Page 15 of Mr. Mistletoe
I smile. “Yeah? I’m glad momma still talks about me even though I suck at contacting her. I didn’t even know what was going on with her. I suck at daughtering.”
Valeria laughs. “Did you just make up a new word?”
I chuckle. “Yep.”
“You don’t suck. You were just busy. I know she threatened all of us not to tell you because she wanted you to focus on finishing up your residency. She told us it’s five years for surgical residency, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, it is. One more year but I would’ve dropped it to be with her.”
Valeria tsks and shakes her head. “Kimmie, you know Ms. Faye would never let you do that. Maybe that’s why she didn’t tell you. She knew you’d give it all up to be with her. She probably wants you to know that she’s the momma, not the other way around, ya know?” Valeria rubs my back.
“Maybe,” I say hesitantly. “But still, she’s momma, you know? I wish one of y'all told me, though.”
Valeria chuckles. “And by one of us, you mean Deacon?” She whispers.
“I’m grateful to him the most. He took care of momma when I couldn’t. He didn’t even mention it in passing. I just don’t know why he did it,” I admit—too much-damned booze.
Valeria smiles. “Because your momma is his momma. Deacon’s words, not mine. For him, taking care of Ms. Faye is something he enjoys. They’ve bonded over the years. You know it was your momma that told him to let you go both times right?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Ms. Faye told him to let you discover the world and that you’d come back to him. She knew that you were having a hard time. She also told Deacon that he had to grow up and make a life for himself so that you wouldn’t feel burdened thinking he gave everything up for you.”
My smile drops. I can’t believe I’ve been so out of the loop that I didn’t know any of this. I hug Valeria again and a kiss on the cheek. “Give me a second, I’m going to check on momma, really quick, okay?”
“Okay,” Valeria smiles as she starts talking to her husband.
I step out into the night air and I feel the chill, the indication that we’re about to get our version of winter. It’s not usually bad, but there’s a certain chill in the air that indicates this year might be a little different. I dial my mother’s number and wait for her to pick up. I get antsy when she doesn’t pick up. I call a couple more times and nothing again. The triggering pain and fear of contacting my father and him not picking up because he had lost his battle with cancer grip me like I’m its slave. I don’t think about anyone as I take my heels off and start to run to my mother’s home. I don’t care how far it is. My adrenaline is helping me right now and fear is keeping me from thinking that my mother’s home is a 15-minute drive but I’m running.
I don’t care how my throat feels like it’s burning or anything else. I just continue running and when I see my mother’s home in view, tears start to trek down my face. I run up the porch steps and open the door, grateful that my mother rarely locks her door. “Momma! Mom! Mom!” I run-up to her room to see if she’s there but she isn’t in her bed. I go to both guest rooms but nothing. I run back downstairs, tripping over a shoe or something but I catch myself. I wipe my tears but more come. My heart is beating like crazy because of the fear of finding another parent who passed away before I got the chance to say goodbye. Please, God, please. I run to the living room seeing nothing and as I reach for the backdoor it flies open.
Deacon brow creases with confusion and as he looks me over, concern. “What happened?” he asks.
“Where’s my mom?” I ask, trying to control my tears.
“She’s right here.” Deacon moves out of the way, and I see my mother tending to her vegetable garden. I break, bypassing Deacon and I run to my mother. I drop to my knees and hug her sobbing like I truly lost her when really I’m just happy she’s still alive. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have her anymore.
“Child, what is going on?” my mother asks me. She pulls me even closer in her embrace as she hugs me tight. “Baby, what is it? What happened? Talk to me.”
“You,” I sniffle trying to control myself and my body. “You didn’t pick up when I called you, momma. You didn’t pick up.” I hug her even tighter.
“I’m sorry baby, I was out here tending to the garden. I like coming out when it's darker because the sun tires me out. I think I left my phone on the kitchen counter.”
“Please don’t leave me, momma. Please, promise,” I say to her.
My mom pulls me out of her embrace, and she looks at me from head to toe. “What’s this about, Charity? Who said I was going anywhere? I’m not leaving you, baby. This isn’t then, okay?”
I nod at my mother’s words even though the fear is still gripping me tight. How could I shut my mother out all these years? What would possess me from talking to the woman that I would give everything up for?
After a moment, my mother tells me to go inside and get myself cleaned up. When I get inside, Deacon is nowhere to be found. I walk up the stairs to the guest room I’m staying in. When I walk in, Deacon is sitting on the bed.” What are you doing in here?” I ask.
“Shut the damn door, Kimberly.” He glares at me.
“What? No. Why are you in my room?” I ask. I’m more so surprised than angry. I didn’t get time to brace myself for him. How am I supposed to keep up with this damn charade if he intends on doing this to me?
Deacon shakes his head. He gets up and shuts the door, locking it in the process. “You want to tell me why everyone is blowing up my phone looking for you? They said you left your shoes outside of Margaritas?”
I blink. “I didn’t think about that. I just, I thought something happened to momma, and I had to,”
