Page 30 of Ivory Ashes

“We don’t have space for more than one,” I say as calmly as I can. “Pick the one you want to take with you. Do it fast. We need to leave.”

I’ll grab the folder of important documents out of the kitchen junk drawer, pack some snacks and water bottles, and then a few changes of clothes. I’d like to get everything in one suitcase if I can.

Pictures of Dante line the walls. Dressed as an elephant for his first Halloween, squeezing my neck while he’s riding a rainbow-colored unicorn on a carousel. They’re glimpses of the life we’ve built. It’s small and a little shabby and not nearly as much as he deserves, but right now, it’s all I want.

I don’t want to start over.

I don’t want to keep running.

“I’m not going!” Dante declares. His eyes are watery.

I reach for his hair, but he pulls away and crosses his arms.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I wish we didn’t have to go, but we do. We have to?—”

“You said it was an adventure.”

“It is. It is an adventure. But it’s an adventure we have to go on. So I need you to?—”

“I’m not going!” he yells again, diving for the coat closet by the front door. “I’m staying here.”

The closet door slams closed and I drop my face in my hands. It’s not even noon and this has already been the longest day of my life.

I take a deep breath before I cross the room and lightly rap on the closet door. “I’m coming in, okay?”

I crack the closet open and Dante is curled in the very back. For a New York City apartment, the closet is surprisingly deep. I’d love to sit in the entryway and still be able to reach him, but he’s too far back. I don’t have a choice but to duck my head and crawl inside.

Instantly, my chest tightens. Coats and rain jackets brush against my skin and I can’t breathe. It’s the same ache I’ve felt in my chest all day, but worse, somehow. More imminent.

Get out of here before you suffocate, it says.

I breathe through the claustrophobia and squeeze my son’s knee. “Honey, I wish we didn’t have to leave. I wish we could stay here and you could have all of your stuffies with you all the time.”

“Then let’s do it,” he whimpers, swiping at his nose.

“We can’t. I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t an adventure! Adventures are s’posed to be fun.”

My throat is tight. My thoughts are scattered. I’m doing everything through a haze of panic I can’t shove away. “You’re right. I wanted you to be excited, so I might have fibbed a little bit.”

“You lied?” he says in shock, eyes wide.

I give him a tight smile. “Mamas make mistakes, too.”

This Mama’s mistakes, in particular, are starting to pile up. We’re drowning in them.

“Are you sorry?” he asks.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “So, so sorry.”

Dante thinks about it for half a second and then wraps his arms around me. “I forgive you.”

Instantly, the weight on my chest lessens. I take a deep breath for the first time since I stepped through the door.

What did I do to deserve this kid?

I squeeze him back until he complains he can’t breathe. Then I kiss his hair. “I love you, D. You’re my favorite person in the world.”

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