"I'll be in cake mourning until my baby girl comes back home. No more cake until she comes back safe and sound."
"Mom, come on! You can't mean that. She's not going to Afghanistan; she is going to New York. The worst that will happen to her is she might get her skirt lifted by some pervert on the subway. The only reason I come here is for your cake and the good reception on the tv....ow!" My dad smacks my brother on the back of the head again.
"Fine. It's not like she is leaving right away. I guess I can do one more cake. And I can make one for a going away party. And then, when she returns of course. Maybe even a three-week celebration when she hits the halfway mark, I will make a special cake for that. When are you going? May? June? December?" Mom asks, still refusing to look at me, her gaze locked on the old oil painting of a boat by a river behind my dad's head on the wall.
This is the part I dreaded of the evening. Now I have to tell Mom that I leave in two days. That this will probably be the last she sees of me for over a month. Unless she plans on visiting, which she won't. I don't think I have ever seen my mom go anywhere that isn't less than a three hour drive. She did tell me once she had to drive up to St. Paul, Minnesota once for a wedding, but that's when she was in her early twenties. I think she was more adventurous then.
"I leave on Saturday." I can feel the blood draining from my face as I hear gasps come from around the table. All eyes focus on my mom, except for Daniel's date. She is happily digging her fork into the roast chicken my mom made and reaching for the green ceramic dish of mashed potatoes.
“Brain! Brain! Please help me!” I whisper scream at Brain who is cowering behind the couch shaking her head at me.
“Leave me out of all this. This is Titanic and Pompeii all wrapped in one. Everyone needs to run for their lives.” Brain screams, then gets up and runs out the door. I swear I hear an engine roar to life outside and wheels screeching in the distance.
There is a croak and then a whimper and then another gasp coming from my mom, who I have yet to find the courage to look at after telling her when I’m leaving. I turn my gaze to the dog; his tail is in between his legs and he’s slowly backing out of the room. Smart dog, wish I had thought of an exit strategy.
"I...How...This...NEVER!!!" The last word sounded like the spawn of Satan spoke as my mom turns and runs up the stairs. She actually runs. A short, fifty something, never done exercise in her life, woman bolts up the stairs like an athlete.
"Do you have any more of the asparagus? It's really good," Daniel's date pipes up and looks around the table. We all stare at her. Finally, Daniel gets up and guides her into the kitchen.
"Well, I think that went well," My grandma points out while taking a sip from her bottle of beer.
"Should I go talk to her?" I look at Dad who is shaking his head and frowning.
"Oh no. Just let her cool off a bit and then I will go talk to her. It will take her a little while to accept you leaving. Remember how she was when you said you were moving into the dorms at college with Aria? That was just down the road. She will be okay," Dad points out.
I sigh and sit back down next to Aria, who is rubbing my back in support. As much as I dreaded tonight there is one positive, it got my mind off Henrik. The closer Saturday comes to me, the more I think about him. Perhaps I should call him and tell him I got into the program? Would he even care? Does he already know? How would he know? He doesn’t work at Mimir anymore. I don’t know why I am thinking about all this, he’s not my Henrik anymore.
We all continue eating in silence. My dad excuses himself from the table and heads upstairs after about ten minutes. I talk to Aria for a bit. She seems hesitant. Acting as if she is about to tell me something but stops herself. Our conversation ends up being about New York and all the potential bakeries I can discover there.
After some time passes, I hear moaning coming from the kitchen and realize my brother and his date are still in there; my father comes down the stairs. He points to me with a shaking smile and motions for me to go up and talk with Mom. He then focuses his attention on the noises coming from the kitchen and yells to my brother, “Hey! This isn’t a motel Daniel! What do you think you’re doing? We make food in there for Christ’s sake!”
I walk around my dad and head up the stairs to the back room, my parents’ bedroom. Opening the door, I see my mom sprawled face down on the bed. I rub her back as I come to sit next to her.
"I'm sorry Mom. I just found out this week. I have been working for this for years. Please, don't be mad at me."