Page 93 of The Singing Trees
He pulled out his handkerchief and coughed into it, reminding her that he wouldn’t be around forever. When he’d stopped, she said, “If you moved to the Mills, I could take care of you. I’d love nothing more.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” he said, leaving it at that.
“Nino is coming to get us tomorrow. I’ll get packed and then clean the apartment. It’ll be ready to show by the time I leave.”
He reached for Celia’s foot, her little white slipper. “Don’t feel defeated. Life throws curveballs.” He shook the foot. “This is one beautiful curveball.”
Another tear came. Celia was beautiful, but Annalisa felt so incredibly depleted inside. “I just hope I can be a good mother. Right now, it doesn’t feel possible.”
“I have no doubt that you’ll be a wonderful mother, but I suppose parenting is no different than anything else. It takes a little practice. Try it on for a while and see what happens.”
Annalisa brought Celia up to her chest. She hoped he was right. Because right now, she felt like the little human in her arms was not where she belonged.
Annalisa thought she’d hit her lowest low when she’d finally admitted to Walt that she was leaving Portland, but walking head down into Nonna’s house with Nino was the ultimate moment of defeat. She’d been the determined one who would find her own place in the world, no matter the cost. She’d left Payton Mills, knowing there was something bigger for her out there. After she’d graduated high school, they had watched her go and had wished her luck, and she’d felt so proud driving away in Thomas’s VW that day.
Only to come back home. Her clothes, sewing machine, a few of her paintings, and her wind chimes were packed in Nino’s car.
Her feelings of defeat made no sense, because the entire Mancuso clan waited for her, and they didn’t treat her like a failure. Some of them had been there for the birth, and now they were here for her return. She could barely get Celia through the door before they stole her away.
Feeling another cry coming on, she excused herself to her bedroom and fell onto the bed. She was right back where she’d started. For almost three years she’d planned her escape, and she’d failed.
Nonna knocked and came in, taking a seat beside her. “This is all normal,” she said.
“I don’t know about that. This doesn’t feel right. None of it. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. I’m a terrible mother. Sometimes I look at her and feel so angry. She’s the most beautiful girl in the world, and all I can see is Thomas and what he did to me and the life she’s taken from me.” Annalisa couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, but they were true.
Nonna sighed and paused. “You have a lot of life to live. You can’t figure it all out within two years of graduating from high school. This is nothing more than a setback.”
“A setback? This is more than a setback. I don’t feel like I’m starting over again. I feel like I’m crawling into my own grave and giving up.”
“That’s up to you, no?” Nonna asked. “I know you have what it takes to be a good mother, but you’ve been a free spirit. It may take some time to connect with that person.”
Annalisa sat up on the bed, her feet on the rug. “I keep wondering if I need to put her up for adoption, and now it’s too late. What would everyone think of me? Now that they’ve met her. Now that she has a name? It’s too late, and I failed her.”
Nonna let out a subtle smile. “You young ones think it’s all supposed to be sorted out, that there are answers out there. I’m not sure there are. Quit trying to decide what the rest of your life will look like. Embrace these moments. You have plenty of time to learn how to be a good mother.”
Annalisa shook her head. “I wouldn’t even know how to start.”
“You can start by getting out of bed,” Nonna said, repeating her advice from one of the days after Emma’s overdose. “When it comes to being a mother, that’s your first victory.”
“I just want out, Nonna.”
Nonna patted Annalisa’s hand. “That’s the one thing you can’t have.”
There was no doubt that Annalisa had every opportunity to learn how to be a good mother. She watched Nonna taking care of Celia in awe. Nonna could somehow make three incredible meals a day, keep the house clean, and keep Celia laughing all the way to bedtime. Annalisa thought it funny that she’d been painting those women walking in and out of Pride’s, thinking they embodied strength. Now, Annalisa knew no one embodied strength more than Nonna.
It seemed impossible for Annalisa. For the next few weeks, Annalisa could barely get out of bed, which meant she couldn’t even enjoy that tiny victory.
Sometimes she’d listen to Celia crying in the crib next to the bed and do nothing about it. She couldn’t bring herself to get up and try to comfort the girl. What was she to say? Pretend that the world was okay? Annalisa thought that the less she poisoned Celia with her bad energy, the better. Then Nonna would come bursting into the room, any time of the night, and sweep up Celia into her arms and rock her back to sleep.
Annalisa was not capable of this kind of mothering. She was still caught up in thoughts of Thomas stomping on her dream, thinking that only thirty minutes away, he might be back in school at Weston. Or maybe he was in Portland. Either way, he was surely with Linh.
Linh. The name stung every time.
They’d been destined to fail since the beginning. It was awful to think that the warning Thomas’s father had issued at the country club that night they all dined together was spot-on. Annalisa and Thomas were too dumb to see that their limited understanding of the world wasn’t enough to guide them through the hard times. Their relationship was destined to get in the way.
Reminding herself that she had to suck it up and be the mother she needed to be, Annalisa kept stretching her lips, attempting to find the smile she once had. No matter how hard she tried, though, she couldn’t feel the smile, couldn’t feel the joy she needed to show her baby that life was full of opportunity and joy.
Each day took her further away from herself, and her bed became both her sanctuary and her prison. Celia’s cry became a reminder of everything she could have been and everything she wasn’t. If she wasn’t careful, she would never paint again. She felt further from it each day, especially as Sharon Maxwell’s annual show in April came and went.
