Aunty Nicole and Mum end up making one of their childhood desserts together. I can’t explain it, which I guess makes it so special. There are eggs and flour and cinnamon, and I walk away to leave them to it, since it feels like I’m stealing their show with this not being a reunion in the strictest sense for Nicole and I.
We all watch reruns of Bewitched, and while it’s one of the old TV shows that is still great today, I don’t pretend to enjoy it the same way they do. Nicole and Mum go into fits of slapping their thighs, chucking their heads back and cackling, pointing to the TV with dead-straight arms and snorting.
I really don’t think it has much to do with Bewitched at all.
Though it’s a weeknight, it’s 10.30 before Aunty Nicole says she has to leave, 11 once she actually states she’s leaving and 11.30 by the time she gets in her car and drives off. Mum and her wave goodbye, Mum running all the way down the steps and my aunty matching her tone, too, screaming out her window.
Once inside, Mum sighs and flops on the couch. Luckily for us, the boys are with Chester tonight, so we can just relax and be irresponsible kids.
The house seems strange with the buzzing silence.
I ask her what she thought of the evening and she goes on about the best bits.
“Mary,” I say after a while. “I need to know something.”
She motions as if washing her face in her hands, and then blinks away her tiredness. “Yup?”
“How can I tell if you’re having fun or having fun?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She lifts her legs and pauses, hovering over my lap. “May I?”
I nod and she lays out her legs over my thighs. You’d think with eighteen years between us, and her being such an atypical mum that I’d know her inside out as a mother and a friend, but there’s a part of her I’m noticing I don’t know at all.
“Your suicide attempt, I mean. I know you’ve explained it, but how? Why? Every night before bed it’s all I think about.”
“I’m not sure you’d get it.” She realises it came out wrong, then adds, “As in, no one would.”
“I think I would. I’m not the normalest out there.”
She cackles shamelessly and I can’t help but wonder that although Mum always says she’s having fun, she rarely laughs, and maybe that’s the difference.
“Do you ever ride a high for so long, for so high you wonder what it’s like to come crashing down?” She glances at me, but I’m not going to interrupt now.
“You know what I did wasn’t your fault. It was lots of things. Guilt for being a spaced druggie when my daughter needed me; angry I just boxed away anything that went wrong, what I’ve done in my past. At that moment in the bedroom, how you were too worried to tell me. I can’t describe the low, dreadful feeling. It cut down all my efforts to move on, be a better person.
“I didn’t feel there was a point, since there was absolutely no way to fix the last decade. And there is a lot of regret to carry around with what I’ve done. You’re the most special person in my life and I ignored you. But bottom line is I was a coward.
“I’m getting help on how I deal. I dealt all wrong. Talk to me tomorrow or some other time, and there’s a chance I could be smoking and popping again. It’s this huge pendulum that I go through with my moods. The first week my medication didn’t do much, but a few weeks on I’m feeling it, and the urge to go back is weak. Still, I can feel myself about to slip sometimes and it scares me. Maybe realising the severity of this all is good? Right now it just feels confusing.” Mum shakes her head. “I’m not even saying it all right.”
I have chills down my spine and my body reacts as though it’s near freezing out. That’s how deep the shakes go. Right to my bones and through.
“Mary, I’m not forcing you. You don’t even have to tell me. You’ve got secrets so big you don’t know where to start and how you’ll ever end. I get that plenty. It’s fine.”
“Thanks. For understanding. But it’s part of my therapy plan. If I’m uncomfortable with something it’s on my bucket list to face it at one point.”
“And me?”
“You’re right at the bottom. I’ll get to you right at the end when I have the courage.”
“I’m that bad?” I say, winking, and nudging her legs with my knees.
When she meets my eyes, her look is serious, as if I’d actually knocked and hurt her, not mucked around.
She doesn’t even pretend to smile, just stares off. Then she says, “Goodnight, Kalli,” kisses my forehead and walks towards her bedroom.