Status: Sorry to leave you hanging guys! The keyboard on my laptop is malfunctioning.
Stop Pretending That You're Sorry
22
It wasn’t until about 10:00 when mom finally woke up.
“Anthony?” Her dry voice carried down the stairs. I was in the kitchen on my laptop, scrolling through tumblr.
“It’s just me mom,” I called, closing my laptop and getting to my feet.
Anthony usually carried her down the stairs, so I figured I should too. She couldn’t be that heavy.
I descended the stairs and picked her up bridal style. Just as I had assumed, she weighed about as much as a small child. It was sad really.
“C’mon mom, I’ve got some raviolis you can have.”
Gently I set her down on the chair she usually was slumped in at the kitchen table. Then I got to work heating up the ravioli Mrs. Tucci had left me with.
It was frightening just how fragile my mother was. This wasn’t how I remembered her at all. Back when she and dad were still married she was radiant. Rosy cheeks, glistening golden hair, beautiful emerald eyes. Now her cheeks were hollow, her hair greasy, brittle and knotted, and her eyes… they were just so empty. Why had she done this to herself? Why would someone so beautiful with such a fulfilling life ahead of her, throw it all away?
She only ate one ravioli and it took her a while just to get that much down. It was hard seeing my mom that way.
When she finished I put her plate in the dishwasher and carried her back upstairs.
I was going to take care of her, that was the promise I made myself. She couldn’t do it herself so I would, just like she did when I was a baby.
She needed a wash, that was blatantly obvious. It was sad really, she couldn’t even bathe herself.
I took her into the bathroom and stripped her of her clothes, helping her into the tub. Through all of this she wasn’t very coherent.
When I finished washing her I wrapped her up in my bathrobe and took her into the bedroom she shared with Anthony. We sat on the bed together and I brushed out her weak, lifeless hair, all the while singing the lullabies she used to sing to me.
I was a horrible singer, but I don’t think she cared much. I’m not even sure if she was all there.
I split her hair into three sections and began to braid it. When I finished with that I left her sitting there alone while I went into my room and grabbed some of my clothes for her, a white cashmere sweater that dad had gotten me last Christmas, and a pair of jeans that had grown too small for me.
On my way out of the room, I stopped, my attention caught on my makeup bag. Mom could use a little color, so I grabbed my favorite shade of lipstick, Blackcherry.
I dressed her all up and slide on a thin coat of black cherry. She always did have such pretty full lips, it’s where I got mine from.
I took a step back, admiring my handy work. She looked so much better all cleaned up and wearing something other than the rank nighty she’d been wearing since I got there.
“I love you, mom,” I whispered, climbing back onto the bed and wrapping my arms gingerly around her small frame.
“I love you too, Regan,” Came her hoarse response.
And then I cried.
“Anthony?” Her dry voice carried down the stairs. I was in the kitchen on my laptop, scrolling through tumblr.
“It’s just me mom,” I called, closing my laptop and getting to my feet.
Anthony usually carried her down the stairs, so I figured I should too. She couldn’t be that heavy.
I descended the stairs and picked her up bridal style. Just as I had assumed, she weighed about as much as a small child. It was sad really.
“C’mon mom, I’ve got some raviolis you can have.”
Gently I set her down on the chair she usually was slumped in at the kitchen table. Then I got to work heating up the ravioli Mrs. Tucci had left me with.
It was frightening just how fragile my mother was. This wasn’t how I remembered her at all. Back when she and dad were still married she was radiant. Rosy cheeks, glistening golden hair, beautiful emerald eyes. Now her cheeks were hollow, her hair greasy, brittle and knotted, and her eyes… they were just so empty. Why had she done this to herself? Why would someone so beautiful with such a fulfilling life ahead of her, throw it all away?
She only ate one ravioli and it took her a while just to get that much down. It was hard seeing my mom that way.
When she finished I put her plate in the dishwasher and carried her back upstairs.
I was going to take care of her, that was the promise I made myself. She couldn’t do it herself so I would, just like she did when I was a baby.
She needed a wash, that was blatantly obvious. It was sad really, she couldn’t even bathe herself.
I took her into the bathroom and stripped her of her clothes, helping her into the tub. Through all of this she wasn’t very coherent.
When I finished washing her I wrapped her up in my bathrobe and took her into the bedroom she shared with Anthony. We sat on the bed together and I brushed out her weak, lifeless hair, all the while singing the lullabies she used to sing to me.
I was a horrible singer, but I don’t think she cared much. I’m not even sure if she was all there.
I split her hair into three sections and began to braid it. When I finished with that I left her sitting there alone while I went into my room and grabbed some of my clothes for her, a white cashmere sweater that dad had gotten me last Christmas, and a pair of jeans that had grown too small for me.
On my way out of the room, I stopped, my attention caught on my makeup bag. Mom could use a little color, so I grabbed my favorite shade of lipstick, Blackcherry.
I dressed her all up and slide on a thin coat of black cherry. She always did have such pretty full lips, it’s where I got mine from.
I took a step back, admiring my handy work. She looked so much better all cleaned up and wearing something other than the rank nighty she’d been wearing since I got there.
“I love you, mom,” I whispered, climbing back onto the bed and wrapping my arms gingerly around her small frame.
“I love you too, Regan,” Came her hoarse response.
And then I cried.