With a single eyebrow raised in skepticism, I flipped the last page of Claire’s handwritten letter to find the printed bank statement. The grandparents truly had deposited fifty-thousand dollars in a college fund, which meant that I truly didn’t have to worry about my siblings’ tuitions anymore. Or at least before I turned eighteen and could remove the parents from my bank account. There was only one big problem with that. I was not included in the listed beneficiaries.
While I had told the grandparents that I wasn’t planning on attending college after high school, John and Danielle should have told them by now that I was indeed planning on taking college courses that would cost me a four-digit sum to start out. So, while I appreciated the reassurance, I kind of would have expected to be included in that fund, especially after I had paid eighteen grand for Logan’s education.
I also wasn’t sure how to feel about Claire’s letter. While it sounded genuine and sincere, and I could actually feel her remorse, it didn’t even touch on half the things I would have liked to hear about. Yes, she had listed the main events that had led to our current situation, and she had attempted to explain her motivation behind some of them. There still wasn’t anything in that letter I didn’t already know, except for the age at which she put me on formula, perhaps.
I had told John that I wanted to know exactly how we got to this point, not just speculation about the highlights. I asked for that because she still couldn’t tell me why she would change and suddenly treat me like her actual child. The only takeaway I got from Claire’s written words, however, was that she confused my self-preservation with independence, and, when she realized her big mistake, she accepted it anyway, since sleeping with Logan was more pleasurable than working on our relationship. In short, that letter contained no reason for me to expect anything to change.
On the other hand, while the letter may not contain an explicit reason for me to trust her again, her actions over the holidays could indeed indicate a change. She did separate from Aaron to protect her daughter. She was trying to get my attention. She did show undeniable regret over no longer being part of my life. Maybe, when I kept asking them what changed so I could believe anything they said, this was my answer. They simply couldn’t put it into words.
By the time I reached that non-conclusion, I had sat on the sofa for over an hour, and my stomach was making noises announcing my need to finally eat something proper. I dropped the letter back onto the coffee table, got off the sofa, and hobbled into the kitchen eager to prepare something that didn’t taste like sludge.
Seriously, I understand that it is easier for hospitals to make the same meal for everyone, so everyone gets something that doesn’t contain allergens, spices that could upset a patient’s stomach, or anything that would influence their blood sugar too much. But I like to taste and chew my food!
Another frustrating thirty minutes later, though, I found myself ogling the takeout menus hanging on my fridge, despite promising Nora I wouldn’t rely on those. It was surprising how many unconscious movements my arm normally makes that now hurt like hell, though I could deal with those. The real problem was how much longer everything took. I had the foresight to gather everything I needed before I started, so I wouldn’t have to jump around on one leg. But simply standing on one leg, since I couldn’t lean on my crutch AND prepare food with only my left hand, was taking a big toll on me.
Before I could reach for the takeout menus, however, I heard a key being inserted into the lock of my apartment door, and spun around with my biggest kitchen knife raised over my head ready to be thrown at the intruder.
I paused when Ava waltzed in, carrying the same overstuffed sports bag she had used the last time she moved here. My astonishment grew when, right after Ava, Claire walked in as well, also carrying an overstuffed bag.
“How the fuck did you do that!?” I asked a shocked Ava, and noticed I was still ready to throw the knife. She quickly raised her hands over her head, pointing at the keys she was holding.
“I still have the keys you gave me.”
“Oh.” I remembered giving her those keys, and realized she never gave them back. I lowered the knife, and looked at Claire. “And what are you two doing here?”
Claire stepped forward, squared herself out as she took a deep breath, and spoke in a stern voice.
“Even if you deny it, you do need help. Danny thinks you just don’t want to admit it because we are the ones who hurt you the most, so you don’t want to seem vulnerable in front of us. But I am your mother, and I will take care of you!” she said the last part with absolute conviction, even punctuated it with a subtle nod at the end.
Fucking Danny and her uncanny ability to only reach the right conclusions when it’s the least convenient for me. When I angrily stared at Claire, the confidence she had displayed until then wavered, and she started fidgeting again. Then she spoke in a much smaller, imploring voice.
“Please, Baby. Let me do this for you. I promise I won’t get in the way. I just can’t go back knowing how much you’re hurting again.”
That pleading tone of hers affected me in a much different way than her attempt at being stern. My eyes started roaming her body, taking in the full effect of her unhealthy weight loss. Then they involuntarily jumped to the letter on my coffee table, and when Claire followed my gaze, I thought I could see her bottom lip tremble a little. Finally, I turned back to look at the kitchen counter, taking in the barely started lunch I had been working on for almost an hour, with no hope of finishing it by myself. I made a decision.
“You know where the guest room is.” I sighed, before hopping back into the kitchen.
The only thing I actually finished was the sauce. I managed to cut up the chicken into more or less equally sized chunks and place them in a bowl with the seasoning, but then had trouble mixing it all because I couldn’t hold the bowl in place. I managed to fill the rice and water into a pot, but then it was so heavy I couldn’t get it out of the sink without the help of my dominant hand.
Just when I sighed in frustration about my misery, without saying a word, Claire reached past me and heaved the pot out of the sink. She placed it on the stove before looking at me expectantly, still not saying a word. Oddly enough, her silence made it much easier for me to accept her help.
I handed her the spoon and pointed at the bowl containing the chicken and seasoning. She immediately understood and started mixing it thoroughly. Just then, Ava joined us.
“What are you making?” she asked, sounding way too happy for someone who, just minutes prior, almost got a kitchen knife thrown at them.
“Sesame chicken in hoisin sauce, rice, and bacon wrapped snow peas.” I answered matter of fact. “You get to wrap the snow peas.”
“Nice. Picking up right where we left off before Christmas!” she beamed and stepped past me, eager to continue her cooking lessons.
I instructed her on how to wrap the bundles so they wouldn’t come apart while frying, and turned on the stove so the rice could cook while Claire, like on autopilot, started roasting the seasoned chicken. Then I suddenly realized I had nothing to do anymore. They were working well together, so, even if I could do anything, I wasn’t needed. So, I chose to sit on one of the bar stools and watched them work. Honestly, I thought I could get used to this.