Mother Knows Best

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I stay awake
again
Sunday night.

Monday morning, Dad leaves early.
He's heading to Montreal
for the week.

Mom has work to do
and I think about asking her
to stay home with me.
But then she'd
really
worry.

She reaches out
and cups the back of my head
in her hand
in a way that says
I love you.

"Will you do something fun today?
Call one of the girls.
Go to the mall. Or the pool.
Something?"

"Maybe."

Her eyes search mine.
What is she looking for?
The old Ava?
The happy Ava?
The Ava who didn't carry guilt around
like a big boulder on her shoulders?

"Sweetheart," She says,
almost in a whisper,
"I'm making an appointment for you.
To talk to someone.
I know you don't want to.
But I think you need to."

I can tell,
by her face,
her voice,
her touch,
she's made up her mind.

So I nod
and secretly wonder
what else I might need to do
that I don't really want
to do.

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