I stared at my mom for a moment before she pushed past me. She settled the tray at the end of the bed and poured two glasses. She spun around and handed me one before she climbed into my bed. “Come on, baby girl.”
I felt the resolve I had crumble under the weight of having my mom next to me. I shut the bedroom door and walked around the other side of the bed, sliding into it. I took a long sip from my glass before I placed it down on the bedside table.
“You don’t have to be here.” I turned to look at her and she just smiled.
“I know.” She pulled the blanket over her legs and then pulled the tray onto her lap. “I know.” She grabbed a cracker from the tray and tossed it into her mouth. She took a minute to chew and then took a long sip from her glass before she looked at me again. “But I’m not going to sit out there while you cry in here.” She looked down at the pile of letters in the middle of the bed. “Is this what’s making you cry?” She grabbed one of the open ones and read it. I watched her eyes bounce across the page until she dropped the letter to her lap and looked at me. “Oh, baby.”
I turned and grabbed my glass of wine, chugging it. “It’s…” I shook my head. “It’s harder than I imagined having to read through these letters.” I held out my glass, and she refilled it.
“Why are you reading through them…the letters?” She reached out and grabbed another. “Are they out of order?” She looked up, confused.
I nodded. “He wrote me a letter a week, but none were delivered.”
My mom looked down at the letters. “Why?”
“Why did he write to me?” I shrugged. “I assume because he didn’t like how we left it.”
“No.” She slapped my arm. “Why weren’t they delivered?”
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