Jewel Ann - Idle Bloom

We both stumble off the bus in a giggly fit and call it a night or morning .

Oliver

Fucking hangovers! I should be used to the pounding headaches and the taste of monkeys shitting in my mouth by now.

Prior to my move to Portland three years ago, the last time I was this intoxicated was my freshman year of college. Since the move back to Cambridge, I can’t even count how many times I’ve felt like I do right now.

“Welcome back.”

I try to peel open my eyes. It feels like sandpaper against my pupils. “Blinds.”

“Nope, they stay open, dear.”

“Mom?” I sit up and rub my temples.

She hands me a glass of water. “I should be upset that you’ve been binge drinking for the past two days, but had you been in your right and stubborn mind you might not have told me where you were staying.”

“You called?” I take a sip of water. Jeez, my mouth tastes like shit.

“Thirty-two times. The thirty-first time you finally answered and told me your room number. The thirty-second time you told me the name of the hotel in exchange for me, and I quote ‘fucking off’.”

I cringe.

“Of course there’s more than one Hilton here in Portland, so after several misses and weird looks when knocking on the right door at the wrong hotel, I finally found you. Lucky for me I knocked on your door a whole five minutes before you passed out. Otherwise I would have been calling the authorities with reason to believe my son was in danger of injuring himself.”

“Why are you here?” I finally make eye contact.

“Because I’m afraid you’re going to hurt yourself.” She folds her hands in her lap.

“God, I’m not suicidal.” I shake my head.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She stands and walks over to the bed and brushes her fingers through my hair. “You’re going to lose another person in your life that you dearly love. And it’s going to wreck you beyond repair if you don’t figure this out soon. I’ve given you three years to work through this and you haven’t. I wanted you back home with us but not because you were running away, Oliver. It should have been because you were moving on.”

“I can’t … I don’t know what to do.” Even though she’s my mom, I hate that these stupid tears sting my eyes and she’s here to witness me like this.

“Yes, you do.”

“She killed my baby.” I suck in a shaky breath but can’t hold it, not anymore. A sob cuts through me and she pulls me into her like she did when I was a little boy. That’s what I feel like, a lost child.

“She killed her baby too because she was sick, Oliver, so sick. Caroline couldn’t see Melanie. Her mind wouldn’t let her see anything but the pain. She was putting an end to the pain.”

“Oh … God! It hurts so bad.” I sob with excruciating pain seizing every part of my body.

“I know it does, sweetie, I know …” She rocks me in her arms and so many thoughts and emotions that I’ve never allowed myself to think and feel crash into my heart like a wrecking ball.

I met Caroline Sue Welch at the campus bookstore. She was working behind the counter and I was immediately drawn to her curly blond hair and rich hazel eyes. I was three people back in line and she kept peeking up at me while trying to help other customers. She was innocent and flirty. I was young and horny. When it was my turn in line, she gave me her address and phone number, in case I had any questions about The Story of My Life by Clarence Darrow, the book I was purchasing. A week later I called her up and asked her to dinner. Over margaritas and guacamole in a loud Mexican restaurant, I found out she had never read The Story of My Life by Clarence Darrow.

I have a million wonderful memories of Caroline. Everyone loved her, including me. But she’s gone and I don’t know where she went or what took her from me. The woman before me is a stranger—a stranger in my Caroline’s body. I wonder when I lost her or if she tried to tell me. Did I not see the signs? Did I not hear her fading voice?

“What do you want, Oliver?” Her hazel eyes are the only part of her body that reminds me of that day in the book store. She’s twenty-seven but her malnourished body looks thirty years older.

“I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

I fight past the three years of emotion that have been stuck in my chest, climbing up my throat, and threatening to steal my breath.

“I didn’t know … I didn’t see it. The doctors said it was common, but I should have seen it. A man should know when his wife is slipping away. I worked too many hours. I wasn’t there enough.” I swipe away a stray tear.

She looks away, a million miles out the window with an expressionless face. I’m not sure she even hears me. Maybe she never will. I start to stand. This feels like a waste of time. My Caroline’s gone.

I walk to the door and it hits me. This is the last time I will ever see Caroline. I turn. She’s still looking out the window.

“Caroline?”

She turns.

I feel my lower lip start to tremble as I blink back the tears. “I forgive you.”

Those familiar hazel eyes fill with tears, but I walk away before they fall.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to convey the gratitude I have for my mom. Only now, as we wait to board our plane to Boston, does the impact of her love over the past three years really resonate with me. She’s a fixer, as a mom and a psychiatrist, yet she stepped aside and let me fall apart over the last three years. Maybe she knew that’s what I needed, maybe she didn’t. Either way, it had to have taken an incredible amount of strength and love to watch in silence.

“How can you be so quiet?” I ask, sitting next to her in the terminal.

She reaches over and takes my hand. “There’s nothing left to say. I’m in awe of your courage. You made peace with Caroline and you said a proper goodbye to Melanie. Oliver, my dear, you came to Portland a victim and you’re leaving a survivor.” She squeezes my hand and smiles.

“Do you think I’m the first person to leave a pillow by a headstone?”

She laughs. “Maybe.”

“You know a raccoon or something is going to take off with it.”

“Probably.” She shrugs. “The birds and squirrels take off with the flowers.”

I nod. “How’d you know to bring it?”

“You chose to give it to me instead of throwing it away, so I knew that meant you trusted me to know what to do with it. Honestly, I didn’t know what that was until Vivian came back from Portland.”

I stare at her for a moment then sigh. “This is so inadequate but right now it’s all I can think to say, so … thank you.”

My mom smiles as her eyes tear up. “You’re welcome.” She dabs the corners and sighs. “Isn’t it amazing that the Weeping Cherry tree near her grave finally bloomed this past spring?”

I smile thinking about Vivian and the scattering of cherry blossom buds inked on her back. “Yes, some things are just … amazing.”

After we board the plane and take off, I feel … free. My mind relaxes on my favorite thought … Vivian. I was cruel to her, and my actions were abhorrent and by all rights, unforgivable. And if she’s still waiting for me it will be a miracle, but that’s what she is to me … a miracle.

Vivian

The forecast was for snow, but Alex called in a favor with the big guy and agreed to apologize for all her Bridezilla outbursts if he granted her a day of sun. Wish granted. The ceremony at the church was perfect. Alex looked like a princess that walked straight out of a Disney fairy tale and Sean won me over when he cried during his vows.