Page 38 of The Infinite Light of Dust

Shaking my head, I put my hands on my bloated stomach. “I’m so, so full. It was the best meal I’ve ever had, and I’m not just saying that.”

“Thank you. Let me know if you want any dessert or tea,” she offered kindly.

Kael went to town on his third plate of food. It made me so happy but a bit sad, thinking of how much he’d probably missed his mom’s cooking. How many sleepless nights full of explosions, gunshots, and screams he must have had while his mom sat in this kitchen worried sick for her son’s life. Incredibly selfishly, I thanked whatever or whoever was controlling the universe for me not meeting Kael until after he deployed. I wasn’t as strong as Dory or Elodie or Gloria. I wouldn’t have been able to handle spending every day wondering if he would survive or not. Even the hypothetical thoughts made my stomach and chest ache.

I finally gathered my voice, trying to distract my mind. I didn’t want to be awkwardly quiet, but I was terrified of being obnoxious or saying the wrong thing. “Can I ask where this table came from? It’s so beautiful.”

Dory smiled, running her fingers across the wood. “Kael made it.” She beamed, her eyes overflowing with pride and joy.

My mouth fell open. “Really? Wow, it’s incredible.” I took a closer look at it.

“When he was what, fifteen?” she asked Kael.

“I think so—” He hesitated, uncomfortable with both of us praising him at the same time.

I reached for his arm and put my fingers around it, gently applying pressure. “You made this when you were a teenager?”

“Yeah.”

“And the chairs,” his mom added. “Except that one,” she told me, pointing at the only chair of six that didn’t match the rest of the set.

“Wow. Why on earth did you join the Army if you’re so good at carpentry? You—” As I realized what I was saying, I pushed my lips shut. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I’m . . . This furniture is so beautiful.”

My stupid, stupid mouth didn’t know when to stay closed. If Kael built a whole kitchen set as a teen, I could only imagine what he was capable of now. His work on my house and his duplex made so much more sense to me now. And building Elodie’s baby’s crib by hand.

“You’re fine,” Kael told me. “I know what you meant.” His voice was soft, not offended. I was afraid to look at his mom out of fear that I had already ruined any chance of her liking me, so I kept my eyes down.

“I wondered the same thing. I told him to try and sell some of the stuff he made. He was out there sanding down wood from the trees behind the house while most kids were running in the streets. But he insisted on enlisting. He’d talked about it since he was a boy,” his mother told me. Her body language was so relaxed, instantly making me relax.

“Okay, you two. Enough about me. I’m going to clean up and leave you two to talk about chairs or politics or literally anything except me. Please,” Kael said sarcastically, rising from his chair. He gathered my plate and his, along with the utensils, and went to the sink.

I tried my best to keep eye contact with Dory as she watched me. She lifted the teapot up and filled her glass as she asked, “Where are you from, Karina?”

“All over, really. I’ve lived in a few different states, but I feel like I’m from Texas because that’s where I spent the best years of my life, until this last one. My dad is in the Army, so we went where he was stationed. I’ve bought a house here, so I guess I like it more than Texas after all.” I had so much to say about my dad, but for obvious reasons I kept it simple.

“And your mom? What does she do?”

I tried to keep my back and breathing as strong and straight as possible. I didn’t want to come off as unstable, and if I hid my fucked-up childhood maybe she would think I was deserving of her son’s time and love.

“She’s—” I searched my brain for a lie, an easy one that wasn’t technically a lie but wasn’t exactly the truth. I made the mistake of looking into Kael’s mother’s soft eyes, and my defenses melted away as my mouth spoke without my brain’s permission.

“I don’t know what she’s doing. She was an alcoholic, or still is, I guess. I haven’t seen her in years, and I don’t even know where she’s living. Before she left she was a stay-at-home mom and wife, though. But she hated it, so I think maybe she’s gotten a job or something by now? I’m not sure.”

Until now Kael had been the only person on the planet I openly poured my thoughts out to without editing them. His mom looked at me with the same understanding expression, not overreacting or with false sympathy in her eyes, making me want to keep going.

“My dad remarried, and his wife now is better at being a wife. She hasn’t really had the chance to be a mother, but she’s sort of trying lately with me. My dad and I have a complicated relationship so it’s a little hard to explain the dynamic. He isn’t exactly a father, he’s so militant and only cares about his wife and the Army.” Kael turned off the water faucet and I looked up at him. He leaned his back against the counter, eyes directly on me.

“Sorry. I’m trauma dumping all over you and we’ve only just met. None of this makes me sound sane . . . or stable.”

I knew Kael was seconds away from swooping in and saving me from my own compulsive mouth, but he didn’t get the chance because his mom began to speak as he took a step toward us.

“Don’t you worry, that’s what kitchens are for, isn’t it?” She smiled. “The good, the bad, and the ugly. And families are always messy and complicated. I don’t know a single person who has a stable or sane family.” She laughed a little and continued, “I didn’t speak to my dad for nearly twenty years before he died, and my mother developed dementia when I was in high school, so I didn’t get much of a chance to know her as I became a woman.”

As I processed that that meant Kael’s mother and grandfather had had a strained relationship and her mother had developed dementia at such a young age, both situations incomparably hard, she began to speak again.

“I know how hard it is and how fundamental it is for us women to have a relationship with our mothers. It’s the most important and the most painful tie we will ever have to another person. I’m sorry about your mother, but I’m more sorry for her that her illness chose for her. I’m sure she regrets it and wishes she could defeat it every day.”

Her words didn’t slam into me the way I would have expected such an intense statement from someone I’d just met today to; they caressed me, wrapping each letter around my body, filling a little part of me that had been missing since my mother left. Even though it had been six years, I’d never really considered my mom living in regret as a viable option.

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