Page 20 of It's Not PMS, It's You
“Why would you feel guilty?”
“I haven’t been visiting enough. I haven’t been telling you how much I love you, and how much I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me.”
“Now, now,” my mom said. “We know how you feel. That’s all that matters. I just wish you would’ve told us you were going out of town. You used to always tell me when you were going out of town and wouldalwayssend me a text after you landed, just to let me know you arrived safely.”
I nodded. “I know, I know. And I promise I’ll start doing it again.” I glanced over to the family room and saw one of my favorite pictures of my parents, in front of Big Ben in London on their anniversary.
I froze and my heart banged against my ribs.
Did I forget my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary this year? I did. I totally forgot. How could I? I am such a horrible, horrible person.
My dad pointed to my face. “Are you going to cry again?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Now what are you sorry for?”
“I forgot your anniversary! I have to be the most horrible child in the world. You’d think at the age of forty-five that I would still have a decent memory, but obviously I have completely lost it.”
My mom stepped toward me. “Honey, you didn’t forget our anniversary this year.”
I blinked. “I didn’t?”
“No!” She pointed toward the family room and the new HD television mounted on the wall. “You sent us a beautiful card and gave us that TV as an anniversary gift, remember?”
I stared at the TV. “That was this year? I thought it was last year.”
My mom rubbed my back. “Oh, honey. You need a vacation.”
I sat there, deep in thought.
I felt weird again.
It was hard to explain, but it was like I had a sinking feeling deep inside of me telling me that there was something wrong with me.
And even weirder, once again, I wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere.
I was craving carbs.
“Do you have any . . . cookies?” I asked, knowing it would probably surprise my parents.
They both just stared at me.
I never ate cookies.
I loved them, but I had always tried to avoid carbs since my body had this annoying habit of storing them in my thighs when I finished.
“Cookies?” my mom finally said. “Yeah, we always have cookies around here because of your dad’s sweet tooth. In fact, I just made a fresh batch yesterday.” She walked over to the pantry and pulled out a plastic container, pulling the top off and showing them to me.
My dad pointed at me. “Don’teat them all.”
My mom laughed. “We have a real live cookie monster living in our house. Here.” She stuck the container under my nose. “Chocolate chip. Your favorite when you were a little girl. Honey, pour Ruth a glass of milk.”
My dad poured me a glass of milk and set it on the counter in front of me.
“Thank you.” I grabbed three cookies from the container.
I slowly ate the first cookie while my parents watched me in silence, both with smiles on their faces. Then I ate the other two cookies, washing them down with milk.
