The sound of my mom’s weak voice was enough to break my heart. I gasped when I saw her standing there. She was shivering against the cold, and wearing a black jacket that I didn’t recognize. When I looked over her face, I felt my heart plummet. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were bloodless, pale. Her normally full mouth looked thin and saggy, like she’d aged ten years overnight.
I knew she wouldn’t just show up for no reason at all. There had to be something wrong – something really, really wrong.
“Mom?” I said tentatively. “What are you doing here?”
Mom was shivering uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body and hugged herself.
“Come in,” I said quickly, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders and pulling her inside the apartment. “How long have you been outside?”
Mom looked at me with mournful eyes.
“Mitchell’s dead,” Mom whispered. “He was in a car accident.”
And with that, she collapsed against me.
“Alexa!” I screamed loudly. “I need your help!”
Fifteen minutes later, Mom, Alexa, and I were sitting together in the kitchen. The pasta had long been forgotten and I’d made tea for all three of us. Mom was clutching her mug with both hands, like it was some kind of magical, life-saving device.
“I can’t believe it,” Mom said hoarsely. “One minute, we were talking about plans for dinner.” She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. I was close to crying myself. My chest ached and my heart was pounding, but somehow, the tears wouldn’t come. It was like I couldn’t be sad about Mitchell when I had Mom to take care of. She was, and always would be, my first priority.
“I’m so sorry,” Alexa said. She leaned in close and put an arm around my mother. “I wish there was something I could do, Mrs. Rhodes.”
My mom shook her head sadly. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. When I looked at her, I realized that she looked like a scared little girl. “Belle, what do I do? What happens now? Who’s going to take care of us?”
“We will, Mom,” I said softly. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. As I squeezed Mom’s fingers, her hand felt limp and cold in my grip. “Mom, everything will be okay. I promise – we’ve always survived, and that’s not going to change now.”
Mom stared at me like she wasn’t even hearing my words.
“Belle, I’d like you to come home for a few days,” Mom said in a strangled voice. “Just until everything’s taken care of. You can do that for me honey, can’t you?”
I nodded, thinking of my finals and how much harder I was going to have to work now that I would be missing the last of my classes.
“Of course I can come home,” I said. I squeezed Mom’s hand again. “I can stay for however long you need.”
Mom nodded. “That would be great, sweetie.” She nodded slowly, like I was still talking. Just looking at her was enough to punch me in the gut – she looked like a shell of her former self, a husk of the confident woman I’d always known.
I could tell she was still in shock.
“Come on, Mom,” I said gently, pulling her away from the table and leading her over to the living room. “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? We can make some plans when you wake up.”
Mom nodded. “That’s a good idea, Belle,” she said dreamily. “You’ve always been the best daughter.”
As I watched my mom drift off into an uneasy sleep, I felt conflicted. Angry. Scared. I knew that everything was about to change.
If only I’d known how much things would change, maybe I could have done a better job preparing myself for what was going to come next.
But there was no way of knowing, and now I was coasting off into the void like a missile off course.
The next couple of days were a blur. Between emailing my professors and packing a big bag, I barely had time to eat. Mom had gone home the morning after driving up to Alfred to give me the news, and even though I’d tried distracting myself, nothing had worked. I couldn’t even focus on studying – I was too worried about Mom, and what would happen to her now that Mitchell was gone.
Even though I’d lived with Mitchell and Mom as a teenager, I never really got to know my stepfather all that well. He was nice enough – Mom really loved him – but he never made too much of an interest in my life. I could count the number of dinners we’d had as a family on one hand…most of the time, Mom was too obsessed with spending as much time with her husband as possible.
It probably sounds like I was a little neglected. Some people would likely say that, but I’m not sure I could agree with them. After all, I didn’t mind. I’ve always been an introvert, and the idea of spending family dinners with a man I barely knew always made me want to break out into hives. So, while Mom and Mitchell flirted over fancy wine and Italian cuisine, I normally read books in my room and snuck down to the kitchen for late-night snacks after everyone else was in bed. I’d always thought of it as
doing Mom a favor, like giving her the time with her husband that she seemed to need so desperately.
I never imagined that I’d have to be the one who supported my mother through something like this. Mitchell had been so full of life, so energetic. The fact that he was dead didn’t even resonate with me.