My lids were heavy, and my brain was operating at sloth speed, so I headed to the bathroom to wash up quickly. Then I made the bed and got in.
I hadn’t slept well since Belle died. Every time I crawled under the covers, all I could think about was how she wasn’t there to warm my feet. But tonight, it wasn’t Belle I thought of when I closed my eyes.
Ben and I now had not been friends for longer than we had been inseparable. Belle had made it easier not to think about that. Now with her gone, too, it was hard not to reflect on the hole Ben had left in my life.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried to make friends after Ben. I’d joined book clubs and went to coffee with other writers and befriended the wives of Josh’s entrepreneur buddies. But I’d never found another person who could finish my sentences. Or one who wanted to split every spicy dish on the menu with me. And I never ceased to be surprised at what a chore it was to have to give someone the backstory to a current story in order to make them understand what the heck you were talking about. I’d never had to do that with Ben—because he’d been there the whole time.
I was still ruminating when I heard a loud thud, which was followed by the sound of a door closing. My eyes flew open.
I supposed it could have been Roger and Rohit—except I knew that the front door to the brownstone, which was made of thick old oak and had leaded windows, was nearly silent. No, it was almost certainly the door to my mother’s apartment. Except who was coming and going at this time of night?
I leapt out of bed. “Mom?” I called as I climbed the stairs to the main floor. “Is that you?”
She didn’t answer.
I hadn’t thought to pack a bathrobe and I wasn’t wearing a bra, so I grabbed one of the throws from the sofa and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then I fished my mother’s keys, which were buried under chewing gum and coupons, out of the bowl next to the front door and let myself outside. “Mom?” I called from the stoop.
“Over here,” called a young guy stumbling down the street with a few friends.
“You wish, boozer,” I called back, but then I blushed. One day back in the city and I was hollering at strangers.
I glanced around, but there was no sign of my mother. Bashir’s bodega was still lit up—he’d always done a brisk business at night—but I realized I’d have to actually get dressed to head over there. Anyway, I hadn’t checked the back patio yet.
My mother wasn’t there, either, and I was starting to get alarmed. I’d just walked into the kitchen when I heard noises coming from overhead.
She wouldn’t have gone to the apartment upstairs . . . would she? As much as I wanted this night to be over, I knew I had to check.
I padded up the stairs, which were strewn with dusty tumbleweeds. I wasn’t expecting a floor you could serve steak off of, but it was unlike Roger and Rohit not to vacuum. Stranger still, their door was cracked open.
“Hello?” I called.
“Hmm?” said a voice.
It didn’t sound like my mother, which is probably why it took several seconds for me to realize that it actually was her.
“Mom?” I was officially confused. “Is everything okay?”
“Who’s there?”
Panic was setting in, but I didn’t want to throw open the door to someone else’s apartment. “It’s me? Laine?”
“You girls should be in bed!”
“Mom?” I was starting to freak out. “Are you in there with Roger and Rohit? Can I speak with them?”
“Who?”
“Your tenants? Are they on vacation?”
“I don’t know.” Her words were strained, and nothing about this seemed right. I was going to have to break my own ethical code and let myself into a place where I hadn’t been invited. But hopefully Rohit and Roger would understand, even if I didn’t understand why they’d have my mother over at this time of night.
I pushed the door open. Then I gasped.
The apartment was empty—well, it was free of furniture. But there were piles of newspapers and what looked like bills and packing slips all over the floor. Worse, cardboard boxes were stacked all over the living room and kitchen. My mother was sitting in the middle of a pile of them, peering down into a half-opened box.
“Mom,” I said slowly, “what is happening? When did Roger and Rohit move out? Did they leave some of their boxes behind?”
“Who?” she said again.
Pain shot from my stem to my stern as she finally looked up at me. Her eyes were glassy and confused—just like my grandmother’s had been when the worst of her disease set in.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, pushing some boxes out of the way so I could sit down beside her. “Why are you up here?”
“This is my home,” she whispered.
My mother’s family had lived upstairs when she was a girl; she only moved into the downstairs apartment after she married my father. “I know that,” I said softly, and now I was on the verge of tears. “But you didn’t tell us that your tenants moved out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay.” Hold it together, Laine, I commanded myself, even as another voice in me said, This is even worse than it seems. “Where did all this stuff come from?”
“I was just trying to clean up my apartment.”
“Okay. That’s good,” I said, but as I glanced around, I knew I was just rationalizing. No wonder her place hadn’t been as bad as I’d been expecting—judging by the number of boxes she’d hauled upstairs, she’d probably spent the past several weeks cleaning. And yet none of this made the situation any better. Hadley was right: something was seriously wrong with our mother.
“Listen, we should really get you to bed,” I said.
“I am tired,” she said softly as I helped her to her feet.
“Of course you are.” Meanwhile, it was my turn to be wide awake. “It’s nearly midnight. Do you have the key to this apartment?” I asked as I guided her toward the door.
“Why . . . I have no idea,” she said, reaching into her pockets. “I don’t think so.”
I decided to leave the dead bolt unlocked for the time being and pulled the door closed behind us. “It’s okay,” I told her as we slowly descended the stairs. “It’s all going to be okay. We’ll come back tomorrow morning and deal with this.”
At once, she seemed lucid again, as if my very presence had broken the spell she’d been under. And yet this didn’t make me feel better. “Oh, Laine,” she said, squeezing my arm. “You really are the best.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I told her, because it was true. My poor mother, alone day in and day out. I could have called her more often. I could have visited every two to three months. She would’ve learned to put up with Belle, or I could have left Belle with Josh if need be. Now, on the cusp of hopefully having a baby, I saw the opportunity I’d missed during that childless, commitment-free time.
As I helped my mother get in bed, then turned off the light and closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but reflect on Ben’s role in all of this. It was enough to curdle the nostalgia I’d been having earlier. If only he’d kept his accusations to himself, maybe it wouldn’t have taken me so long to realize he’d been wrong, or at least misguided. My mother’s instructing me to keep our relationship platonic wasn’t an attempt to manipulate me; she loved me and wanted to protect me.
And lo and behold, she’d been spot-on: love had ruined everything. My friendship with Ben, yes. But it had also pushed me away from New York. And in doing so, I’d squandered my chance to take advantage of my mother’s last good years.
NINE
SALLY
Humans aren’t meant to have so much stuff. I know this. I do. I know. My mother told me herself not to get too attached to my things—after all, she said, you can’t take them with you.
But this is my home, isn’t it? Can’t I do what I like? Haven’t I earned at least that?
Now Laine was peeking at me as she picked at her breakfast, probably searching for signs that last night was more than a one-off. I knew I should have locked that place up, sealed it tight. It’s just that it’s so hard to sleep and then I wander up there . . .
And then I don’t know what happens.
That’s the part that scares me.