Everything in Between

Chapter 16

Present Day

It's a few hours before I get - and ignore - a call from Tom. I can only assume he's trying to arrange a time to drop off my belongings, but I am hurrying to check through airport security and board a plane.

I can feel Tom's urgency to finally be done with our relationship, and I don't blame him. After the engagement party, it became clear that moving in together wasn't the answer. I loved him, I knew he loved me, and I appreciated everything he'd done for me, but moving in with him wouldn't fix anything between us. And even though I knew deep down he felt the same, he was still furious and heartbroken and stormed out of my condo when I finally told him my answer: no.

It's been over a month, and things have cooled off, but they aren't close to settling. I realize Tom wants to erase me from his life by physically shoving a box filled with my overnight clothes, toothbrush and other trinkets in my face, but today is not the day. I'm finally headed back to Ann Arbor to deal with emptying and cleaning Mom's home.

My brain feels foggy, and my body feels heavy, knowing I'm about to face the finality. This weekend, I will make a decision to keep or sell Mom's house. The reality of everything lately has been too much to bear. I'm exhausted from the idea of dealing with anything else today, but I also want to acknowledge Tom.

I text him back: I am about to board a plane. Can you call me tomorrow?

I wait patiently and see three tiny dots appear. They flicker for a few moments until they eventually disappear.

I'm not upset with Tom for not responding. There isn't anything left for either of us to say. With a sigh, I check through the gates and walk onto the plane, ready to confront everything I've avoided since Mom passed.

____

Seated at the kitchen counter, I glared at the glass of water before me, muttering, "Pick a room. You have to start somewhere."

The house is eerily quiet. I take a sip of water, lift my head and stare at the kitchen stove. A vision of my Mom dropping onions into a pot and Zach standing beside her cutting up peppers flashes into my mind. Mom is everywhere. This house is filled with memories of her. I can see her at the kitchen sink washing dishes, in the living room watering houseplants, on the couch with a glass of wine watching television, and she's even right here, sitting beside me - hand on my knee - telling me everything will be okay. Her presence is so powerful it's shakenly overwhelming. My eyes well up with tears, and I inhale a sharp breath. I try to focus on stopping my tears from falling. I can't let myself fall apart. I promised myself I wouldn't let myself go into a dark place of grief this week. I promised myself I would focus on what I needed to get done and continue to move forward. That's what Mom would've wanted.

"Hey," Bridget's voice comes from behind me. "You left the backdoor unlocked -"

I was startled and spun around on the stool to face her. She agreed to stay with me for the week to help me clean and declutter Mom's house. I am so glad she's here. I need all the help I can get. Bridget is still talking. I turned my attention back to her just as she seemed to wrap up whatever she was asking. She stares at me expectantly, grinning in her wide-open way.

"What's that?" I ask.

She clears her throat, speaking slowly, "I asked whether you were okay."

I nod, tilting the rim of my glass to my lips and trying to wipe away the grief she must see slashed across my mouth. "I'm good. Just reflecting. It's been a long couple of months."

I do a mental tally: I averaged twelve hours and thirty-five clients a day this week alone so I could be free for an entire week. I've worked countless hours creating content and filmed and released multiple videos for Budgetnista. And I've officially broken up with Tom. Now I'm re-immersed in the very thing I've been trying to avoid and suppress emotionally: dealing with Mom's death.