Then I remember and the itchy feeling starts behind my eyes once more.
I leave the lights off. I know this place like the back of my hand and I can find my way to my old bedroom even in the pitch black. Even after I left, my mom never changed anything. Too sentimental, I suppose.
I make my way through the small living room and kitchen area and into the hallway. My room is off to the right but as I stop between our two doors, I find myself turning to the left and pushing into her room.
I haven’t been here in a few days. My mom was transferred to the hospital and passed there, so when I walk inside and see her bed, all I remember are the times that we curled up there and watched movies.
I kick my shoes off and crawl on top of the mattress, grabbing one of her pillows and wrapping my arms around it as I hold it to my chest. It smells like her and I close my eyes, letting the tears slip free.
Memories assault me.
That time that we both caught the flu and laid in this bed for days. We had watched bad daytime TV and taken turns holding each other’s hair back. I remember that time that Bobby Flynn dumped me right before senior prom. My mom had gone out and bought junk food and we had spent the night lying here in bed, pigging out and crying to sad movies.
My mom was my best friend. She was my rock, my confidante, my whole fucking world.
And now she’s gone.
And I’m here.
Alone.
2
It’s just before noon when I pull into the parking lot of Lawrence, Melton, and Pritchard Law Firm. It’s an older non-descript brick building not far from where our apartment is and I wonder if that’s why my mom picked them to officiate her will.
I park close to the front door and take a minute to myself. The AC in my car is working overtime, trying to keep me from melting. It’s sweltering out, a heatwave even for summer in California.
My eyes are still swollen and red-rimmed from my crying session this morning. I pull out my compact and flip down the visor but after I get a second look at myself, I decide that no makeup is going to be able to fix what hours’ worth of crying has done. Besides, I have a feeling that I’m not going to make it through the rest of the day without shedding a few more tears.
My black knee-length dress, one that I wore for my internship just a few months ago now hangs loosely on my frame and I know that I need to try to eat something today before I lose any more weight. I don’t have the funds to buy a whole new wardrobe right now.
I turn off my car and grip the straps of my purse as I head inside and check in with the receptionist. I’m the only one in the lobby and while I should be used to being in business settings, I’m on edge.
“Miss Tate,” Mr. Lawrence, the lawyer from last night, says as he approaches me.
His hand is outstretched, a gentle smile on his wrinkled face and I stand, shaking his hand.
“Right this way,” he says, leading me down a hallway to an office at the end.
He grabs some papers before he takes a seat behind his beat-up wooden desk and I take a seat across from him. My fingers twist together in my lap and I swallow around the lump in my throat as he moves to get everything in order.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t know your mom very well. I only met her a few weeks ago to help her with her will, but she seemed like a really nice woman. And she sure was proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I say but the word sounds hollow even to my own ears.
Mr. Lawrence nods, not seeming to know what to say. He grabs a pair of reading glasses and slides them on, clearing his throat as he slides some papers across the desk to me.
“Her will is pretty standard. She left all of her jewelry, car, and her apartment to you. Everything inside the apartment is free for you to do with as you see fit.”
I look over the papers that he passed me. The legalese is somehow comforting and I switch to business mode as I read over the documents.
It is a standard will and everything looks to be in order. Mr. Lawrence has been patiently waiting for me to finish and he gives me a kind smile as I set the last paper aside.
“She also left you this,” he says, sliding two envelopes across the desk toward me.
My mother’s familiar writing is on the front and my stomach drops like a rock when I see it, knowing that this is the last thing that I’ll get from her. My name is on one and I flip to the second to see the name Stanley Tate written on it.
I have no idea who Stanley Tate is. He must be a relative but it’s strange that I have never heard her or my grandparents bring him up.
I tuck the letters into my purse, along with my copy of the will. I’ll have to read them later, when I’m alone.
“Is that all?” I ask Mr. Lawrence.
I’m eager to get back home where I can curl up on the couch and cry. I need to figure out what I’m going to do about the apartment and all of our belongings. The plan is still to move to Boston and get a job at a law firm there. I had planned on doing it right after college but that got pushed back.
“That’s it. Please let me know if you need anything else from me.”
He passes me a business card and I slip it into my purse with the other papers. I shake his hand one last time and then follow him back to the lobby.
It feels even hotter when I step back outside and I hurry over to my car. It doesn’t take long to drive back to our apartment building and I jog up the stairs, careful of the sagging ones. Mrs. Merkle is at the mailboxes and I wave at her as I pass. I can tell that she wants to say something but I’m just not in the mood for chit-chat right now.
I unlock the apartment door, dropping my keys and purse on the entryway table before I grab the envelopes and head over to the couch.
I had been so eager to read it on the drive home but now that I’m sitting here, I can’t bring myself to open it.
I flip the envelope over in my hands. These are the last words that my mom will ever say to me and that thought has a fresh round of tears spilling from my eyes.
I set the letters aside and grab the old quilt off the back of the couch, curling up on my side as I start to sob.
I must doze off because when I wake up, it’s dark in the apartment and I’m starving. I flip on a lamp, grabbing some aspirin on my way to the kitchen. My head is pounding, probably a side effect from crying and not eating or drinking all day.
I chug a glass of water with the pills and poke my head into a few cabinets. There is not a lot of choices. My mom wasn’t eating much toward the end and I haven’t had much of an appetite since I’ve been home.
I sigh as I open the fridge and see that it’s just as empty. There is a pizza place around the corner and I shut the fridge door, deciding to just order takeout.
The letter is still on the coffee table and it feels like it’s taunting me. I know that I’ll have to open it eventually.
After I have something to eat, I promise myself, heading down the hall.
I slip into the bathroom and strip, cranking the water to the hottest it will go before I step under the spray. The pipes protest and it takes a minute for the water to really warm up.
My mom’s shampoo and body wash are still on the shelf in the shower and I reach for it, smiling sadly as her familiar scent wraps around me. The hot water helps to ease my headache and by the time I’m dressed in my pajamas, a towel wrapped around my hair, the pizza is here.