Page 35 of Changing Lanes

My mother glances up at me and even though there’s not an ounce of recognition, all the good, all the precious comes right back up like she never really left.

Because she didn’t. Not really. She is still here, with me, and that counts. It has to.

Transferring her wasn’t a mistake. Good enough won’t do. Not for my mother. If this place isn’t right for her, then I’ll find one that is. I’ll get a second job if I have to. She made me who I am today and whether she remembers me or not, I’ll never forget. I’ll remember for the both of us.

“Good evening.” I wait for her to acknowledge me before proceeding, saying, “I have reservations but my date cancelled at the last minute. Would you mind accompanying me for dinner? I hear this place is pretty good.”

My mother scans my face and I hold my breath and that ever-fickle Hope makes another appearance despite me treating her like shit on a daily basis.

Expect the worst, hope for the best.

Hope can kiss my ass tonight, too. I’m taking over.

I hold out my hand, giving my mom a warm smile.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. My husband is meeting me for a cup of tea before bed and I’d hate to miss him. I’ve been waiting for so long.”

What? No.

Her eyes scan the room, like he’ll show any second, so I move to Plan B.

“That sounds nice.” I lean in to mock whisper, “Chai is my favorite.” Hers is too. She made it all my life and I can’t think of anything I’d rather drink. Ever. “Do you happen to know where they serve the food maybe? I could use a guide.”

Luckily, she stands and motions me forward but I hang back, waiting to walk alongside her. I walk as close as possible, brushing her hand with mine every few strides. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. I ache to hold her hand, to walk arm-in-arm, chatting like the mother-daughter duo we used to be, but we’re not there yet. We may never be there again. I’ve worked here long enough to know that but the heart doesn’t listen to common sense, or facts, only what it feels and wants. Sometimes they blur together until you can’t decipher which is which though, and that’s where you can get into trouble.

How can you tell the difference between what may be and what you wish was? Trial and error. Mistakes learned the hard way. Taking leaps of faith and seeing where you land. You only have to possess enough courage for the first step without knowing the result. The rest is out of your control.

Coming to the doorway, she lingers, and I shoot my last shot.

“Do you smell that?” I inhale loudly, waiting for her to do the same. “Butternut squash rigatoni,” I sigh, holding my stomach. “I love butternut squash. Too bad I have to eat alone. You wouldn’t be interested in eating some with me, would you?”

“It does smell nice. I appreciate the invite but I don’t eat pasta. Have a good night.”

Not yet.

Please.

My knees quake beneath me.

“Are you sure? I have it on good authority the butternut squash was bought fresh today.” From out in the middle of nowhere to be exact. Everywhere else only carried frozen cubes, so I made the trek out to Marc’s family’s farm. I didn’t see him anywhere but his mom was more than accommodating. “Could you just sit with me for a little while? Keep me company before your,” I swallow the lump in my throat, “husband joins you?”

Her dark eyebrows meet as she looks at me again, like she’s seeing me for the first time. Hope—the insistent bitch—shows up yet again.

Come on, Mom. It’s me.

She shakes her head and my confidence all at once, saying, “I can’t miss him. Not this time. Sorry.”

With that, she leaves me standing here with a broken heart and an empty stomach.

* * *

“This one. Or maybe that one.”

I squint through my already strained eyes. Is the bright light coming from the dashboard really necessary? Why is it there anyway?

“I don’t know,” I throw my hands up, not really feeling them as much as I should, “they all look the same. Park wherever you want.”

Ivan—or Ethan?—swings into a space, parking his car. Some sort of hybrid as unmemorable as the guy driving it.