by Alex Wolf
She’s gone.
Mom is gone, and I’ll never see her again. Never talk to her again.
Markets measure everything in dollars, but the truth is, time is the most valuable commodity on the planet. You just never realize that simple fact until you’re out of it.
It’s so surreal. She was here, and now she’s not.
I bury my face in Dad’s shoulder, and he squeezes me even harder than before. He’s barely holding on, no matter how tight he hugs me. Hell, so am I.
The nurse finally turns to us and says, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
We both nod in recognition and say, “Thank you.”
“I’ll call and make all the arrangements. Do you want to wait in here, be with her, until they get here?”
I nod again, wiping my eyes, almost glad we have these decisions to make, to distract us a little bit from what just happened. “Y-yes, thank you. We’ll wait with her.”
In a soft voice, she says, “Okay, just let me know if you need anything,” then she walks off into the living room.
Dad and I hover over Mom for a while. Both of us just stand there, in silence, holding each of her hands, until they show up to take her away.
Later that evening, Dad and I sit at the kitchen table. I push a few noodles around in the takeout container of pasta we ordered from DoorDash. I didn’t feel like driving and it’s not like Dad can go anywhere with his ankle bracelet. I doubt he still has a driver’s license anyway.
Once we’re done eating, we both stand up to go throw the takeout containers away.
I’m about to walk back to the table when Dad stops me.
“We need to talk.”
I’m not really sure what he wants to talk about right now, so I raise my eyebrows and say, “Okay? What’s up?”
He looks down at the floor for a moment, then back up at me. “I’m sorry, Meadow.”
“It’s okay, Dad. She’s not in pain anymore. That’s the only thing getting me—”
He shakes his head. “No, not that. I’m sorry. About what happened with me, leaving you and your mother all alone.”
My jaw sets a little. He wants to do this, now? “You already apologized.”
“No, not like this, I didn’t. I got to say what I needed to say to your mother, but not to you. Not the apology you deserved. Not just saying I’m sorry in the middle of an argument to try and end it prematurely. I have to look you in the eyes and tell you I’m sorry and mean every word of it.” He takes a deep breath to compose himself. “I am so sorry. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I have regretted it every single day since, and I will always regret it. It haunts me—every damn day.”
I stand there, thinking, processing. I know he’s right; he did need to do it this way. He means what he just said, and I know I have to be truthful in this moment, no bullshit. “You know, Dad, I told you I forgave you. And I wanted it to be true. Please know that. I wanted to mean it. I’m sure you could read the situation, same as I could, same as Mom could. She knew we, well, I was pretending to get along for her. But I’ll be brutally honest, giving you another chance scares the living fuck out of me. It’s so hard for me. I told myself a million times there’s no way I’d ever even look at you again. When you kept calling, and every time I heard that goddamn automated voice from the prison, I wanted to smash my phone across your face.”
He pales a little, as if this might not be going exactly how he expected.
I start to say something else, and I just stop. My brain can handle a ton of bandwidth, but apparently my heart is not as good at handling emotional traffic. There is so much running through me right now, so many feelings.
Finally, I look down at the ground and mumble, “I heard you guys.”
He leans back a second, regarding me skeptically. “Heard us?”
“You and Mom. After we got the news from the doctor. And we said our goodbyes, then I left the room, and you were alone with her.”
His eyes widen as the recognition sets in. “You, umm, you heard that?”
I nod, and it’s impossible to hide the slight grin at the way Mom handed him his ass. Before he can respond, I say, “And I’m glad I did, even if I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t know that side of Mom existed. I never knew she felt that way, growing up, and I felt like such an asshole because I was always running to you. I always thought she was the mean one and you were the fun one. And that you got me, and I was nothing like her. I had no idea she was so jealous of you, and I was the reason for it.”
He inhales a deep breath. “Well, she’d be mortified if she knew you heard that. She did more to protect you than I ever could. And she did resent me, a lot.” He sighs, like he’s reliving the past. “Yeah, because I was the fun one, and the way I would come home, and you would smile and sprint to me with your arms wide open. And your mother, Meadow, she was the most fun woman I ever knew. She was so much fun, full of vibrance and life. But she took being your parent seriously. Very seriously, more than I ever could, more than was humanly possible. We made a deal never to argue in front of you, which we kept our entire lives, well, almost, it seems. Your mother thought someone had to raise you to be a responsible adult, and that person most certainly would never be me, even if I was a professor with tenure, or a businessman, she knew the real me too. She pretty much sacrificed herself, her desires, when you were born, because I loved being a dad. And I don’t want you to feel bad about that, because it’s what she wanted, more than anything. She wanted the two of us to have fun. She wanted us to be close. And she only complained about it that one time, and she deserved to every day of the year. She never tried to make you feel guilty about it, because the only thing she wanted in life was for you to be happy. It was the single, most important goal in her life. It was her entire purpose for being on the earth. She believed that with all of her heart.”
His words sock me right in the chest.
I start to say something, but he holds up a hand.
“That was the only thing. And she was right. And I know you think she went easy on me when I screwed up, ruined everything, and that she should’ve completely cut me off when I went away. I know all that went through your brain and you couldn’t understand why she still had anything to do with me. But she made my life a living hell for it. Trust me. The only reason she kept in contact was to yell at me to fix the things that happened between us, because she couldn’t bear that void I left in you. Yes, she forgave me, and we still loved each other. And yes, we remained in contact and she visited sometimes, but she kept her heel firmly dug into my back when it came to you.”
He stops and looks at me for a long few seconds.
I don’t even know what to say, because now my mom is like this entirely different person that I want to know even more, and I can’t.
“I know you think you’re just like me and nothing like her.” He stops and shakes his head, looking like he might tear up again. “You’re wrong, though. You’re so wrong. You got the math and the finance and the computer brain from me, but that stubborn attitude, how you charge into a room like a bull and take control.” He shakes his head. “That’s not me. Not even close. You probably think the work you do with impact funds, and your heart for charity projects, and the recycling, and all the things you do to try to save the world, is some kind of response to what I did. Like you’re trying to right the wrongs of the world to pay for my mistakes. But that’s not it, Meadow. You got that stuff from her.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Your mother was a nature-loving hippie who would give anything to anyone who needed help. You just didn’t see it much because we moved to the suburbs before you were old enough to remember anything. When we were at U of C and got married, I couldn’t give her more than five dollars at a time when she went places, because she’d give all the damn money to any homeless person she saw.”
I grin. “Really? Mom?”
He nods, smiling for the first time in days. “Hell yes. Didn’t matter if it was five bucks o
r eighty bucks, she wasn’t coming home with it. Drove me insane, because some months I worried if we could pay our rent or not.”
This time I laugh.
“She was the leader of every damn student group possible for politics, the environment, standing up to fascism or whatever the hell the cause was that week. We were complete opposites, other than the fact I could make her laugh, and the first time I saw her I knew I was done for.”
I lean back against the kitchen counter, relaxing a little. “I want more of these stories. So many more. Not all right now because I want to make them last.”
“Deal,” says Dad.
“One other thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve seen how you’ve been with Mom. I do notice things.” I lock eyes with him. “I noticed, for ten years, when you still tried to call me, three times a week, on the dot, every damn week. I know those were probably some of the only phone calls you were allowed to make, and you spent them on me, knowing I wouldn’t pick up. I still noticed, and those things still meant something, even if I hated you. You never quit. It’s the only reason I can say what I’m about to and actually mean it this time.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes, worrying if I’m about to fuck up again, but I can’t hold this hate in my heart anymore. I just can’t. When I open my eyes, my gaze meets his. “I forgive you, Dad.”
He rushes over to me and wraps me up in his arms. “Thank you, sweetie.” He kisses the top of my head. “I will never quit. Ever.” He squeezes me even tighter.
Honestly, I think this might be one of the only things that gets me through this time. Wells Covington is the other.
Wells Covington.
Shit. “Dad?”
“Yeah?” He lets go of me and backs up a step. “What’s up?”
“I need to make a phone call.”
“Sure, whatever you need to do. I mean, you’re an adult now and all that, so yeah.”
“I know this is going to be tough to hear too, but we’re going to need to make the arrangements for Mom. Do you want me to handle that stuff?”
He shakes his head. “No, no, it’s my responsibility, whether I want to do it or not.”
I nod. “Okay. Mom had a will. And there are other things laid out in it, end-of-life plans. I made her sit down and do it like five years ago. Had all the tough talks in case something like this ever did happen. So, I mean. Yeah. She left everything, specific instructions in there about what she wanted. I think it’ll make this a little easier, not having to make so many decisions.”
He nods. “Yeah. Yeah. For sure, that’s great. Thank you for making her do that.”
I hold up my phone and gesture toward the other room. “Okay, I’m going to go make my call.”
“Okay.”
I turn to walk off.
“Meadow?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you, again. I won’t let you down.”
Wells Covington
Meadow’s on her way over right now.
I can’t think of the last time I talked to a woman on the phone as much as I have. I’ve gone to see her, met up for coffee, just been there for her every time she’s asked me to.
Her mom died yesterday, and my damn heart broke for her. I think it’s hitting her extremely hard because it seems she put her mom on hold for a while, trying to save the world, work, do the things you do in your twenties to prepare for the future. She shouldn’t fault herself for having ambitions, noble ones at that, which is much more than I can say for myself.
Hell, short of breaking the law, my twenties and beyond has been focused on winning at damn near any cost, proving everything I could to anyone who matters. I maintained some ethical lines I wouldn’t cross, but as far as I was concerned, it was take or be taken from. I think that’s another reason Meadow intrigues me so much. We’re so alike, yet I find her challenging my core beliefs to be refreshing, interesting. She makes good points, whereas most people are afraid to criticize me, or just reinforce what I already believe because they want to kiss my ass, because they want something from me.
The sound of Orson’s footsteps heading toward the door lands in my ears. She must be here.
I’ll be damned if I don’t still get that same rush, that same chemical spike every time I’m about to see her, regardless of the circumstances. I know this is going to be anything but fun, but I don’t give a damn. I want this time with her. I want to comfort her, take care of her. It’s what I was put here for, what I was born to do. I believe that in every fiber of my being. I just feel it, down to my bones, on an atomic level.
I reach for Orson’s arm as he’s about to open the door and shake my head at him. Then, I open the door and there she is, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I step to the side and say, “Come in.”
Then, she does it. She smiles, for just a brief second, despite everything that’s happened. That smile is for me, and it makes me the happiest fucking man on the planet. I’m the only one who can get that smile from her.
My stomach tightens in the best kind of way when she’s in my presence.
She takes a step past and says, “Opening your own door, huh?”
Before she gets three steps in, I have her wrapped up in a hug from behind and kiss the side of her neck. “Only for you. That’s the absolute truth.” I take her by the hand and lead her to my bedroom.
Once we’re in there I sit down next to her, turn, and say, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
All the air seems to leave her as she sighs. “She’s in a better place.”
It’s interesting to me how Meadow can be such an exceptional human, IQ off the charts, and yet even the most intelligent of our species still resort to the same ways to comfort themselves in a time of grief. It’s hard wired into us.
I could say a thousand different things, but I don’t. It’s not my job right now to have an intellectual discussion about grief, I’m just here to listen and support, something that would probably be impossible with any other person on the planet, but with Meadow, it’s all I want to do.
“I’m sure it’s still hard.”
She nods and says, “Yeah.”
I reach over and slowly guide her eyes to my face. “I’m here. I’ll be whatever you need me to be, a shoulder, a punching bag, anything.”
Her hands move to her lap, and she fidgets with her fingers. “Thank you. I mean it. You’ve been great through all of this. You made it easier on me, and I appreciate that.”
I reach down for one of her hands and bring it up to my lips and kiss along her knuckles.
The second I do it, she starts to quiver, and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. I just want to console her.
Tears stream down her cheeks, and I move her hand from my mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She shakes her head, but the tears come even harder. “No, please, do it again.”
My brows rise, but I do it again, just because she asked me to. Once I kiss her knuckles again, she lunges into me and kisses me. It takes me by surprise, but I kiss her back, and fuck it feels so good. My dick hardens against my pants, so much it’s almost unbearable, impossible to not rip her clothes from her body. She makes me crazy, hungry for her.
I roll her over and pepper kisses down her neck, though the guilt of doing this while she’s in so much turmoil gnaws at my stomach. I whisper in her ear, “Maybe we shouldn’t—”
She shakes her head. “Please, don’t stop.” Her voice is almost pleading, more vulnerable than it’s ever been. “Just make me forget for a while.”
I trail more kisses down her.
She whispers, almost like she’s somewhere else, “Just make me forget.”
It feels all wrong, but I do what she asks. I work my way down, stripping her shirt from her, then her bra, and I take one of her nipples in my mouth. I don’t know if I’ve ever had sex with a woman when it’s so emotional and raw like this.
She gasps out a breath when I bite down on her
nipple, and her chest arches her breasts up against my face. I glance up, and her eyes are closed, but the tears are gone. If she wants me to make her forget, if it relieves an ounce of her pain, that’s what I’ll do.
She wiggles her hips as I slide her pants down, and the second they’re off my mouth is on her, tongue licking, swirling. Her hands work through my hair, her nails dragging against my scalp, and momentarily even I forget the brevity of the situation.
I’m a hundred percent focused on pleasing her, making her happy, giving her whatever she asks for.
She whispers my name over and over as I take two fingers deep inside her, curling them up to hit the spot deep inside her just right. Her hips grind her pussy against my mouth, the insides of her thighs pressing against my cheeks.
I work slow, lazy circles around her clit with the tip of my tongue, and slowly increase the tempo.
“Shit, that’s so good.”
I glance up, still stroking her clit over and over, just to see the reactions on her face. It feels amazing, knowing I can touch her, lick her, please her exactly how she wants, how she needs me to.
“I’m close. So close.” The words come out on a needy whisper, like it takes everything she has just to say them.
My hard cock pushes against the mattress, straining to be inside her. I want to fuck her so bad my balls ache with need.
I speed up my tongue, stroking her hard and fast, fingers stretching her from the inside as she tightens around them. Her nails dig into my scalp again, then she tries to push me away, as if it’s too much to take. I don’t let up, not one bit.
“Oh my God, Wells.” Her hips arch from the bed, and I don’t think there’s a better feeling in the world than hearing her say my name out loud when I get her off.
She shakes and trembles, her thighs tightening around my face so hard I have to keep them pried open with both hands. My mouth clamps down on her clit, tongue circling as fast as humanly possible.