Page 13 of Stay for Me
“Right, but that doesn’t mean we should. Do I need to remind you about the cat? Or the dog we got after we decided we just might not be cat people? Or the gerbil? We can’t even talk about the six hamsters, God rest their souls.”
We try, but we are . . . clearly, not meant to have pets.
“The cat was not our fault,” Melanie tries to defend.
“It ran away and refused to leave the neighbor’s house. Like, left the house, ran over there, and then tried to claw my face off when I forced it to leave only to run back again.”
Melanie sighs. “It’s because you called it Craphead.”
“It was a crap head! It crapped and then rolled its head in it. I thought it was fitting, not derogatory.”
She huffs dramatically. “And how was I supposed to know you don’t use bleach to clean the hamster cages? I didn’t know the fumes would kill them.”
I really should’ve paid more attention that day, but of course, the car broke down, I burned dinner, and Luke called from God only knows where to tell me the death in his unit wasn’t him. After that . . . I was done—and so were the hamsters. Greg, Bobby, Peter, Marsha, Jan, and Cindy got buried together to the theme song ofThe Brady Bunchas I lowered the box into the ground.
“Mom, we need something to take care of.”
“Start with me.”
I’m half kidding on that. I’m okay for the most part. Today is just . . . hard. Maybe it’s because yesterday I spent hours with two students who are struggling at home or maybe it’s because it feels like the world is crumbling and I have no one to help shoulder the burden. Whatever the reason, I woke up this morning, turned my head to the empty pillow, and cried.
I wanted all of this to be a bad dream, but it’s not. So, I let it out and remembered that I have two amazing kids, a great job, a home, and I’m doing okay.
I will politely ignore the fact that I’m eating ice cream for dinner.
“Will you do me the honor of always taking my roses?”The question from the television seems louder than before.
I glance up, seeing him extend it to her.
“Always.”Her tears fall as does my heart.
I release a heavy breath and force my emotions back down my throat. I can’t cry. I’ve done enough of that lately and I’m not even sure what the hell I’m crying over. It’s been months and I’ve been fine. After counting down until I think I can speak without tears, I look up at Mel.
“No horse.”
She comes around the side and sits. “Why are you crying?”
I shrug. “Life.”
I’ve never hidden real life and feelings from my kids. It’s okay for them to know I’m sad, happy, angry, crazy at times, and I can laugh. I want them to see it’s healthy to have emotions as long as they process them correctly. So, when Luke died, they saw my tears, they watched me get up each day and do what I had to, and we’ve supported each other through our grief, which is why I think we’re all doing okay.
Most days.
“You miss Dad?”
“Always.” I echo the word the girl on television just said.
“Me too.” Melanie rests her head on my shoulder.
I lean over, press my lips to the top of her head, and hand her the ice cream. She scoops a spoonful and Sebastian runs in, skidding to a stop and snatching the container from Mel.
“Hey! I want ice cream. Don’t eat it all!”
“Too bad, I was here first.” Melanie snatches it back.
“Give it here!”
She grins and shoves a scoop—not a spoonful—into her mouth and somehow manages to smile at the same time.
