Against my better judgement

Chapter 22: whole again

She's stuck to Flip like glue the whole ride home in Ron's car. She wraps herself around his left arm tightly, her hands clutching around his as it lies in her lap. Her head rests on his shoulder on the occasion she isn't stealing a glance at him, as if to confirm he's still there. Still with her. He presses frequent kisses against her forehead and the tuft of her hair to reassure her he's not going anywhere. She squeezes his hand in response, cautious that her mother peaks at them in the rear-view mirror from the passenger seat. She accompanies the older woman into the house that has again become her home briefly to grab a few of her belongings, bounding up the stairs like a child and stuffing things into a quick holdall bag without much thought of if they'll even make a cohesive outfit. Her mother watches her from the doorway, eyeing the haste with which she moves, as if every second in that house is a second wasted.

            "I suppose you'll be staying at his place for the time being?" Her voice is barely a whisper.

Her daughter temporarily pauses in her actions, stops cramming things into the bag that's near bursting.

            "Yeah... until he's recovered."

She'd barely had time to discuss living arrangements with Flip, but she assumed they'd work things out when he was back on his feet. For now, all she knew was that she wanted to be with him, wherever that was. She looks up around the room, as if forgetting something, before passing into the bathroom and ransacking the shelves to find what she needs. Her mother follows her quietly, leans her face against the doorframe.

            "And you're going to tell him about the child, aren't you?"

She turns to face her mother, cradling several shampoo and body wash bottles in her arms, her face riddled with confusion.

            "Of course, Ma. I'm gonna tell him, now's just not the right time." She passes her in the doorway, head back into the bedroom and empties the bottles onto the bed next to her bag.

            "And when is the right time?"

            "Not on the car ride back from the hospital," she huffs, "I know that much."

She forces the shampoo bottles into the bag one by one, determined to make them all fit. She struggles with the zip for a moment, forcing the seams together with all her strength as she begs the zip to fasten. Her mother joins her with a sigh, helping her hold the seams together until the zip glides across with ease. The woman face each other in the warm space, afternoon light spilling through the window.

            Her mother lays her hands on her shoulders. "I'm not trying to attack you sweetheart; I just want to make sure you're making the right decisions."

            "I know Ma, I'm sorry." She pulls her mother into a hug, tucks her chin over her shoulder. "I don't know how I would have made it through this week without you."

She hopes her mother knows how much she means it as she squeezes tightly around her shoulders, as if the intensity of her embrace might give her an insight. Her mother pats her back tenderly, smiling into her daughter's hair.

            "Nothing's gonna change you know Ma. You're not losing me." She doesn't know how much her mother needs to hear those words; she feels her arms tighten around her. "I'm still gonna call every other day, and I'll be at church every Sunday. I could even bring Flip to dinner... if you'd like that. After I've told him the news."

Her mother is grateful the hug doesn't allow her daughter to see her initial facial expression. The thought of a white cop in her home brings a gut instinct refusal before her face softens, begins to digest the idea and come around to it. If this was the man her daughter had chosen, the life her daughter had chosen, she was going to have to accept it. And the sooner that happened, the better. She pulls out of the hug, her hands dropping to hold her daughters' biceps loosely.