Fragments

9.4

9.4

As I walk down the stairs to the lobby, lugging my suitcase behind me, I struggle to recognize my mother. Her dark hair is limp and lifeless, and her eyes don't fare much better. Bags hang underneath them like tired half moons.

"Piper." She looks like she's about to hug me and for a second, her arms start to reach out. But when she see's the shock I try to hide in my eyes, she recoils. "How are you?"

"Fine," I reply, stopping in front of her. "How was your flight?"

"Fine. Shall we get lunch at the airport?"

My stomach grumbles at the thought. "Definitely."

The cab ride to the airport is quiet. I stare out my window at the buildings that pass, trying not to focus on my anxiety. I don't want to go home.

Together we settle into a booth and pick up our menus. The restaurant is loud and busy, giving me a perfect excuse not to engage in any conversation with my mother. In fact I don't even meet her eyes until after we've ordered, and she's said my name.

I feel like a deer in headlights under her gaze. I don't know which way to jump.

"Before we go home there's something I'd like to talk about." She sets her hands in her lap and takes a breath before continuing. "There's going to be some...changes."

I take a sip of water and wipe the condensation on my jeans. "Changes?" I reply nervously.

Mother nods. "Your father and I have decided to separate."

Separate. Split-up. Pre-divorce.

My hands shake under the table.

"We've been trying to work through our...problems," she says carefully, "but we both believe that we'll be happier without each other."

I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out. I can't get my thoughts in order. Suddenly the restaurant is too loud and I'm struggling to see my mother in front of me. Tears sting the corners of my eyes.

You are not going to cry, Piper.

"So what does this mean?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"Your father has already found an apartment in town. He's going to be moving after Christmas. Right now I'm content staying at the house as long as I can afford for us to live there," she explains. "Piper, are you okay?"

When I begin to shake again this time it's from anger. "No, I'm not okay! You decided to tell me this at a restaurant over christmas break? Was telling me not worth a phone call, a visit, something?"

This time I've stunned my mother. She sits speechless, eyes wide, until the waitress sets down a plate of french bread in between us. She composes herself enough to say thank you before turning back to me.

"Piper, I-"

"No," I interrupt, rising to my feet. "I don't want to talk. And," I continue, beginning to walk away, "it seems I've lost my appetite."