Page 85 of Before I Let Go

“Always do.” Her voice drowses into oblivion, the last syllables trailing off as she drifts back to sleep.

I close her door and crack open Kassim’s. He’s still sleeping peacefully, covers kicked off and arms folded beneath his pillow. I don’t wake him, but drop a quick kiss to his hair before tiptoeing out and down the stairs.

The smell of coffee and bacon greets me in the foyer. Leaving my bag at the door, I walk to the kitchen. Mama glances up from the dough she’s shaping into biscuits.

“You leaving?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I walk over to her and lean a hip against the island. “I know what you’re doing, and you need to stop.”

She stretches her eyes into wide innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Thanksgiving night, you sent Josiah to me in the kitchen for the dish Vashti didnotleave behind. This morning you send him upstairs to my bedroom to ‘help.’”

“I was busy.” She waves flour-covered hands at the expanse of dough. “These biscuits won’t make themselves.”

“Mama, we’re divorced. Not taking a break. Not separated. It’s over and Josiah’s with someone else.”

“And I really like Vashti,” Mama says. “Such a sweet girl.”

“She is.”

“Much too sweet to be caught in the middle of two people who obviously belong together.”

I stare at her unblinkingly, frustration twisting inside of me.

“Mama, don’t—”

“You think other people can’t see it? That you still want him, and he still wants you?”

“He doesn’t want me,” I answer flatly.

“I see you didn’t deny that you still want him.” The triumph on Mama’s face is galling.

“Will you just stop?”

The words come out louder and more forcefully than I intended, powered by all my frustration and irritation and anger. All focused on myself, but directed at her. Mama doesn’t even flinch at the sharp edge of my voice, but holds my gaze.

“Do you want him back?” she asks, not giving me the chance to respond. “Because if you do, you have a rare opportunity here. A weekend alone with no distractions. Just the two of you. Maybe you can really talk and figure out how two people who loved—excuse me,love—each other as much as the two of you do end up not together, because I’ll be darned if I know.”

Her question pings off the walls in my head.

Do you want him back?

Even if I did, he’s taken now. Found himself a woman who doesn’t make him feel like he’s living in the spin cycle.

An obnoxious honk sounds from the front yard, cutting her diatribe blessedly short. I know Josiah put the driver up to that honk.

“I gotta go.” I kiss her cheek. “You have our numbers, of course. Call if you or the kids need anything. We’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“I got this, but you need to think about what I said, Yasmen. It’s not too lateyet, but what if he marries her?”

I freeze at the word “marry,” my fingers clawing around the handle of my suitcase. My heart is beating in my shoes because it dropped to my feet at her question. Of course I’ve always known Josiah could remarry, but the possibility never had a specific face and body and person attached to it. Now it does. And she’s a beautiful, talented, confident woman who would probably never lose her hold on life so badly that getting out of bed felt like an Olympic sport.

“Bye, Mama,” I say, rolling my bag out of the kitchen and toward the foyer. “I gotta go.”

Josiah is leaning against the passenger side of the Suburban when I step onto the porch. Pushing away from the truck, he takes a few steps forward and grabs my suitcase to load in the trunk.

Traffic is light and the ride is uneventful while I do my makeup and Josiah responds to emails on his phone.

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