Since her death, I’d been reassessing what I wanted out of life, and I’d realized I truly missed home, even if Mrs. Angelini wasn’t there anymore. I longed to be near her spirit, which represented the only family I’d ever known. Something seemed to be calling me back to Rhode Island now, even if I didn’t fully understand it. I also hoped to find a position that felt more fulfilling than the junior-associate job I’d taken right out of school.
About a month ago, I’d quit, with the intention of coming back to Narragansett, even though I didn’t have anything lined up. I’d need to pass the Rhode Island bar before finding another position. The next opportunity to take it would be in six months, so this time off would be my opportunity to straighten out the situation with Mrs. Angelini’s house, as well as sort through my head. The perfect scenario would be to eventually find a job in Providence—relatively close to Narragansett—so I could live at the house and not have to rent another place. I didn’t have the heart to sell Mrs. Angelini’s property, and hoped I was never forced to for financial reasons.
“The house is still in good shape, though?” Bailey asked.
I nodded. “Her brother, Paul, and the neighbor, Hank Rogers, have been looking after it. Now that I’ll be staying there, they won’t need to do that as much anymore. Although, I might be calling them and begging for help when something inevitably breaks.”
“You know you can count on us, too. Stewart can always drive over if you’re in a bind and can’t fix something.”
“Hopefully I won’t need to bug you guys, but thank you.”
She hesitated. “Just a warning—Matt is supposedly coming home for Labor Day weekend. Stewart wanted to have a barbecue, but I don’t know how you feel about seeing him.”
I sighed. “Whatever. I’ll deal if he’s there. I haven’t seen him in ages, nor do I care to.”
I’d learned a lot of lessons in the time since graduating from law school. The first was a validation of something I’d always heard growing up: when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. About a year after I moved to Pennsylvania, I’d ended up giving my ex, Matt, a second chance. He’d been coming around for a while, under the guise that we could be friends. He was actually supportive during the time when I was most heartbroken. Although, I never admitted just how messed up I was, he knew I was getting over Leo.
Once Matt earned his way back into my good graces, we started a relationship again. It seemed easier to trust him than someone totally new. After Leo, I didn’t have the mental energy to start from scratch. At the same time, I didn’t want to be alone.
But after the novelty of our reunion wore off, Matt began acting differently. I suspected he was having an affair with a co-worker, but I was never able to prove it. I broke up with him after a year or so—before I could get hurt again. Although, if I were honest with myself, regardless of my suspicions, I simply wasn’t in love with him. I tried not to think about Leo during that time, but in my heart of hearts, the feelings I’d still harbored for him made it impossible to give myself completely to Matt. Maybe someday someone would come along who could make me love enough to forget Leo, but it certainly wasn’t Matt. And there had been no one else since.
Despite that, and considering how hurt I’d been when Leo left, I thought I’d done a pretty good job of putting him out of my mind over the years. As I’d always done when faced with life’s difficulties, I threw myself into school and my failed relationship with Matt. Then when I passed the bar and got hired by the firm where I’d previously interned, I had an even bigger distraction.
Yet over the past six months, I’d started to feel lonely out in Pennsylvania. Giving my all to a meaningless job wasn’t cutting it; I needed something more fulfilling. Once I passed the bar here in Rhode Island, I wanted to get back to what I’d always said I wanted—use my degree to help kids who grew up the way I did. That was my ultimate goal.
Bailey poured me more wine. “You’ve been working so hard for so long. You went right from law school to losing Mrs. Angelini, then passing the bar and starting a job. You deserve this break.”
“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t go on too long. You know me. I always need something to focus on, or else I’ll go crazy. Taking care of the house is not going to be enough.”
“How long can you afford not to work?”
“Well, thanks to Mrs. Angelini, I don’t have a mortgage. And she left enough money to cover the property taxes for at least five years.”
“Good. Try to enjoy this time.”
That was the problem. I didn’t want too much free time. While the memories had brought me back here, I worried that it could all backfire. My biggest fear was becoming depressed while living alone at the Narragansett house with little else to focus on. Not only did I miss my beloved foster mother, the memories of Leo would be freshest here at home. I worried about having to look across the bay and deal with all of the feelings that would conjure up.
As if fate were paying attention to my current insecurities, Bailey went over to her cabinet and returned with a can of SpaghettiOs, of all things. That seemed like a strange sign from the universe. My eyes welled up.
“Are you okay?” Bailey asked as she opened the can and placed the contents in a small pot on the stove.
“Yeah. It’s just allergies.” I sniffled.
It was eerie being back at the house without her. This was part of the reason I’d avoided it for so long.
Upstairs, I went straight to Mrs. Angelini’s room, which looked the same as I remembered. Her long, woolly sweater was still thrown over a chair in the corner, as if she might walk in at any second and put it on. I lay on the bed and curled into her pillow, which still held a hint of her smell. How was that even possible after two years? Opening her side table drawer, I found a half-empty bottle of Fireball.
Smiling, I opened it and saluted the ceiling. “This is for you, Mrs. Angelini.” I took a long swig, the cinnamon liquor burning my throat as it went down.
After several minutes and a few more sips, I could feel it going to my head. And it was not having a relaxing effect. Instead, I felt emotional. Thoughts of Mrs. Angelini flooded my senses. I had so much regret when it came to her. I thought I’d have many more years to show her how much I appreciated her—how much I loved her. It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized she was my mother—in all the ways that mattered, at least.
She never knew I saw her that way. I’d had her in my life longer than the woman who birthed me, and I wouldn’t even call her by her first name. It undoubtedly would have brought her joy to know I had opened my heart to her. Looking around her room only validated that. There were pictures of me everywhere: me and Matt dressed for our senior prom, my high school and college graduations, photos of Mrs. Angelini and me on the boat with her brother, Paul.
Why is it that sometimes we only realize how much we love someone once we lose them? It’s one of the most unfair things about life, if you ask me. Closing the bottle of Fireball, I tucked it back inside her night table. I could have fallen asleep in her bed, a sobbing mess, but I lifted myself off the mattress and went to my room.
If I thought that would ease my aching heart, I was wrong. The first thing that met my eyes was Leo’s painting, the one I’d watched him create the day that we admitted it was essentially over for us. I remembered that horribly bittersweet feeling of watching him paint that afternoon, a mix of hopelessness and appreciation for the moment. And now I was thinking about him again. As if crying over a two-year-old’s SpaghettiOs wasn’t bad enough.