Just Friends(40)

That’s not healthy communication, my brain lectures. Yes, I know that, I reply to myself. But not asking how your friend is doing after their second mother dies is pretty crap communication too, in my humble opinion. That does the trick to silence the nobler voice in my head.

A loud knock at my door startles me. The door handle wiggles and my mom scoots herself inside, holding the bright green mug I made in second grade and shutting the door behind her. Despite the distracted look on her face a second ago, I catch the moment of effort as she puts on her happy, everything-is-alright face. “Good morning, honey! How was work last night?”

“Ughhhh.” I force my head under a pillow dramatically.

“My goodness! That bad?” she says, crossing the small room to sit at the foot of my bed.

“No, it was fine,” I lie. “It’s just… not New York.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t need to be in such a rush to leave.” She pats my ankle through the sheets adoringly.

I’m about to argue with her that, yes, I do, when she says, “Hey, sit up and drink this. I need to update you on Lottie’s will.”

“Her will?” I ask, removing the pillow from my head and sitting up to take the mug of steaming coffee from her outstretched hand. “Oh, you’re the best.”

I take it and pull a long swill of the warm latte. The espresso is smooth and rich, the milk perfectly foamed.

“Did you make this?” I ask, shocked.

“You’re not the only barista in this house,” she jokes, deep smile lines cresting her eyes. “Speaking of houses… I finished wrapping up the details of Lottie’s will with her lawyer yesterday. And it turns out she left you something. Well, left us both a lot of something.”

My mind begins racing with all the possibilities of what that could mean. She continues before I can open my mouth to speak.

“I don’t know if you know this since you were pretty young when she bought it, but she owned a small house closer to downtown Seabrook. She rented it out for passive income, but she left it to you, in her will.” She’s looking at me like a little kid who’s being told bad news.

“Oh my gosh.” My voice comes out as small as if I were the kid she’s imagining me to be. “That’s… that’s great news, right?”

“Well.” My mom tilts her head to the side as if weighing the pros and cons. “It is amazing news in my opinion.”

“But… what? What are you not saying?” I urge, sensing she has cards she doesn’t want to reveal.

“But I know you don’t want to stay here.” She looks around at the guesthouse, in almost the same condition as it was when I arrived a few weeks ago. “You’re practically still packed and ready to fly away at the drop of a hat.” She chuckles but it lacks heart.

It’s the most my mom has ever let on that me leaving would be difficult for her. She’s always said my eventual moving away is just part of life. And if her stoicism is for show, I’ve believed her act.

“I thought you were excited for me to go? I was only going because—”

“Yes, I know, honey.” She cuts me off.

I furrow my brow. She never lets me talk about working to support her. To eventually retire her. Isn’t that what she wants?

Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it, my mind urges.

“Anyways,” she pushes on, talking fast enough to pummel past the split second of rising emotion. “The other thing I wanted to tell you was that…”

I’ve never heard her speak so timidly. It has me leaning toward her in anticipation.

“Well, Lottie also left me the house.”

“This house?” I screech, pointing down. “This whole house?”

She nods.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, so breathless it barely forms the syllables required to make the words. “That’s…” I shake my head, tears forming in my eyes. “Incredible.”

I try to blink the tears away, not wanting to scare my mom off, but the news lands with a surprising force. It’s so final—Lottie is really gone. The fact that we were discussing her things because she wasn’t here to have them anymore made my chest feel like collapsing, but at the same time, the crushing weight of gratefulness was there too.

This was everything I ever wanted. To give my mom a place of her own. A place where she felt free to make decisions purely because she wanted to. Not because she was sacrificing her wants for mine. And here it was, at the cost of Lottie’s life, something I never would have been willing to give had I been given the choice.

“Wow,” I say.

My mom’s eyes glisten, so subtle that I’m unsure if it’s just the trick of the light, before she continues. “And she left me her convenience stores.”

My eyes widen.

“All seven of them,” she adds.

My mouth hangs open, but I can’t choose the first words to leave it. At my inability to respond, my mom forges on.

“But hey, one thing at a time, right? Let’s go visit the cottage she left you first. I’ll be out front while you get ready, okay?” She pats my ankle through the fluffy comforter again like she just told me what was for dinner, not like she just delivered news that would change our lives in ways I couldn’t even process right now. She stands to leave and disappears as quickly as she appeared. That woman. The ever-elusive nymph. Even-keel to the point of being unsettling. But maybe that’s what you learn to do when you become a single mother overnight. Despite being so much like her, there are so many things I don’t understand about her.