Lukas #2
I chuckle, swiping a hand across my face, feeling the scruff of my beard against my palm. “Yes, ma’am. Two o’clock tomorrow. Promise I won’t be late. Anything you want me to bring?”
“Just yourself. Make sure to shower, so you don’t smell like horse shit.”
I laugh at that. I came to visit her at home one time with manure on my boots and she'll never let me forget it. “Promise. See you tomorrow, Nana.”
There’s a banging on the other end as I hear her try to hang up the landline, and I chuckle, pulling my phone from my ear to confirm she hung up without even a goodbye.
God, I hope I’m still a spitfire at that age.
I don’t think I noticed her strong will as much when we were kids. She was always busying herself by taking care of us, feeding us, making sure we were safe and looked after.
Now that I’m an adult, the roles have started to shift.
A part of me is still tempted to drive down to the rehab center now. Maybe just wander the halls and see if anything looks out of place. But if Nana said tomorrow is fine, I’ll stop by tomorrow.
I’m sure Mags’s parents have been stopping there daily, anyway.
I had called Magnolia’s dad on the drive to the hospital.
He didn’t answer, but I left a voicemail briefly explaining that there was no immediate danger, then let him know that Nana was headed to the hospital, and they could call back if they wanted to.
It wasn’t even two minutes later when her dad called me back.
I explained that I had stopped at her house and what I had found.
He didn’t seem surprised that I had stopped by, and I’m sure they know that I’ve been visiting her a few times a week.
We muddled through an awkward conversation, keeping the topic strictly on Nana.
They were in California and planned to take the first flight back home, and I promised to stay with Nana through surgery.
I lean my head back, my body practically melting into the seat.
Ivy was up every hour last night. Or maybe every few hours, but it felt like more.
By the time I’d feed her, change her, and rock her back to sleep, the clock would count down the minutes until I’d have to get up and do it all over again.
The cab of my truck has heated from the morning sun, and when I close my eyes, my body tries to pull me into a deep sleep.
A rap on my window jolts me, and when I flick my eyes open, I see my mom standing outside with a worried and confused expression on her face.
She’s wearing Ivy in this stretchy wrap contraption Candi insisted on getting.
I thought it wasn’t needed at first, but then when we realized Ivy is one of those babies that doesn’t like to nap unless being held, it became a necessity.
My mom looks like a natural wearing a baby on her chest. Hell, she raised the four of us and made it look easy.
I’m reminded of how thankful I am that I have my family, now more than ever.
I don’t think I would be able to have Ivy as much as I want to if I didn’t have them to rely on to care for her while I work.
I pull my keys from the ignition and toss them onto the dash. She reaches for the door just as I open it and step out.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Her worried eyes dart over my face. “You missed lunch. I was just coming to check on you.”
I smile down at her. My mom somehow still looks the same as she did when I was a kid, while at the same time, I can tell she’s aged.
It hit me the hardest when I got out of the Marines.
All the years I made sad excuses to stay away from my family meant years that I missed out on seeing her every day.
The faint streaks of gray that peppered her dark brown hair have now taken over.
The creases that line her eyes from all her years of smiling are deeper, reminding me of all the laughter that I missed, leaving a daily reminder of how fast time can go.
“Sorry about that, Ma.” I step away from the truck and slam the door. “Thought I was gonna head out of town to see Nana, but I will tomorrow.”
I reach a hand out, running my palm over the soft hair atop Ivy’s head. Her face is squished to my mom’s chest with her little mouth popped open in the perfect slumber.
My mom looks down at her, smiling at the sleeping beauty before looking back up to me.
“How is Nana? Your dad and I are going to stop by this weekend and bring her some banana bread.”
“She’ll love that.” I kick at some of the dirt at my feet, and a few small pebbles rattle against my truck. “She’ll be fine. Mad she’s at the rehab center, but I’ll bet she’ll be running wind sprints by next week if it means she gets to go home.”
She smiles at that, nodding along. “So … are you hungry? Or I can pack up leftovers and leave them in the fridge for you.” Her amber eyes stare up at me, and I can see the hesitation in them.
I’ve been sober for eight months now, and through therapy, I’m working on my attitude, at not taking out my anger on those around me.
But I hate that I still see that hesitation in her eyes.
She’s my mom and will love me until the end of time, I’m sure, but she’s also the woman who raised me, and she got the brunt of every teenage hormone and angry twenty-something outburst. I was the hardest on her when I injured my shoulder, and I know I broke her heart when I disappeared for four years, only to come home as a shell of the boy she raised.
Taking a step forward, I raise my arms, slowly circling her small shoulders, wrapping them around her back, and I pull her to me, careful not to squish Ivy between us. She’s tense at first, before her hands fly out and she wraps her arms around my waist, returning the hug.
“What’s this for?” she asks, her small laugh watery.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Just making up for lost time, Ma.” I tighten my hold on her, pulling her to me for another beat. “I was away for a lot of years, but all I have is time now. And I want to spend that time making up for what I’ve missed.”
Her arms tighten around my waist, and she buries her face in my chest. “I’d like that,” she says softly, and when she pulls back, she swipes at the tears threatening to spill down her face. “So, what do you say, can you take a break and let your ma feed you some lunch?”