Life didn’t make sense any more. I was about to stop trying to make sense of it in the first place.
I curled up in Grandpa’s old recliner, staring out at the cacti twinkling with Christmas lights, trying to imagine what Jude was doing at that exact minute. Experiencing a moment of weakness, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and typed, “Merry Christmas. XXX&O” and pressed send before I could rethink it. I waited up most of the night, checking my screen to make sure he hadn’t replied.
He never did.
Finding myself unable to sleep yet again New Year’s Day morning, I zombie walked into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee pot.
“And I thought I was the insomniac in the family.”
I didn’t even startle, I was that sleep deprived. Mom rose from her chair at the table and walked over to the cupboard where Grandma kept her coffee cups. Pouring one for me, she added the sugar and cream without asking.
“Thanks,” I yawned as she set the cup in front of my chair.
“You’re welcome,” she said, sitting back down and watching me, like she was waiting for something.
Too early to know what exactly, and with my mom, nothing was ever as it seemed. She might be waiting for me to share my every goal and dream with her just as much as she might be about to tell me that swept off the face hair style I’d been favoring lately wasn’t a good look for my heart-shaped face.
I’d burned through half a cup of coffee before she cleared her throat.
“So I’m officially done waiting for you to open up about whatever has got you so down you can’t possibly get any lower,” she said, setting her cup down on the table. “What’s going on with you, Lucille? I know it has something to do with you and Jude, I just can’t figure out what it is.”
I cringed first over her use of my given name and winced when she said Jude’s name. Even his name hurt me to hear.
I sighed, taking a deep chug of coffee before setting it down.
“I’m not sure if we’re supposed to be together,” I said, offering nothing else. This was, at the crux of all my concerns, the cornerstone.
My mom nodded her head, taking a few moments to think before replying. “You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be together, or if you shouldn’t be together?”
My brain wasn’t working well enough to have these kinds of conversations. “Is there a difference?”
“Of course,” she said, cinching the rope of her new bathrobe tighter. “To suppose is to assume. Should is an entirely different beast. Should implies duty and obligation. It’s a period where suppose is a question mark,” she said, watching me across the table. “So yeah, there’s a difference.”
Yep, I should have stayed in bed and continued to toss and turn. That would be better than having this conversation with my mom before the crack of dawn.
“I guess I don’t know?” I said.
“You want to know what I think?” Mom asked, her voice and face concerned.
“Sure,” I said, needing some solid mom advice. In the months that followed my senior year, we’d managed to rebuild a good portion of the relationship we’d lost after John’s death. She even snuck a few napkin notes into the care packages she and dad had sent me at school.
“From an outsider’s perspective, you and Jude probably aren’t supposed to be together,” she began slowly, watching my face for my reaction. “But at the same time, you two should be together.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I couldn’t keep up. This whole conversation seemed like one giant oxymoron.
“Okay, mom. That was clear as mud,” I said, narrowing my eyes as the start of a headache emerged. “Are you saying we should or shouldn’t be together?”
“You should,” she answered immediately.
Glad that was cleared up and, even though I wanted further clarification on the whole should/suppose mind maze, I couldn’t do that to myself without bringing on a migraine.
“How can you be so sure of that when I’m not?”
“Oh, honey,” she said, patting my hand. “It’s because you’re letting the fairy tales you grew up hearing in storybooks and the baseless ideals of love cloud your mind. Love isn’t easy. Especially the really good kind. It’s difficult, and you’ll want to rip your hair out just as many days as you’ll feel the wind at your back.” She paused, smiling to herself. “But it’s worth it. It’s worth fighting for. Don’t let what isn’t real blind you from what is. Life isn’t perfect, we sure as shit aren’t perfect, so why should we expect love to be?”