Adieu

Off to See Mrs. Macy (Michayla)

Michayla listened attentively as Theresa gave her the usual rundown. Occasionally if Mickey hadn't called or made a recent effort to visit the widow, Theresa would find every and any excuse to ring Michayla. The longer she went without seeing her mother, the more frequent the calls would become, at times reaching a point of near obsession. While Mickey couldn't help but feel a growing frustration towards her mother's rather neurotic behavior, she couldn't bring herself to stay upset with the woman. Michayla couldn't begin to fathom how incredibly lonely her mother must've been. With the passing of her father, Michayla moving out at an early age, and then Mickey's own unfortunate diagnosis, the young woman knew that the compulsive behavior came from a place of love and worry.

"Yes, mom. Mhmm. Oh, how lovely. Yes, I'm sure Mrs. Finch enjoyed that. Um, today?" Michayla's attention temporarily shifted to the large calendar board that hung from her fridge, taking in the time and date. 12th of August. 10:39 am. As quickly as Mickey had sifted through a multitude of excuses to present her mother, she swiftly dismissed the idea and chastised herself. Even if she wasn't particularly in the best frame of mind or physical health to make the trek across the city to her childhood home, Michayla knew she owed it to her mother to make the effort. Theresa very rarely asked Mickey to do so, usually opting to visit her daughter instead. The least she could do was humor the woman.

"Sure, mom. Yeah, that'll be great. It's no problem, really, I needed to stop by the market regardless. So, spinach, fresh cheese, and what else? Okay, got it. Mhmm, right. Of course, I know how much you love them. Okay, mom. Alright. See you soon. I love you too, mom. Bye." Hanging up the phone and releasing a deep, long-held exhale, Michayla reached for the pen and pad that sat connected to her calendar and shot down a few errands at her mother's request. Peeling the paper, folding it, and stuffing it into the front of her jeans. Mickey turned to Dezmond then and gave him a small, shaky chuckle. "I suppose we're off to see Mrs. Macy."

By the time Michayla turned into the driveway of her old residence, it was closing in on midday. In the seat beside her sat a few groceries as well as a fresh bouquet of blue hydrangea and lavender. The lavender was meant to be dried and hung in her mother's room, a trick her father had used for years in order to help with restlessness. As far as the hydrangea? A gift for Theresa. They were her favorite flower and their home and shop once flourished with them. However, upon Michael's passing, the business had since closed, the majority of his garden having been transplanted to Michayla's home. As sad as it was to see, both women knew that Theresa didn't have the means of keeping the shop up and running. Instead, the front of the house had been renovated into a sunroom. And there, in that very room, was where Michayla found the older woman. Seated in her old, plush armchair, feet kicked up, novel resting delicately between her fingers. A Sinatra vinyl played in the background as the sun glinted against the many different hanging chimes and colored glass, shooting blinding rainbow reflections in a multitude of different directions. Though the years were beginning to show, Theresa's beauty was still one of the only things in the world that could leave Mickey truly breathless. Seeing her mother in her natural habitat only enhanced that. Her entire life she had been told how alike she and her mother were in appearance but Mickey simply didn't see it. Her mother held grace and brilliance to her that Michayla could only ever hope to achieve. While she had slacked in maintaining her appearance, allowing the grey to creep through her strands of chestnut, not a smidge of makeup on her wrinkling face, she was still as beautiful to Michayla as she had ever been.

Gifting her mother a gentle smile, Mickey bent at the waist and planted a soft kiss to her cheek before presenting her with the flowers, "Hi, mom. It's good to see you."

Theresa pulled the glasses from the tip of her nose and placed them atop her head before burying her face in the hydrangeas, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Reaching for her daughter's hand and gripping it tightly, Theresa pulled herself from her seated position and tugged her frail daughter into a tight embrace. Stepping back then and placing a hand to Michayla's cheek, the woman returned her smile and said simply, "You look good Mickey Mouse. Beautiful." Noticing the produce hanging from Mickey's other hand, Theresa's face instantly lit up as she reached for the bag, about-facing and quickly heading into the home, "Oh, bless you, dear. Thank you so much! Can finally get that quiche finished and in the oven. Go ahead, have a seat. I'll get this going and ring Grace and then I'll be back out with some drinks." And, just as quickly as the moment had begun, it had ended. As much as Michayla hated to admit it, she was exactly like her mother when it came to needing to busy herself to keep her anxieties at bay.

Falling back onto the wicker love seat that sat across the room, Michayla exhaled long and slow before peeking up and turning her head towards the door. "Some things never change, do they Dezmond?"