Everything in Between

Chapter 4

Present Day

As far as cleanliness goes – except for my childhood bedroom – my mom's house is immaculately neat and organized. We were complete opposites. I am incredibly messy to the point of living in constant chaos. She was a neat freak to the point of an undiagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder. Growing up, everything in our home had a spot. She labeled everything, and she color-coordinated clothing in closets, and bath towels were rolled, not folded. Her uptight micromanaging personality drove me crazy when I lived at home. If I put something in the wrong spot, she'd swoop in to scold me and then she'd make me put it back where it belonged. And every day after school, I was forced to participate in her neurotic cleaning schedule. Mondays were bathrooms. Tuesday was mopping the floors. Wednesday was vacuuming. Thursday was dusting. Friday was baseboards and cupboards. Saturday was bleaching the entire kitchen. And Sunday was gardening. You could imagine her joy when Marie Kondo introduced the KonMari Method. My mom became obsessed and even signed up to be a Consultant. Unfortunately, she became too ill ever to finish the course.

When I moved away for college, I swore I would never be as clean-obsessed as my mother. I drove Cece and Bridget crazy with my messy bedroom and my lack of desire to wash the dishes after every use. Once I graduated from college, I did get slightly better at organizing and keeping my personal space tidy. But I also love that when I'm at home, it's my place to relax and unwind. Growing up, cleaning was an unenjoyable chore that made home a place of work. Once I was on my own, my space became a place where I could let loose and not try to control things like I so desperately needed to control in every other aspect of my life.

And even though I'm messy in my personal space, I'm incredibly organized at my job. At work, I can focus on what's important, keep a million and one to-do lists running, use my calendar and planners, delegate tasks, reduce clutter and I even color coordinate and alphabetize every file that lands on my desk. My office is so tidy it sparkles. None of my coworkers would believe I leave clothes lying on my bedroom floor, and I leave used mugs around my apartment, or that my closets are where I shove all my clutter.

But now, with my mom's house so incredibly tidy and empty, I'm sad. Sad and strangely restless. I'd give anything for her to tell me to put a coaster under my glass or to hang up my jacket on a nearby hook instead of slinging it over the staircase. And if I'm honest, I've been an absolute mess the entire day, but ever since I thought I saw Zach at her funeral this afternoon, I've been struggling to hold back more tears. I thought if I ever saw him again, it would somehow be on my terms, but if anything, it's made things feel more out of my control, and my chest grows heavier as the hours pass.

With a look at the clock, I groan and sink further into the couch, realizing it's only seven, and I'm still waiting on Tom and Reggie to come back from the store with aspirin. My head started to ache after we drove away from my mom's burial, and it hasn't stopped since. Cece and Reggie are staying with me at my mom's house with Tom and me for the next few days. They didn't want me to be alone, even though I insisted I was fine. I know I'm not fine, and I'm glad they are here. I just didn't want to burden them. I also didn't want them worrying about me and asking on repeat if I was okay. Because I don't think I'll ever be okay after watching my mom's casket lower into the ground.

Cece is currently tidying the kitchen, but it's not like it needs to be sparkling clean anymore. My mom isn't here to care whether the counters are wiped, or cups are put back in their spot in the cupboard. And suddenly, once again, the thought of her not scolding me to tidy up after myself, and I'm crying into my hands, unable to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. The realization that she isn't here anymore hits me harder than a ton of bricks.

"Hey," Cece says, placing a hand to my shoulder, and it's enough to calm my breathing, but my crying continues. Sitting on the couch next to me, she pulls me into her arms.