Page 91 of Exquisite Things
Maud nods. Accepts this. “To Oliver too, of course.” She says the next part loudly, so everyone can hear. “And toMother England. Our country. Our home. We forgive her trespasses against us. Cheers.”
Oliver. London. Valentine’s Day. 1981.
It’s dark when I hear the front door close. They sound happy. More than happy. Elated. If Lily wasn’t sober and didn’t forbid us from drinking, I would say they were drunk. They sing that protest song. “13 Dead (Nothing Said).” All these years of loving music. Studying music. Playing music. Decoding its theories. Thinking about how it reveals our souls to us. And yet this is the first time I’ve pondered music as a call to arms. As a conduit to the kind of heartbreak and wrath that frightens me. Because it demands a response. They may be giddy from the rush of it now, but what of tomorrow? Of the day after? What song will they be singing when Thatcher and her Black Rats have had time to devise their plan to fight back?
A knock on the door. Lily’s voice. “Oliver, may I come in now?” Changeling purrs.
I told her I needed a little time when she knocked earlier. But what’s a little time anyway?
“Oliver, please. I care about you. We all do.” Changeling’s eyes urge me to let Lily in. Shames me for shutting her out earlier.
I roll myself out of bed and open the door for her. “Hey,” I whisper.
She places a hand on my hot cheek. “May I come in?” she asks.
I nod and walk back to the bed. We sit on the edge of the mattress together. It feels like a boat. I’m afraid I might sink into a dark ocean at any moment, and take Lily down with me. I feel like I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. To Bram. To Maud and Mother and Archie and Brendan and everyone who’s ever had the misfortune to cross my path.
“Bram loves you so—”
“I don’t want to talk about him!” I snap. I immediately feel spoiled and ungrateful for raising my voice.
“I love all my children equally,” she says. “I hope you know that.” Lily seems to understand what I’m feeling without my saying it. Maybe all mothers do. Is that what being a parent is?
“He was your firstborn,” I say.
“So what?”
“You’re right. My brother Liam was my mother’s firstborn.” I can see her surprise at the mention of my previous life. She doesn’t dare interrupt me when I’m finally letting her in. “And she loved me more than Liam. I know she did.”
Lily crosses her legs. Takes my hands in hers. “Perhaps it felt that way to you.” She pauses. “Perhaps it felt the same way to your brother. A good mother makes every child feel like her favorite.”
I shake my head sadly. “She was the best mother. And I never—I didn’t—I’m sorry, I can’t...”
“Oliver, you can tell me everything or nothing.” She guides my head onto her shoulder. “But if your brain is busy convincing itself that you let your mother down somehow, you need to stop. You’re a beautiful soul. Any mother would have been proud to have you as her child.”
Tears roll down my cheeks. I didn’t feel them come. They gave me no warning. “I didn’t say goodbye to her.”
“What would you have said?” Lily asks. “If you could have said goodbye.”
My voice cracks. “I would have thanked her. For... for everything. And I would have begged her forgiveness. For... for everything.”
“Oh, sweet child.” Lily strokes my hair. “She forgives you.”
“How?” I croak. “She’s gone. She’s dead.”
“Love doesn’t die,” she whispers with certainty. “Neither does forgiveness. And your mother... I think she’s here with us. Perhaps not in body, but her soul is watching over you. You just have to learn how to feel her presence in a different way.”
I raise my head and look at Lily. It’s like Mother is with me. They’re so different. And yet... they share something. A purity. Looking into Lily’s eyes... I can feel Mother’s forgiveness. Her love. I let it envelop me. “I love you,” I whisper, to Lily, and to Mother, and maybe even to myself.
“I love you too,” Lily says. She opens her arms up and I allow myself to deflate into her warm embrace. “And if you ever feel sad, I’m here. But Oliver... If I’m not enough... If you think you need to talk to someone—”
“A head shrinker?” I ask dismissively.
She sighs. “I know they don’t have the best track record for our community, trust me,I know. But there are some good ones out there.”
“I’d rather talk to you,” I say. “Please don’t make me—”
“Hey, I’m not making you do anything. It’s a discussion. We’re a team. All of us. We all love you.” She takes a deep breath. “Bram loves you. He’s downstairs. Afraid to come in. Afraid you’re mad at him.”
