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Outtake #1 - A Conversation with Mom
BPOV
As I leave the kitchen, I hear her say, "I love you, too."
I grab my glass of Coke off the counter and hurry from the kitchen, smiling like a loon because of Maggie's words as I make my way toward Mom's room. The smile stays, even when I open the door and the pfft whoosh pfft whoosh fills the air as it always does. It's still there as I glance at the bed and see my mom's completely still body. Today is a good day for her. I don't know how it's possible, and Maggie, Kate, and Phil argue with me and tell me I'm wrong, but I swear there are days she looks better than others. Some days she's so pale, her skin so translucent, it's almost as if she's a ghost, barely tethered to this world by the machines that feed her and keep a constant record of her vitals. But then there are days like today, when her hair has a slight shine to it instead of the limp, dull, brownish gray I see most of the time. Her cheeks have the tiniest tinge of pink to them instead of the pasty white that reminds me of slushy snow - the pristine white marred by dirt and grime, so that it's a dingy, ashen mixture of white and gray.
No, today is a good day for her, almost as if she's trying to comfort me, and tell me that it will be a good day for me, too.
Instead of my normal spot in the chair, I sit beside her on the bed. I need to be close to her. No matter how close Maggie and I have gotten over the past few months, she's still not Mom. She still doesn't know that my favorite after-school snack, not counting sugar cookies, was a plate of pretzels, celery, apples, and bowl of peanut butter. She doesn't know that I had the biggest crush on Cade Seymore when I was in the seventh grade, and cried myself to sleep every night for a week when he asked Amber Newton to be his girlfriend. Or that my dad and I would spend Sunday afternoons playing with Legos, taking hours and hours to build and create our own designs. And she'll never know that after my dad died, the only way I could fall asleep was to lay in bed with my mom, wearing one of my dad's flannel shirts while we watched episodes of Boy Meets World. She was an Eric girl, I loved Shawn, but we both loved Mr. Feeny.
I could tell Maggie of course, and Phil and Edward, too, but it's not the same as Mom knowing, because she lived it all with me. She was there, ready with a smile or a hug and a kiss and at times, when needed, a swift kick in the ass to tell me to pull myself together, pick my chin up, and face whatever it was that was making me afraid.
She sure could be scary when she wanted to be. She was also full of fire and passion mixed with a heart that was as big as the Grand Canyon and loved me, my dad, and then Phil with an intensity that rivaled the sun.
"Mom, I'm so nervous about today," I tell her, taking her frail hand in mine.
I carefully trace the veins beneath her paper-thin skin with my finger, wishing for the billionth time that somehow, someway, my touch could make her all better. That she'll just open her eyes, sit up, and then freak out because she's late for her belly dancing class. I sigh … if only.
"Edward keeps telling me not to worry, Maggie thinks I'm acting like an idiot, but I can't help it. What if they don't like me? What if they take one look at me and go, "Nuh uh, no way," and tell Edward to turn around and take me home, forbid him to see me, then homeschool him just to keep us apart?" I ask, laughing at my ridiculous self. Even in my over-dramatic and strange mind I know the chances of that happening are less than zero.
"I know, I know," I tell her with a smile, "I'm being silly, but you know how I get when I'm nervous. I start thinking all these weird things and work myself up so much I need medication or a straight jacket to calm down."
I can hear her.
Bella, what in the world is the matter with you?
She'd stand there, hands on her hips, hair tied back with her favorite faded blue bandana, wearing well-worn jeans with holes in both knees, and an old t-shirt of my dad's, probably with a picture of a beer can and some tacky, off-color saying plastered across the front in rainbow letters.
You're being totally absurd right now; you do know that, right?
I'd shake my head, open my mouth to argue with her, but before I could get a word in edgewise, she'd walk to me, grab one of my hands, and push my hair back behind my ear with her other.
Isabella Marie, she'd say and I'd roll my eyes because she knows how much I hate it when she uses my middle name and Isabella at the same time; one or the other is bad enough. You will walk into that dinner, you will hold your head up high, look Dr. and Mrs. Cullen in the eye, and be the Bella that Edward fell in love with. You will be your charming, sweet self. You will more than likely ramble and say something totally random and off-the-wall, but you will make them laugh and in that moment they will fall in love you every bit as much as Edward has. Be yourself, baby girl, she'd smile, because who you are is pretty damn special.
Then she'd ruffle my hair just to annoy me, and quip as she skipped out of the room, Just be careful if they're having spaghetti; you know you always wind up wearing more than you eat!
I feel a drop on my hand and I reach up to swipe at the tears I don't even know I am crying. My heart's so heavy as I focus on her again. Her voice, crystal clear and in surround sound in my mind. The image of her, in full 3-D High-definition.
I want it.
God, I want her here, with me, so damn bad.
My stomach lurches and that familiar feeling of wanting to scream and cry at the same time washes over me.
My phone vibrates, and the oppressive, somber thoughts from just moments ago float away like wisps of fluffy white clouds on a hot summer day.
Two more hours. I miss you! XOXO E~
"Okay, Mom," I say as I slide off the bed and stand up. "I guess I better go and get ready. I love you," I whisper against her cheek and then press my lips to the soft, much too wrinkled and loose skin.
I'm not sure how the night will go, but whatever happens, I know she'll be with me … just like always.
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