Page 11 of The Time It Takes
“Colleen has been helping me out with the process. This is very difficult for me as you know.” I bite my tongue hard enough to make it bleed. The taste of metal floods my mouth and I swallow it. This is difficultfor her. For once I want something other than my heart to break, but the world can’t seem to let up. “If you want anything from the house, you’ll need to make a trip.” I feel as if I’m going to crumble. I feel flimsy in a world built for strong winds. “Colleen says she thinks it’s going to sell fast so you’ll need to book a flight immediately.”
Immediately.
My hand flies up to my chest. “How long?” I ask, struggling to steady my breathing.
“How long what?” She sounds annoyed at my panicked state as if I haven’t been listening to anything she’s said. I’ve heard enough though. Nothing she’s said has explained why. Why now?
“How long have you been planning this?” My voice shakes, not sounding at all like my own.
She exhales a quick breath. I can practically see her pulling at the roots of her hair simply because I didn’t react to the news how she wanted me to. “Don’t be a brat, no one has lived in that house for years. It’s just rotting away.” She pauses as if waiting for me to say something. After an eternity of misery passes, she speaks the words I’ve been waiting to hear for far too long and I was right to assume the pain that would come with them.
“It’s time to move forward, Willow.”
That’s it. No sentiment. No remorse. Just words rolling like honey off a tongue. This means nothing to her. It’s a means to an end. Another part of herself that she no longer wants.
It’s time.
The words sound like an ending. Something I’ve been planning and preparing myself for all these years. A goodbye I will never be ready for. A misery that I only allow to linger because it’s proof that it had all been real. That in some other dimension of this world I was perfectly happy.
I feel something wet slide down my cheek. It feels foreign and tickles my skin. I bring my hand up to touch it.
I’m crying.
After the next minute of silence, it’s no longer a single tear. They’re pouring down my face like a freaking waterfall.
As people pass by me, I can be thankful for one thing—I’m in New York where no one looks your way twice when you’re having a mental breakdown on the sidewalk.
I wipe the tears away furiously, angry with myself for letting them fall. I take a few deep breaths, and I know she can hear me. It only makes me angrier. I can’t remember the last time I cried this much. I feel ridiculous and … hurt.
Finally, I say, “I know.” The words come out nasally. I will myself to stop crying. I can’t handle this right now. Julian is counting on me tonight and he’s who I need to focus on.
I don’t bother telling her that I’m performing tonight. She doesn’t care.
“Look, Mom, I have to go or else I’m going to get a really crappy seat and I know Julian’s going to ponder me with questions later and I don’t want to miss a beat. So, I have to go, ok?” I’m rambling now, even as my voice rattles. As usual, she doesn’t acknowledge it. I always thought my mother was strong-willed, but really, she only ever shoved things down deeper and deeper until they simply no longer exist.
Someday it’s all going to come bursting out like a wrecking ball.
“Promise me you’ll think about it?”
I sniffle and it feels pathetic. “I’ll think about it,” I lie.
“Willow—”
“I love you,” I cut off her warning before hanging up. I don’t wait for her to say it back because she usually doesn’t. I’m too much of an emotional mess right now and I don’t think I could handle it if she did.
She’s my mother and I love her, but she was never one to comfort me. There were only a few people in my life I could count on for that. I squeeze my eyes shut so hard that I see the stars behind them.
Home.
That’s still the first word that comes to mind. She’ll never have any right to call it that. It was never her home.
Everywhere was home to her, but us.
I think of Julian and how big this night is for him. He needs me here. No past, no one else but this—but him. I quickly walk back into the gallery and head straight toward the bathroom. I manage to get a few odd looks but ignore them as I find myself in front of a mirror. When I’m met with the reflection of my own eyes I internally cringe at the sight. I pull a piece of paper from the dispenser and run it under the faucet to dampen it before wiping it under my eyes carefully.
Sweat coats the nape of my neck, causing my hair to stick to the skin there. I shrug out of my trench coat and sling it over my forearm. I stare at the strange woman in the mirror and force a smile on my splotchy face.
Stay strong, you sad sack.
