Her free hand tucks a loose curl behind my ear as she smiles at me. “Soccer’s always helped you cope. It’s what connected you to people, it’s how you grew into yourself, your confidence and grace. It’s such a vital part of you.”
It’s true. Soccer isn’t just something I’m good at. It’s as integral to my existence as my most basic needs.
I shift on the bed, sitting straighter so that we’re eye to eye. “Why are you telling me this now, about you and Dr. B?”
Mama’s eyes leave mine and dance away to the window, watching rain pelt the glass and trickle out of view. “Money, Willa. Money’s not flowing. You and I were always modest spenders. We’re not materialistic people and we’re simple women. We don’t have huge wardrobes or bags full of makeup, but still. Breast cancer was expensive, leukemia is even more so. Alex has worked tirelessly with my insurance to cover everything they could, but, he’s also been encouraging me to consider getting out of the hospital where it will be significantly less costly. Taking my care home.”
I reel. I haven’t been to our apartment in two months. Mama hasn’t either. The place needs a deep clean. She’ll need round-the-clock care. “But how would that work?”
Mama sighs. “Well, I should begin by telling you I’ve sublet the apartment, Willa. What valuables you didn’t take to your and Rooney’s place are in storage, and mine are, too.”
“What? Why?”
Finally, she turns away from the window and meets my eyes again. “Because there was no point in paying for a place neither of us was living in.”
I swallow my shock and try to focus on the pressing matter. “So where will you go?”
Mama squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Alex and his wife, Elin, want me to stay with them. They have a big family, and all but two of their kids are out of the house. They’re near-empty nesters with more space than they know what to do with.
“Alex said since his injury, he’s wished he could thank me in a way that feels adequate, in gratitude for his life. I don’t see him as owing me anything—I just did my job—but this is what he wants to give me, and, Willa, I’m inclined to let him.”
It bristles. It scares me. Mama and I have only ever lived alone, the two of us, except for seasons when Grandma Rose came to stay. When I was little, I had babysitters and Grandma Rose, and eventually went to daycare, but our life, our routines, our home—it was only ever ours. Now, whenever I want to see my mom I have to go to some stranger’s house? Will she have privacy? Will I be able to stay with her over the summer?
Mama’s hand patting mine breaks my thoughts. “My dear verbal processor.”
“I said that out loud,” I say on a resigned sigh.
She chuckles. “I knew it would unnerve you, but I hoped that explaining our history would help you feel more comfortable with it. That’s mostly why I told you. Because I figured you’d see that I’ve earned this. I did right by a friend and saved his life. Now he’s trying to make mine a little more comfortable.
“I will have privacy. They have a few first-floor bedrooms, one of which has a separate entrance. You won’t be under any obligation to see anyone but me, and I’ll have a nurse tending to my needs. Alex and Elin will live their lives independently from me, though Alex will, of course, still oversee my care.”
A heavy sigh leaves me as I stare down at my hands. “Sorry. I feel selfish, my first thoughts being what they were.”
“Hardly, Willa.” Mama grasps my cheeks gently and turns my face her way. “It’s different. It’s not easy. But I also know you understand, and you’ll support whatever I need to be comfortable and have peace about our finances.”
I nod, my face still resting in her hand. “I do. I want whatever makes you happy and feeling good, Mama.”
Her eyes twinkle as she smiles at me. “I know, honey. You don’t even have to tell me. I knew you’d understand.” Slowly, she pulls me to her, until my head rests against her chest. Her fingers drift through my hair, another vain attempt to tame its wildness.
“I love you, Mama,” I whisper. I count her heartbeats. I feel gratitude for each of them.
She presses her lips to my hair, a soft kiss that’s as comforting as her strong hugs. “I love you, too, my Willa Rose.”
14
Ryder
Playlist: “Snaggletooth,” Vance Joy
Dad’s office is messy. I’m pretty sure it’s because the man doesn’t have so much as a stray necktie or fountain pen in our house. Mom requires a home as neat and minimalist as the one she lived in until she met Dad and then moved to the States.
“Ryder!” Dad stands with arms outstretched. I set our food down and let him hug me, hugging him back. Dad’s American, but he’s absorbed a lot of Swedish parenting philosophies from Mom, who’s a nurturing force of nature. He took long paternity leave when each of us was born, got down on his hands and knees to play with us whenever he could. Our family’s affectionate and masculinity doesn’t require gruff back slaps or avoiding kisses. Point in case, Dad presses a kiss to my hair, then squeezes my shoulder. He’s as tall as me, so we’re eye to eye when he speaks. It makes reading his lips easy, but I also wore the hearing aid, hoping it could handle the noise levels of the hospital.
As he rounds his desk, he gives me a once-over. “You look good, minus the Bigfoot beard.”
I roll my eyes. Dad’s never had a beard. He hates the feel of them and spent long enough in the military to get used to the daily discipline of a full shave.
“You taking care?” he asks. Sitting, he pulls the sandwich bag his way and opens it up.
I take out my phone and type, Pretty much. Classes aren’t too stressful. I’m exercising, sleeping decently. Same old.
He slides his glasses down from his head to read his phone. I watch his eyes dart left–right, then flick up to mine. “Same old, you say?” Raising his eyebrows, he takes a bite of sandwich and chews, then swallows. “Things are so same old, you came to see your dad when you’ll see him next week for Thanksgiving?”
I shrug, tugging my sandwich bag my way and uncurling the folded paper. My hand hovers over my phone, debating. Finally, I go for it.
How did you know you loved Mom?
Dad picks up his phone, reads it, then sets it down. His eyes meet mine. Sharp green eyes he passed on to Axel and me and Ziggy. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug, then type, An assignment for a class in History and Philosophy of Human Civilization.
Dad’s eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches. “That so?” When I don’t respond, Dad sits back and gives me a once-over. “Well funny enough, your mom and I didn’t get along too well at first. We practically hated each other’s guts.”
My stomach drops. The paper bag I’m gripping crumples in my hand.
Dad doesn’t seem to notice. “I was on R and R, went up with some buddies to the northern part of Sweden, which, as I’m sure you remember from when we visited when you were little, is much less populous than the south. There are no major cities. It’s quite rural and spread out. It’s good for skiing and getting snowed in, if you know what I mean.”