Stay (I Missed You)

Eight

Hera finally packed the last of her bedroom's things into a box. It had been one week since her husband and children left for home. She didn't know what to do with the property, but she figured she wanted to keep all of the things inside. They were much too sentimental. She was going to rent a small U-haul and drive everything back to California. Hera wasn't afraid of driving that much distance by herself. It was better than having Zeus next to her. She'd rather be alone with her thoughts.

Every day, she slept in her mother's bed and cried. Things were much easier now that everyone was gone and she could weep as loudly as she wanted. Maybe it was better to have her family there to comfort her, but they were thousands of miles away now and there was not much to do about it. She found a store downtown who agreed to take her furniture and refrigerator second-hand. She thought about throwing out some of her clothes from her adolescence, but Hebe probably wanted it for the "retro" look or whatever. She had already talked to the realtor in town, and it was likely that she was going to sell the house.

After taking a break, she entered her mother's bedroom to start packing. Earlier, Hera tried to pack some things, but it was much too painful. Now, she was ready. She picked up a box that was half-filled, and started to pack all of her trinkets inside. When she brought all of it back home, she was sure to show Demeter, Hades, Poseidon, and Hestia some of the pictures she sent her mother. Some of these seemed to be the only photograph or Polaroid of that moment ever printed.

Hera knew she promised Zeus she would think things over, but she was avoiding thinking about their relationship this entire time. She wanted to dig her heels in, go through with the divorce, but now that she was alone she was getting second thoughts. Even though Zeus had tortured her throughout the decades, she still felt bad for him when he was breaking down in front of her. God, it was so difficult hearing him so heartbroken. Just with one quiver of his anguished voice, she could feel her wall come crumbling down. It was so frustrating. It was possible they didn't have to divorce, but legally separate. She was sure Zeus would prefer that over a full on divorce.

All of Hera's letters that she sent her mother were bundled in the bottom drawer of the cabinet. Hera even cried as she read a few of them. She seemed so innocent and optimistic when she was in her twenties. A few of the letters even had baby pictures of her children that Hera was unsure they had in Los Angeles. She also used to be so in love with Zeus, blindly even. If only she could return to her younger self and warn her to take it easy, or at least to take what Zeus promised with a grain of salt. Some of the memories kept in the papers were almost completely forgotten, particularly the college memories. There was way too much drama back then, at least for Hera's current 40-year-old self.

Hera skimmed through practically every single one when she found a small notebook behind a stack of letters. It was her mother's diary. The year was 2018-2019. It seemed like the most recent diary her mother had because the second half of the book was blank. Obviously, Rhea's dementia was starting to set in and she stopped writing entries in. Hera thumbed through the pages, only stopping once because it felt invasive, but she reminded herself that her mother was deceased. A lot of the entries were about her daily activities, like making a new recipe for dinner. Sometimes she talked about how she missed Hera and hoped she was doing fine. She reached the very last entry, which also seemed to be the longest. Hera could tell her mother was grasping onto one of her last moments of full lucidity to write a last entry. Whereas Hera skimmed her other entries, she was intrigued by this one, mostly because she saw her name flash by multiple times.

13/3/2019: Dear Diary, I can feel my true self slipping. I'm not sure what's happening to me. Every day, it seems I forget more and more details about my past. I so desperately wish to hold onto the memories of Hera when she was a little girl, but I'm afraid the only things I have left to remind me of her are our photographs and the letters she's sent me. The other day, I wanted to drop off my response, but I simply forgot. I picked up the stamped envelope from the kitchen counter yesterday, and I realized that I still hadn't sent it. I hope she doesn't think I'm ignoring her, I would hate for her to think that.