For Keeps

50. The mothering-est mom.

{Mel}

Mel bustled around her house, packing her knitting bag for a day caring for her son: a good book, her favourite tea, as well as the Nyquil packets she used to treat her husband when he was down with a cold and fever. She found her youngest planted in front of their gaming system in the basement; a cheerful Black woman was making a cake on the screen. Mel thought Bea was watching YouTube? She couldn't keep track of what her daughters did on screens anymore.

"Bea honey, can you look after yourself today? There's casserole in the fridge or noodles you could put on for lunch."

Bea gave her a smile from where she was curled under a knitted blanket, her cozy yellow hoodie keeping her matted curls in check. "Where you going, Mom? Christmas shopping for me?"

Mel laughed. "Honey, your gifts are all bought. Don't go in my room when I'm gone unless you want to spoil the surprise." Bea's eyes sparkled but Mel thought she could trust her to obey. "Jon's down with a migraine and cold, and the men have to work," Mel explained. "I'm going to look after him for the day."

"Look after Jon?" Bea asked a little incredulously.

Mel's heart gave a little bump of anticipation. Jon never asked for help, but she often thought he looked like he was carrying a heavy burden. "Even grown men need moms sometimes," Mel said. Even though grown men don't always like to admit it.

Kurt met her at the door of her sons' house, unusually drab in his paint-pattered work clothes. "Thanks for coming, Mom," he said, bending to wrap his long arms around her shoulders in a hug. Smiling, Mel squeezed him back tight. She was not at all tired of hearing that word Mom coming from Kurt.

"Happy to help," she said and felt his relieved breath under her arms.

Kurt gave her a rapid run down of symptoms and meds, and watched her set a matching timer to the one counting down on his phone.

"This is the key to the med box," Kurt said, showing her a small key on a pom-pom key ring, and using it to open a lock box in the middle of the kitchen table. "These are Jon's." He held up an unassuming prescription pill bottle and rattled off the dose. "Please lock this all up when you're done."

His blue eyes glanced at her, pausing at her puzzled expression. This was a lot like the med procedure at Jon's work house, but that was for the safety of the children. Surely Misty the cat wasn't going to get into their bathroom cabinet. "Why is this all locked up?" Mel asked.

Kurt only hesitated a second. "Because my husband is a recovering addict, darlin.' It's best if none of this is in reach when he gets low." He closed the box and locked it, handing her the key.

Mel tucked the key into the pocket of her elastic waist jeans, a little buzz of anxiety tickling her stomach. She could profoundly relate to those two sentences. These days she was usually up to managing her own meds, but there had been months and years when her husband did it for her, painstakingly refilling the seven little compartments every week and checking that they were empty at the end of the day. Sometimes she needed help and she'd had to become okay with that because she loved her life.

At her anxious silence, Kurt leaned in, rubbing her arm and kissing her forehead. "Don't worry," he said quietly, smiling into her face. "I'm taking good care of Jon. I just need help today and this queer has no trouble askin' for help."

Even heading to a construction worksite Kurt smelled like a man who looked after himself, floral and spice lingering around his body. Mel laughed a little. "You're a rare man, Kurt," she said. "Thank God for you."

Narrowing his eyes in a smile, Kurt shoved his colourful hair underneath his cap hat. "Sorry there's not much food in the house. Help yourself to oat-y shortbreads--there's plenty of those!"