Page 25 - It Ends with Us
P. 25

“How are  you?” I ask.

                    She  sighs  dramatically.  “Fine, ”  she  says.  “Your  aunt   and   unc le  went
                back to Neb raska thi s morni ng . It’ll be  my firs t ni ght  alone  sinc e          . . .”
                    “You’ll be  fine,  Mom,” I say, trying  to sound  confid ent .
                    She’s  quiet   for  too  long ,  and   then  she  says,  “Lily.  I  just  want   you  to
                kno w    tha t   you   sho uldn’t     be   em barra ssed     about     wha t   ha ppened
                yes terd ay.”

                    I pause.  I was n’t. No t even the  slight est bit.
                    “Ever yone     free zes    up   onc e   in   a   whi le.    I   sho uldn’t   ha ve   put   tha t
                kind    of   pres sure   on   you,   kno wing     ho w   ha rd   the   day   was   on   you
                alrea dy. I sho uld ha ve  just ha d your unc le  do it.”
                    I  close   my  ey es .  Here  she   goes  ag ai n.  Coveri ng   up  wha t  she   does n’t
                want   to  see.   Taking   blame     that  isn’t  ev en   hers   to  take.   Of   course   she
                conv inc ed  hers el f tha t I froze  up yes terd ay, and  tha t’s why  I ref used  to

                spea k.   Of    course   she    di d.   I   ha ve   ha lf   a   mind    to   tel l   her   it   wasn’t   a
                mistake.   I  didn’t  freez e  up.  I  just  ha d  no thi ng   grea t  to  say  about  the
                unrema rkable  man  she  cho se to be  my father.
                    But  part  of  me  does   feel   guilty  for  wha t  I  did—s pec ific ally  bec ause
                it’s  not  somet hi ng   I  sho uld  have  done  in  the  pres enc e  of  my  mother
                —s o I just accep t wha t she’s doing  and  go along  with  it.

                    “Tha nk s, Mom. Sorr y I cho ked .”
                    “It’s  fine,   Lily.  I  need   to  go,  I  ha ve  to  run  to  the   ins uranc e  offic e.
                We    ha ve   a   meet ing    about   your   father’ s   policies .   Call   me   tomorro w,
                okay?”
                    “I will,” I tel l her. “Love  you, Mom.”
                    I   end    the   call   and    toss   the   pho ne   across   the   couch.    I   open   the
                sho eb ox    on   my   lap   and    pull   out   the   cont ent s.   On   the   very   top   is   a

                small  wooden,   ho llow  hea rt.  I  run      my  fing ers   over    it  and   rem em ber
                the  ni ght  I  was  given  thi s  hea rt.  As  soon  as  the  mem ory  beg ins   to  sink
                in,  I set  it aside.  Nostalgia is a funny  thi ng .
                    I  move  a  few   old  let ters   and   new spaper  clipping s  aside.   Benea th  all
                of  it,  I  find   wha t  I  was  ho ping   was  ins ide  thes e  boxes .  And   also  sort  of
                ho ping  was n’t.

                    My Ellen Diar ies.
                    I run  my ha nd s over  them.  There  are  three  of them  in  thi s box, but
                I’d   say   there   are   probably   ei ght    or   ni ne   total.   I   ha ven’t   rea d   any    of
                thes e  sinc e  the  last time  I wrote  in  them .
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