cut her off, leaving the kitchen and heading for the stairs, when Mom stopped me.
Our relationship had been strained ever since the wedding, but not from a lack of trying. It’s just that, sometimes pushing for a relationship to work, is more damaging than simply letting it be. I felt that was very much the case for us and I hated it. I hated feeling that I was to blame, just for falling in love with a guy my family didn't approve of. I hated feeling like I'd thrust a wedge between us with every poor decision I had made. It was crippling and enough to make me cry if I let myself think about it too much.
Now, she stood next to me at the bottom of the stairs with a soft and sympathetic gaze, as she asked to talk to me. I shrugged like it didn't make a difference to me either way, while also desperately wanting that connection we once had to reattach itself.
“What's up?” I asked, when we were behind the closed door of my bedroom.
Mom moseyed around, like she was wandering through a museum. Her hands stayed clasped behind her back, as her eyes surveyed the scrapbook of memories, tacked to the walls and closet doors. Pictures of the past. Posters of bands I doubted were still together. Things I never thought to take down.
“I can't believe you still have these,” she commented, pointing at my pyramid of Beanie Babies.
“They're worth something on eBay,” I reasoned with an I-don't-care shrug.
She touched the edge of my four-poster bed and asked, “What did you ever see in him?”
I froze on my way to the dresser and stared ahead at the chipped white paint and crystal drawer pulls. Without asking for clarification, I turned to her and replied, “I-I don't know. We don't always choose—”
“Humor me,” she said quietly, as she lowered herself to sit on the bed. “I get that he's a good-looking guy, and he's funny and ... well, I'm assuming the sex is—”
“Mom,” I groaned, turning and shaking my head as I resumed the walk to the dresser.
“Anyway, I'm just saying, I get it on the surface. But ... after everything else ...” She sighed noisily. “I guess I'm just confused about what the appeal is there. I don't understand it, Andrea, but I want to. I want to get it.”
Keeping my mouth shut, I rifled through my drawer for another pair of leggings. My mind was caught somewhere between wanting to scream at her to leave and laying it all out on the table, in its purest, grittiest detail. But what good would it do either way? It wouldn't change anything. Nothing could bring him back to me or change the opinions of my family. It would serve only as wasted breath and nothing more.
“I don't want—”
The doorbell interrupted my protest. I looked over my shoulder at my mother, silently asking if she'd been expecting anybody and she only shrugged. Together, we strained to listen through the closed door as Willa answered the door.
“Um ... yes, I'll just go get her ...” There was uncertainty in her tone, and then there was the sound of footsteps against the stair treads. “Andrea?”
My stomach performed somersaults as I called out, “Yeah?”
“Someone's here for you.”
Fidgeting with the leggings held in my grasp, I hoped with every hope I could muster that it was my lost husband, coming to reclaim the heart that was rightfully his. “Who is it?” I asked, all but crossing my fingers.
“Some guy named Moe?”
All hope was washed away with a nauseating tidal wave of dread. My mouth flooded with the taste of bile as every possible horrible reason for him being here flooded my mind. Mom watched me curiously, asking what was wrong and who was Moe.
“Tell him,” I swallowed at the sour taste on my tongue, “tell him I'll be right there.”
Ignoring my mother, I pulled in a deep breath, pressing a hand to my stomach and begging the rumbling organ to stay calm until I knew exactly why Moe had come for a visit. Then, I left the room, still in my dirty leggings, with my mother following close behind.
He stood on the other side of the door, his long, thin dreadlocks pulled back and half-hidden beneath a grey knitted cap. The look of disdain on his face was warning enough and I said a silent prayer as I took the last few steps to the door, promising that I would never