Without Conor, every moment felt unshared and half as full.
But there was a point…a point in time when the pieces started to slide in place, when you start to realize that you had to love the present fiercely and let the past go.
Moments like when Penny let go of the park bench and took her first steps to me, clapping her hands and giggling infectiously. Moments when I scooped her up from the ground after she fell and cried for me. Moments when she looked up at me with stars in her light brown eyes and said, “Mama, up.”
In those moments, drawn to loving the present, I wanted to slow time down. I wanted to remember her happy and in love with me. I locked those moments away in a treasure box inside my soul, so that whenever I felt broken, I could fix the crack with a memory of a gummy smile and the fierce love I saw in Penny’s eyes.
And time went on.
We had our own routine, Penny and I. She had her own room, but she slept in my bed. She woke me up every morning with a kick to my face, or the weight of her body sprawled over my abdomen like I was her pillow. We cooked breakfast every morning. Her favourite meal was pancakes with Nutella, or Nutella on bread, or Nutella full stop. We got dressed from the same closet where his clothes still lived like he’d never been gone.
We walked to the stop and took the bus every morning. I half-listened to my music, and she sang the alphabet every chance she got at full volume for everyone to hear.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, ELEMENO, P.”
She always fought me before we got to pre-school. Always stomped her tiny foot on the ground and begged me to stay, or to come to work with me (Locke wasn’t unkind about her being in the office with me). The neat ponytail of hers would be destroyed during her temper tantrum, and I would be late to work.
Again, and again.
I noticed her fierceness long before she learned to speak, and I recognized the side she got it from. Her tiny little hands would fist in anger, and while everyone chuckled and thought it was cute, I stared at her with worry in my heart.
Those days I usually found myself having panic attacks in the car with Jem. He was giving me occasional driving lessons, much to Locke’s irritation. I’d put it off so much, he’d scolded me, even ambushing me with driving instructors.
But it was Jem that I wanted. He was so casual with me now, not a single bit of awkwardness between us. He’d have his legs kicked up on the dashboard, chomping on bits of jerky as he ordered me to drive around deserted parking lots or brand-new suburban developments where residents were too busy selling their souls at work to cover the mortgage.
“I don’t get you,” he chastised, shaking his head. “We’ve been doing this for weeks now and you still suck.”
“Which parts suck?” I snapped, gripping the steering wheel tight as I came to a harsh halt before the stop sign. I pretended to be curt, but I was actually quite happy to spend time with him so long as it didn’t mean being alone.
“Your braking leaves much to be desired, sweetheart.”
“I’m doing my best, Jem.”
“You’re supposed to come to a rolling stop. A smooth stop. You keep pressing down on the brake like you’re trying to stomp a fire out.”
“I’ve got a heavy foot.”
“You weigh like ten pounds.”
“Yeah, it’s in my foot.”
He grinned, shaking his head at me. “You’re a fucking goof. I can’t stand it.”
His cheerfulness melted away the anxiety attacks and made me smile broadly in return. I turned the corner a little too tightly. “I just think some people have the gift for driving, and some people don’t. And really, what’s wrong with public transportation?”
“Yeah, you get to witness some of Blackwater’s finest.”
“That’s right.” I nodded, a little too excitedly. “Last week a man stepped on the bus with a dead bird on his shoulder. The bird’s name was Wilson.”
“Was he calling him Wilson? Is that how you found out his fucking name?”
“No, Penny asked him.”
His eyes widened. “You let your daughter ask a deranged man on a bus with a dead bird