Page 48 of Faithful

I’ve got the new codes from Julie, so I don’t need anyone to come and get me. I just make my way in.

As expected, my mother is upstairs, but for once she’s not in bed.

She’s actually plowing through dozens of shopping bags. I did hear that shopping is a good way to relieve stress. I didn’t know you had to buy an entire mall for that.

The door to her bedroom is open and I pause at the threshold for a moment and drink in the scene–Eleanor Watson engrossed in sorting mountains of Chanel and Dior–before announcing my arrival.

Yesterday I briefly spoke to Amelia on the phone.

There wasn’t much to talk about except for the update on my mother. She’s distracted and aloof and still occasionally spouts nonsense about Ava being alive, according to my aunt, but at the very least she began getting out of the house.

It’s good.

Better than nothing.

Better than watching her fade away.

“Dylan.” She gasps quite enthusiastically, noticing me lingering in the doorway. “My sweet boy. Come here.” She releases the bag she’s holding and rushes to pat my cheeks.

I hate when she does that, but I allow it. “Hey, Mom.”

“I didn’t know you were going to stop by today.”

“I wasn’t sure I had time. Kinda busy at work.”

“Hmm.” She stares at me for a bit, head tilted to the side, and in this light at this angle I can’t help but note how deep her wrinkles have become. She’s aged so much.

“How are you doing, Mom?” I ask, gently steering her to the chair.

“You know…” She smacks her lips and takes a few seconds to mull over my question. “I’m glad Amelia is in town. I haven’t seen her in such a long time. You two need to grab dinner. Or maybe all three of us…” She stops again. Thinks. “I’ll ask Ava. I bet she’ll want to join too.”

A cold chill creeps up my spine.

“Mom,” I say softly.

“Yes, baby?”

“Ava’s gone.”

She blinks rapidly. A haze clouds her eyes.

“You remember what happened, right, Mom?” I feel shitty for trying to bring out all the bad memories, but I feel even worse for letting her disappear into her illusions and live in denial.

My mother visibly crumbles and flops on a chair.

I drop into a crouch in front of her and take her hands in mine. “Mom. It’s okay. I’m here and Amelia is here now too.”

She nods but doesn’t speak.

“I promise I’m not going anywhere. I’m just a short drive away. And you can call me whenever.”

There’s more nodding.

“Mom?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I know it hurts that she’s gone, but you need to accept it and try to move on. Please, Mom. For me.”

---