brushing off my questions, shutting down small talk. But she lets me hand her tools, she lets me kneel in the dirt beside her, and she doesn’t move away when our arms brush.
When I pause to wipe sweat from my forehead, she glances at me with narrowed eyes. “You’re not terrible at this.”
That makes me pause. Did Lily compliment me?
“I’m only saying that because you used to be,” she adds on when I look at her with hopeful eyes.
“Thanks,” I say, going for neutral, but I know it comes out much too soft.
She shrugs, focusing back on the job in front of her.
I know she feels it too.
We’ll always be best friends. I just have to remind her of that.
A hot bath was precisely what I needed after a long day. I sank into the water and stayed there longer than I should have, letting the warmth loosen the tension sitting, well, everywhere.
Now, wrapped in my favorite satin pajamas, I pace across my childhood bedroom, waiting for the right time. The clock on the wall says it’s late, later than I usually stay awake, but California is a couple of hours behind. Emma will be finishing her homework, winding down.
No matter how tired I am, I wouldn’t miss our call for the world.
When the clock chimes 11 pm, I click on her contact, holding the phone a little too tightly as it rings.
“Mom!” Her voice is bright, full of too much energy for this time of day, and I can hear music bumping in the background. Along with laughter and conversation.
“Hi, honey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s Friday.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mom, I can’t talk right now!” she replies, laughing at something on her end. “I should have told you, I have a thing tonight. Can I call you back later?”
I force a soft chuckle. “Of course, sweetie. We’ll talk soon.” My finger hovers a second too long over the red button before pressing it and setting my phone down.
This is how it should be. She’s young, living her life. She’s supposed to have fun. This is what I want for her. She shouldn’t be worrying about calling her old mom when she has things to do.
I tell myself that over and over as I slip under the cool sheets and close my eyes.
Sleep doesn’t come. My mind drifts, the way it always does. To my kids, most of whom I haven’t seen since Scott’s funeral. To Scott, buried hundreds of miles away. To Lily, who, who am I kidding, hates me.
A tear rolls down my cheek, then another, before there are too many to wipe away. Everything is quiet except for my shallow, frequent breaths.
I hug a pillow to my chest, trying to anchor myself, but all it does is remind me how lonely I am.
How cold.
I’m in a bed that isn’t mine, in a town that hasn’t been for a lifetime. I close my eyes tighter, wishing for something that could reconnect me to the people I love. But there’s only me, completely and utterly alone.
I let myself cry tonight, knowing that tomorrow I’ll have to get up smiling like everything is fine, even though it hasn’t been for a long time.
We’ve been outside for almost an hour, working in silence. No talking, no awkward attempts at friendliness, and it’s so clear to me now.
If I weren’t trying to force things, I wouldn’t be here.
That knowledge presses into my shoulders, into my ribs, into the soft places inside me still sore from last night.
Usually, I would try. I’m good at filling empty spaces with words, smoothing tension with stupid comments. Pretending I don’t notice when someone doesn’t want me there.
Today, I don’t have it in me.
If Lily doesn’t want to spend time with me, then I won’t make her. I won’t push myself into her life harder than I already have.
I kneel in the dirt and focus on watering the plants.
Be careful. Don’t drown them.
Why don’t people come with those same instructions?
The sun sits high overhead, hotter than I anticipated, sweat gathering at the back of my neck. My body aches already, but my mind feels like a tornado swept through and took every happy thought with it, leaving behind a wreck of chaos and pain and so much loneliness.
Beside me, Lily works silently, like always. But every so often her eyes flick toward me, before snapping away again. If she wants something, she doesn’t say anything.
I brush a stray tear from my cheek with the back of my hand before it can fall, hoping it looks like sweat.
I don’t know why I came today, but if I stayed in that bedroom any longer, a reminder of where my life went sideways, I think I would’ve gone crazy.
Lily exhales sharply, wiping her forearm across her forehead, saying something under her breath.
She stops digging.
“Diana.”
That’s all she says. My name. But this time, there is no bite. It’s not soft either, but steady. I force my hands to stay busy even though they tremble. “Yeah?” I can feel her staring.
“You’re quiet.”
“So are you.”
“That’s not new.”
“I’m trying something new,” I answer, glaring down at dirt I can’t quite see anymore because my eyes have gone blurry. “Figured you might like it.”
“I don’t,” she says, and that makes me look up, against my better judgment, to find her watching me intently.
Her brows are pulled together, with a look of concern on her usually grumpy face. She sits back on her heels with a huff, staring at the ground instead of me. “If I didn’t want you here,” she mutters, rough as gravel, “you wouldn’t be.”
I almost think I imagined it. That my brain, desperate to be loved, made something up, so completely unreasonable, to keep itself together. But Lily meets my eyes again, and it’s there.
Fire.
The world tilts around me.
I didn’t realize how bad I needed to hear that. For her to want me here, even in a small way. Even with miles of broken history sitting between us.
“Oh,” I breathe out, because I can’t think of anything else to say.
That might have been the wrong thing.
She looks irritated at herself, like caring at all is wrong. She jerks her gaze back to the flowerbed and digs a hole, stabbing at the soil.
“Don’t make it something it’s not. You’re annoying, don’t get me wrong. But if you were bothering me too much, I’d have kicked you out by now.”
My heart picks up, and it takes everything in me not to smile. Not to scare this moment away. “Right. Of course. I will endeavor not to be annoying.”
She snorts. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Silence settles around us again, but this time, it’s warmer. Comforting, in the way being around Lily is. So, the words spill out of me.
“It was Emma, my daughter.”
Lily stops what she’s doing, giving me her full attention.
“I told you, we always talk on Fridays,” I continue. “It’s our thing. Or… it was.” I frown, staring down at my dirt-covered hands. “I stayed up late, and I called, but when she answered—” My voice cracks. “She forgot. She was at some sort of party. Said she couldn’t talk.”
“It’s stupid,” I rush to add, because I know I should be happy that she’s happy. “She’s young. She should be living her life.” I pause, looking up to meet her eyes.
“But I guess it reminded me that most of my kids barely talk to me unless it’s a holiday or someone died and…” My throat tightens again, but I push through it. It’s suddenly so important that I tell someone how I feel.
“I’m not sure they want to be around me anymore. I can’t help but wonder if I was a bad mom.” At that, Lily huffs in what sounds like offense.
“That’s bull,” she snaps.
I blink, startled by her sudden outrage. “What?”
She yanks her gloves off and turns toward me fully, eyes blazing in that way you can’t help but be intimidated by. That I used to secretly love.
“Do you hear yourself?” she demands, standing up to get her point across. “You think your kid forgetting to call makes you a bad mom?”
I open my mouth, but nothing makes it out when Lily jabs a finger at me. “We both had that. Real, actual shitty moms. Neglectful, mean, selfish, take your pick. Do you think either of those women ever sat around sad because we forgot to call?”
That surprises a laugh out of me because… no. Absolutely not. If anything, my mother was happy when she didn’t have to deal with me.
“Exactly,” Lily says, softer now. “They didn’t care enough to be hurt. To miss us. You do, and that’s the difference. Your kids aren’t avoiding you, they’re living. I’m sure missing them sucks, but at least she was honest. Would you have been?”
A breath shudders out of me. “No. I can see my mother’s face now.”
“You’re a good mom, Di. Hell, even I can tell that, and I don’t like you.”
“I just…” My voice trembles. “I don’t know where I fit anymore.”
Lily frowns, jaw tight, but I can see hurt in her own eyes, looking back at me. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I know the feeling.”
At that, neither of us says anything. Maybe there is too much to say.
She clears her throat and bends down to grab her gloves again, tugging them on. “Now stop being pathetic,” she grumbles. “And help me plant these stupid flowers you wanted.”