Page 66 of Just Like This
My mom turned and nodded toward my bottle. “Can I have some of that?”
“Nope.” It was childish to be selfish with the wine, but I was already giving her my time.
“Fine.” She sat down across from me and let out a heavy breath. “What do you want to know?”
“Where have you been for the past eight years?”
“Oh, well, I’ve been all over. For the first two years, I lived out of a suitcase and just traveled, searching for a place to settle down.”
“And then?”
“Well, then I got bored. So I came home.”
“What do you mean home? Home like Seattle or home like Washington?”
“Well, I lived in New York City for two years, but it was so cramped there.” She seemed evasive, and I didn’t like what I heard next. “And then I came back west three years ago.”
“Where have you been living?”
“Orcas Island.”
I did my best not to crack the stem of my wine glass between my fingers. My fear had become fact. She’d been so close the past three years.
“Why did you stay away then?”
She sighed heavily. “I don’t have an answer to that. Guilt, maybe?”
“That’s not good enough for me.” I took a large sip of my wine and looked away.
“Fine. I was scared to find that you all had moved on without me; that you and your sister and your father had completely forgotten about me.”
“That sounds like a better answer. We never forgot about you. You were the giant invisible elephant in the room. And when Dad got sick, it got harder to think about you. You should have been here from the beginning, not shown up right when he’s about to die.”
“You’re right, and that’s a regret I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.”
I sat back in my chair and fiddled with my wine glass, twirling it slightly. “Listen,” I said, resigned. “I can’t promise you forgiveness. If it happens, it’s going to take a long time. I can’t just forgive and forget the past eight years. But Dad is coming home tomorrow, and he needs all of us. It’s not going to do him any good to see us arguing. So, I’m calling a truce.”
“Thank you, Cami.”
I finished my wine and then headed back to the guest house. I was proud of myself, and the only person I wanted to talk to was Garrett.
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To:[emailprotected]
From:[emailprotected]
Subject: The Bigger Person
I took your advice (and Palmer’s too) and talked to my mother. I guess it helped that I had a bottle of Hammond Wine liquid courage to assist. Nothing was decided, and I didn’t forgive her. We called a truce, for Dad’s sake. I don’t want him to be surrounded by negativity. I just can’t forgive her after eight years, especially after she told me that for the past three years she’s been living on Orcas Island.
Tomorrow, my dad comes home. Hospice care is delivering his bed and all of the equipment today, and we’ll have a nurse around the clock. I guess the clock is officially ticking now … I wonder how long it will take for the end to come.
How are you doing? There’s not much on the news, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Something is always happening in the world somewhere, right?
Wherever you are, stay safe. I love you.
Yours, Cami
