Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Eighteen

Saturday morning. By the time I woke up I would have been getting my hair done. My nail appointment would have been next. I rolled over in bed and tried to block it all out, to fall back asleep, but I kept seeing the images in my head. My gown would have been perfect. Al had never seen it. He wanted to, but I wanted it to be a surprise, I wanted his face to transform at the sight of me in it, and I stubbornly insisted that moment would be ruined if he'd already seen the dress. Stupid. Now he never would.

Mom knocked on the basement door, gentle taps.

"I'm up," I called, muffled into my pillow. She heard, and I heard her climbing down the rickety stairs. She didn't say anything when she reached the pullout couch, and I finally turned over to see her.

She was holding up a gown in front of her. Not my gown; a deep plum gown, rich and perfect.

"What's this?" I asked, though I had a suspicion.

"I got a gown," she whispered. "I know I said I wasn't coming to your wedding, but I couldn't bear the thought of my baby getting married without me there. I got a gown in your color. I was going to come, sweetie. Of course I was going to come. I wish I'd told you that before. I was so excited to wear this to your wedding. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. About everything. You didn't deserve that, and you don't deserve this."

She was crying as she spoke, and I felt my own tears dampening the neck of my T-shirt. I reached up and she dropped the gown, leaning over into my hug, and we stayed in that uncomfortable but comforting position until both our heaving cries had subsided.

"Do you want to do anything today?" Mom asked, seating herself next to me in bed.

I shook my head. "I don't think so. But thank you."

Mom nodded, silent. Respectful.

"Tell me about Al," she said eventually, her voice tentative. It was, I knew, a peace offering as much as the gown was. An admission of her own guilt around her pronounced lack of welcome of Al into her family. I hadn't thought of how this had affected her; not only did her daughter suffer a loss, but she was intrinsically tied up in the story, staining it all with a more bitter tinge than it already had. Her guilt was probably immense. That she hadn't brought up her own feelings even once during these past few months was a sign of respect, and something I hadn't thought to notice until now.

"He was...just sweet. Like a puppy." I looked up at her. She looked back, her face open, judgment erased for this moment.

"I mean, he could be an idiot, too. He was a guy, after all. He was raised by a woman who loved to serve him, she practically worshipped him, and it was weird for him that I didn't live to cook his meals or sweep up after him. So he was stupid sometimes. But I trained him."

I smiled up at Mom. She smiled gently back, her lips not parted; a smile that said, I'm listening.

"Anyway. He was really the best." I felt the tears coming again, a tide through my body, rising up. I pushed it firmly back down, taking a moment to focus on that. I would not cry. Mostly because my head couldn't take any more.

I wanted to tell her a story, something that would convey the essence of Al, the person he was and the partner he had been for me. So I told her about the day he proposed.

"He was nervous all day. He thought he was hiding it well, but he was really very bad at lying or pretending. I knew he was proposing, but didn't want to ruin it for him—I knew he'd been planning this for a while. Because, again, bad at pretending. So it was a Sunday and our plans had been to spend a quiet day together at home. He had just gotten assigned an after-school program that he really wanted to work for, so he'd been pretty busy and we hadn't spent a lot of time together in a couple of weeks. But whenever we sat down to do anything that day, he would pull out his phone and turn it away from me and type furiously, or would just pull it out and look at it to check the time or whatever. I pretended not to notice, but he was so obvious. It was adorable."