Page 99 of The Devil Wears Tartan

For me. For my mom.

I don’t want her to turn into a distant, painful memory inscribed on a dance school logo, but I can already feel resentment creeping into the way I feel about her.

She doesn’t deserve that, and neither do I, so we need to do this differently.

When I get up to our unit, I find her sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her. One of the living room windows is cracked open, filling the whole apartment with the rich, earthy scent of spring. She smiles when she looks up and sees me. Her shoulders are wrapped in a fluffy blanket, and she’s wearing a clean purple sweater underneath.

“Kenzie! I was starting to worry. It’s been a long day for you today, huh?”

I finish hanging my coat in the closet and walk over to place a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry, Mom. I’m here.”

She places her fingers over mine. “I was worried about you, Zee-zee. I’ve been okay today. Better than okay, actually.”

A flutter of hope beats its wings in my chest, but I know better than to take a good day as a sign of anything more. I walk over to the couch and flop down. A wave of exhaustion settles over me as soon as I hit the cushions. There’s so much I need to tell her, and I don’t know where to start. I can’t do this on a bad day, but I don’t want to ruin a good one either.

“You look so tired. Is everything okay?”

The word ‘no’ is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get it out. I’m far too used to fighting for control, to holding everything in so I can hold everyone around me up.

“Long day,” I finally manage to answer.

“Hmm.” She gets up from her chair and comes to join me on the other cushion. “You want to talk about it?”

It’s been a while since I’ve seen her eyes so clear and focused. It’s been a while since I felt like she was well enough to really see me, the way Moira’s mom looked at me and saw everything today.

“I’m...I’m scared to,” I admit. “So much has happened today. So much has happened over the past few months, and...I love you, Mom. I really do. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do, Kenzie.” She shifts so she’s facing me. “I love you too. I...I have some things I want to tell you too.”

“Oh?” I squint at her, looking for some hint of what’s coming. “Why don’t you go first?”

She lets out a rueful chuckle and drags a throw pillow into her lap, her hands smoothing down the ridged fabric. “That’s one of the things I want to talk about. After Chris...After what happened to Chris, I realized some things. I realized you’ve been doing exactly that for a long time: you’ve always been putting me first, and I’ve been too sick to even realize.”

Her words send a shock jolting through me, and I tilt my head as I stare at her.

She’s never said she’s sick before. She’s always called it ‘a little trouble’ or ‘feeling blue.’ She’s always changed the subject when I’ve tried to address depression as an illness.

“Everything has been so foggy, and I’ve been...I’ve been so frightened of that. I’ve been like a drowning person grabbing onto anything in sight. I’ve grabbed onto you, far more than is fair. You’re my daughter. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“Mom.” I lunge forward to grab her hand, sliding over to sit even closer. “We take care of each other. We’re a family. I want to help you.”

“I know you do.” She squeezes my hand back. “And you have, but...we can’t go on like this. Seeing Chris like that made me realize it, and I’ve been working up the strength to get organized and tell you.”

My shoulders tense. “Tell me what?”

She takes a deep breath before speaking again. “After Chris recovered and went back to his place, I called my sister. She’s been offering this for months, and I’ve always said no, but this time, I agreed. I’m going to go live with her in Belleville for the summer. She has this big landscaping project we’re going to work on, and...and she’s going to help me find someone to talk to online. Not just a psychiatrist. I want to try talking to some sort of counsellor, like you’ve been wishing I would. When I come back, I want to feel better. I might need longer to be totally better, and I don’t even know if that’s possible for me, but I want to try. I think you and I both need time to get in touch with ourselves.”

I feel about ready to pass out on the couch. My heart is racing, and my chest is so full it’s getting hard to breathe.

“Mom...” I whisper. “I...I mean...are you sure?”

She nods. “More sure than I’ve been of anything in a long time. I spent today on the phone with her making some arrangements while you were out. She’s driving up to get me next week.”

I sit up straighter. “Next week?”

“Yes, next Sunday.”

My chest fills up even more, my ribs expanding to hold everything in.

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