After losing her job and her girlfriend, it's time for Annie Abraham to admit defeat and move back in with her parents. She has hardly been back to her tiny Montana hometown since the unforgettable summer before her senior year of college, when she...
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I stand straight, pressing my fingertips into the base of my spine, and wish I'd waited for Otto and Hannah to get home before deciding to tackle the box room. This would be a lot easier with more than one pair of hands. Ava's trying to help, but her contribution is pretty limited to passing me things that it'd be quicker for me to get myself.
After hours of organizing and tidying and hauling things up and down the stairs and making piles of things to donate or get the kids to look through, the tiny fourth bedroom is empty of clutter and Ava's crib has moved out of my bedroom. It took a lot of effort and cursing when I realized that because of the way the door to the box room opens, I had to disassemble the crib to get it inside.
That was fun, wielding an electric drill with my toddler at my feet. I wanted to give up halfway through, the crib in pieces leaning against the hallway wall, but once I started, there was no going back. Now I'm sweating after dragging a chest of drawers in here and squeezing it against the wall under the window, where it only just fits, with just enough space left over for a small armchair and a smaller bookcase.
"Isn't this cozy?" I say to Ava as I wipe my brow. I got started on the redecoration operation when she settled down for her first nap of the day, but by ten a.m., she was wide awake and raring to go and now it's almost two and she's showing no signs of being ready for her second nap. "Let's take a little break. Mama's exhausted," I say, dropping onto the armchair and heaving a sigh. Ava scoots across the floor and uses my legs to pull herself to her feet, scrambling onto my lap. I drop my head back and close my eyes. Ava may not be ready for a nap, but I sure as heck am.
Outside it's cold enough that it's snowing again but in here, I've worked up a sweat in yoga pants and a tank top. My hair is pulled off my face in a messy ponytail, strands sticking to my forehead. I loosely drape my arms around Ava as she plays with the ends of my hair, and I survey what I've done.
A few hours ago, this room was a dark little hole that Otto, Hannah and I used for all the stuff we don't know what to do with. Now the overhead light has a new bulb and Ava's light furniture brightens the room. The magnolia walls could do with a new lick of paint, but for now, I've found things to hang on the walls to bring a bit of color to the place. Framed pictures that Hannah had in her room when she was Ava's age; a handful of family photos taken since Ava was born and a collage frame to put them in. All that's left to do is hammer a few nails into the walls and hang things up, but I've run out of energy.
Ava gently tugs my hair. I unfurl her fingers and say, "No, honey, don't pull Mommy's hair. Let's have a couple minutes of peace, okay?"
"Kay," she says. It puts a smile on my face. So does her toothy little grin. I close my eyes, but she's not having it. I'm not the type to nap, but I don't usually spend five hours on my feet lugging furniture around and creating a bedroom where there was none.
"No, Mama," Ava says, pulling my hand. A couple days ago, she had never called me Mama. Now she has learned to tell me off when I want to catch forty winks. How time flies.
