26
Afterward, I wanted nothing more than to lie on the floor, covered in peas, and to hold Mickie close while we let the world of vendor invoices, dirty laundry, and drunk parents pass us by. I realized that I had wanted this, despite my own misgivings, for years. I loved Mickie, and not just as a friend. I saw in her the chance to have what my parents shared, what we both knew my parents shared. Love. Real love. But my fear, the one that had first entered my thoughts before my desire for Mickie shoved it aside, wiped away those thoughts and dreams the way my father’s stroke had wiped away our bucolic existence.
Mickie got up quickly and gathered her clothes, slipping them on.
“Don’t you want to take a shower?” I said.
“I have to go.”
I got to my feet. “No. You don’t. You don’t have to leave.”
“I have to pack.”
“We were going to watch a movie.”
But Mickie had already gathered her shoes and purse and pulled out her car keys. Her blouse hung open, beyond repair.
“Your shirt. Let me—”
She kissed me, not the passionate embrace we had just shared but a peck on the cheek. “See you, Hill,” she said.
And just like that, Mickie the tornado was gone.
27
I stood listening to the sound of the car engine grow faint as Mickie drove off, and I was soon lost in thought and regret. I should have stopped it. I should have told Mickie it was a bad idea, but damn it, I didn’t want to. I knew that our friendship was complicated. No, we were not dating, but yes, we did spend a lot of time together hanging out, going to dinner, and watching movies. No, we’d never slept together until that moment, but yes, I’d thought about what that would be like and maybe, just maybe we could be more than best friends. Maybe we could be boyfriend and girlfriend. I was lost in that debate when I heard the garage door opening. For a moment, I thought Mickie had come back. Then I wondered why Mickie would be opening the garage door. She wouldn’t be. She didn’t have a remote. I looked up at the clock. My mother had come home early.
I barely had time to gather my clothes and rush upstairs into the bathroom before I heard the door leading from the garage into the kitchen close with a thud. I could only imagine my mother’s chagrin at the sight of her normally immaculate kitchen covered in peas. I turned on the shower, half expecting her to open the bathroom door and yell something like, “What in tarnation happened around here?”
But the door did not open. I scrubbed quickly, but I had peas everywhere. Finally clean, I changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. My mother was not in her room getting ready for bed. When I walked downstairs, I was prepared to act surprised that she was home, then take over the chore of cleaning up, but I also did not find her cleaning the kitchen.
“Mom?”
“In here.”
She sat in the dark, in her customary spot on the living room sofa. I thought she might be saying her novena, but she did not have her rosary beads in hand.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“I was with your father.” Her gaze remained unfocused. “I was feeding him and I was thinking about all of the things I had to do for him, now that he isn’t capable.” I sat on the ottoman facing her. She was talking to herself as much as to me. She raised her eyes to mine. “And that’s when it dawned on me.”
“What?” I asked.
“That I hadn’t done the wash or the shopping or cleaned a plate or cooked a meal. I haven’t done any of those things. You’ve been doing it all, haven’t you, Sam?”
“It isn’t a big deal, Mom.”
“And the store? Who’s been running the store?”