“I’ll have my phone on my nightstand,” I told him. “Call me, text me, whatever before you come home. I just want to see you before you go to sleep. I’ll run over and just…see you then let you go in and crash. Would you mind doing that?”
I had his full attention when he replied, “It’s late and it’s gonna be later when I get home, Amy.”
“You know I don’t mind late when it comes to you.”
I got a soft, sweet, “Right. Then I’ll get in touch, darlin’.”
“Okay, Mickey. I’ll let you go.”
“Thanks, babe. Later.”
“’Bye, honey.”
We rang off and I turned to my kids.
“So he’s okay?” Auden asked for confirmation.
“He is,” I nodded, moving back to them. “Everyone is. It’s all good. I mean,” I positioned my behind over the chair and fell into it, “not the jetty, which sustained a lot of damage. But the important part. The people.”
“Bummed,” Pippa murmured then jerked her head and assured me, “Not about Mickey. Totes happy he’s good, Mom. Just that there are a lot of awesome shops on the jetty. I hope the good ones didn’t get toasted.”
“Olympia Moss, ground zero on new mental illness. Shopping on the brain,” Auden said, his tone having an edge of nasty but it was this in subtle rebuke, stating in his big brother way he thought she’d been insensitive.
“Auden! Shut up!” she snapped.
Auden opened his mouth but I got there before him, doing it straightening out of the chair I’d just collapsed in, taking my wine with me.
“Okay, kiddos, no fighting. I know Pip didn’t mean anything by what she said. But Mom’s had a rough night. The meeting of her beloved children with a man she cares about who is officially now in all of our lives and that man racing off to fight a fire before having his pie. I need to sip wine in a hot bath and then go to sleep. Can I do that without you two killing each other in front of the TV?”
“With Pip as my sister, I have tons of experience curbing murderous tendencies,” Auden declared.
“With Auden as my brother, I have more,” Pip added irately.
“Wonderful. I’ll wake up to my house as I like it and not the aftermath of a blood bath,” I said while walking in front of the couch and stopping. “Now, hugs for your mom who had a rough night seeing as you could be eighty and give me hugs and that’d fortify me through anything.”
To my delight, neither hesitated before they got up and gave me hugs.
Pippa’s was tight and swift.
Auden’s was longer and included a kiss on the cheek.
As they settled back in, I wandered away, the quake inside gone, good to get in my bathtub, soak, finish my wine and wait for Mickey’s call.
I did my wandering, saying, “Don’t stay up much longer.”
“Won’t, Mom,” Auden replied.
“Going to bed soon,” Pippa told me.
“Okay, kids, ’night.”
I got return “’nights.” I walked to my room. I took my bath. I sipped my wine. I did both of these extremely glad that night was over and proud of myself that I’d found it in me to hold myself together.
Out of the bath, I lotioned and put a spritz of perfume, a pair of fleecy yoga pants, a shelf-bra camisole and a cardigan that was soft and pretty but was also warm.
I lit my fire, got my book, set my phone on the side table and was about to lay on the daybed snuggled under my afghan waiting for Mickey’s call when my eyes drifted to the door.
Mickey was fine. The night went well. All my loved ones were safe.
But one thing happened that night that was niggling me, and after the success of the evening, my kids showing they were good kids, I thought it might be time to do something about it.
I walked out of my room and down the hall to see the living room dark, the TV off.
I kept walking and saw no light coming from under Pippa’s door.
But there was one coming from under Auden’s.
I knocked softly at my son’s door and called, “Hey, kid, you still up?”
“Yeah, come in, Mom,” he called back.
I opened the door, took a step in and stopped.
I had not found a cleaning lady yet because I still was enjoying the feeling of accomplishment when I cleaned my own house.
But with the kids back, I enjoyed it more, picking up rooms they’d made their own because they spent time in them.
Auden’s bed worked much better no longer against the side wall but the back wall and facing his windows to the sea. He had band posters up plus blood-guts-and-glory type inspirational posters, these he’d started putting up years ago, I suspected to psych him up constantly, if sometimes subconsciously, to be a good competitor.
He needed to tidy. He was like his dad dropping his clothes everywhere. And there was tons of stuff all over his dresser, his desk. This I never touched, thinking he probably knew how to find whatever he needed. But it was a sixteen-year-old boy’s room, lived in and Auden’s, even if it was that in a multi-million dollar show home.
I liked this.
But I was hesitant about the conversation we needed to have.
“Everything cool, Mom?” he asked, prompting me out of my study of his room, and I gave my attention to him.