Pulled(71)
Author: A.L. Jackson

I looked over my shoulder just to ensure that it was clear, my fingers quick across the smal buttons as I told him everything was perfect and I couldn’t wait to see him again.

It was surreal just how perfect everything was.

I quickly deleted both messages and tucked the phone back into my pocket. After adding the noodles to the boiling water and stirring the sauce, I quickly set the table and pulled the prepared salad from the fridge. I waited until the last minute to wake Mom. I popped my head in the door, and she stirred under the blankets when I called to her. “Hey, Mom, dinner’s ready.”

She looked up, still sleepy-eyed and tired, but her mouth turned into a wide smile when she realized where she was. She rubbed her palm over her face and through her hair, yawning as she threw back the covers. “Coming.” She excused herself to the bathroom to wash up while I went in and placed the food on the table. Reluctantly, I went upstairs to summon Nicholas to dinner. I hadn’t made him dinner in weeks, but I couldn’t see sitting down to eat without him while Mom was here.

“Peggy.” Nicholas walked into the room wearing his carefully crafted façade, the one he wore for those he wanted to impress, for those who he wanted to think more of him than he really was. He pulled her into a condescending embrace, patted her on the back, and kissed her cheek. My muscles recoiled, watching him delude her into believing he was something he was not. I knew it shouldn’t bother me that she thought so much of him. She didn’t know him, and why should I expect her to?

I’d kept her away all this time. Why would she not believe I was happily married, that Nicholas was a good man, and that I wanted to be here?

“So nice to see you again, Nicholas.” She smiled tightly at him as she halfheartedly returned his hug, pulling away quickly to find her seat.

I sat confused, my mouth dropping open as I looked between the two of them. Could I really have been that blind? Did my pain leave me in such a haze that I really hadn’t seen. all these years, I had believed that Mom loved Nicholas, thought he was perfect for me, thought he was better than Daniel.

But it was clear now that my perception had been skewed because my mom’s feelings for Nicholas were unmistakable.

She hated him.

“Could you hand me that, sweetheart.” Mom pointed to the measuring cup closest to me.

“Sure.” I smiled and handed it to her over the island. I turned back to stir the milk into the potatoes and pulled the mixer from the cupboard to whip them. We both moved effortlessly about the kitchen. It was clear that cooking had been a love I’d inherited from my mother, and we’d done a lot of it this week. We’d baked and laughed and talked, finding refuge in the best room of the house.

We’d start our day off in here over coffee and breakfast, and cap it off with dinner, the two of us growing closer with each meal. We still hadn’t had the talk, but we knew it was coming. Instead we just savored our time together as mother and daughter, not as two strangers, but as we had been years ago.

She clearly was aware that something was up.

That first night after we’d wished each other goodnight, I’d gone into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed, only to find her lingering in the darkened living room.

I’d stood fidgeting with the hem of my pajama top, not sure what to do. I’d realized then she was asking me to give her a glimpse into my life—asking me to trust her. I’d walked quietly across the room, my face trained on the floor, stopping to look back at her as I opened the door to the guestroom, pausing to find her eyes. She’d simply given me a single nod of understanding and withdrawn into her room, closing the door behind her. She’d never mentioned it once, though over the week, she’d watched. It was not because she was judging me, condemning me, or finding some fault in my actions. Her eyes were soft and tender as they followed me through the room.

“How’s that turkey coming?” Mom grabbed a towel and patted her hands dry, leaning down to peer into the oven over my shoulder.

“Looking pretty good. I’d say we have about another half an hour before we can pul it out.”

“Smel s good.” She placed a loving hand on my shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze as she went back to the green beans simmering on the stove.

I basted the bird before closing it in the oven, then crossed the kitchen to begin pulling the china from the hutch. Even with our backs to each other, I could feel her become rigid, her muscles tighten, and her back stiffen.

“Willyou ever be able to forgive me?” Her voice was soft, so soft I almost wondered if she’d wanted me to hear. I still ed, before lowering the plates to the counter.

Resting my hands flat on either side of them, I searched for a way to answer her question. I was still so angry. But after this week, the time we’d spent, the things we’d shared, everything had changed.

“I think I already have.”

I felt her release the breath she’d held, and we turned at the same time, ready to finally face the past, only to be interrupted by Nicholas rushing in through the door from the garage. Flashing a fake smile, he declared how delicious everything smell ed. My face flushed red, angered by his mere presence. Mom saw my frustration and smiled meekly before she mouthed, “Later,” as Nicholas left the room to head upstairs. I nodded, and continued pulling the rest of the dishes out and took them into the dining room to set the table.

“Melanie, sweetie, could you come and help me in here?”

I followed Mom’s voice back into the kitchen, finding her struggling to pul the huge turkey from the oven. I giggled at how ridiculous it had been for us to decide on such a large turkey for three people.

“Here, let me get that.” I nudged her aside, taking the mitts and straining to pul the pan out and wrestle it to the counter, both of us fal ing into a fit of laughter at our physical inadequacy. Mom chuckled as she whispered conspiratorially, “Wel , that was the first time I actually wished Nicholas was around.”

I looked at her, stunned, clapping my hand over my mouth before cracking up all over again. I quickly composed myself when I heard Nicholas coming down the stairs, but I was still snickering under my breath.

“Nicholas.” Mom’s voice still hinted her

amusement. “Would you be a dear and carve the turkey for us?”

Nicholas was far from a dear, and it would have made me cringe had I not known of Mom’s disdain for him.

She was apparently just a little bit better at hiding it than I was.