things-best-forgotten asked you: 2012-08-07 14:31 She said "Boy, let me tell you a terrible thing, it seems that I'm sick and I've only got weeks. Please don't be sad now, I really believe you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me." Now son, I'm only telling you this because life can do terrible things. -Terrible Things by Mayday Parade
“What are you writing?”
Mollie slammed the lid of the box shut. “Burt!” she gasped. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he said, bending to kiss the top of her bright head. “How’re you feeling?”
“All right, I suppose,” she lied. She twisted around in her chair to face him. “How was work?”
He launched into a story about an air conditioner repair gone wrong, and she quickly picked up the box, twisted the key in the lock, and stowed it in the kitchen cabinet next to the Pyrex bowls. The key on its little pink ribbon went back around her neck and she tucked under the neckline of her dress.
Burt sank down at the kitchen table. “I’m beat,” he said. “What do you want to do for dinner tonight? Are you up to making it, or should I do it, or-”
“I’m not going to let you make dinner tonight,” she said, grinning. “I don’t think Kurt will be able to stomach yet another night of pancakes.”
“It’s the only thing I know how to make,” he protested. “You’re the chef in this family.”
Her throat tightened. “Well, maybe I’d better teach you a few things,” she said lightly, leaning back against the sink.
Burt just looked at her then, that level-headed “don’t pull this crap with me” gaze. “We’re not going to lose you, Mollie,” he said quietly.
She tried to smile. He reached out and took her slim hands- bony now from how much weight she’d lost- and squeezed them in his big callused fingers. “I love you,” she said.
He stood up and kissed her on the forehead. “Love you too,” he said. He took a step back and squeezed her hands. “So what’re we going to do for dinner, huh? Maybe I should go out and grab something.”
Suddenly little footsteps echoed on the stairs. “Daddy!” Kurt shrieked, running into the kitchen and flinging himself into his father’s arms. “Daddy’s home!”
Burt caught him easily, swooping him up into the air. “Hey, scooter,” he said. He settled Kurt on his hip and kissed him on the cheek. “How was school today?”
“Boring,” Kurt huffed, draping himself over Burt’s broad shoulder. “So boring. We learned about the Specific Ocean.”
“The Pacific Ocean, baby,” Mollie corrected, smoothing his flyaway hair.
Kurt tugged on the collar of Burt’s shirt. “Did you say we’re gonna go out to dinner?” he said. “Can we get pizza? Can we, can we, can we?”
Burt looked over Kurt’s head at his wife. “Why not?” she said. Kurt cheered happily and shimmied down Burt’s legs. “Kurt, you stay with me and help me set the table, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, already pulling out the drawer with the silverware.
Burt kissed Mollie on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a little bit, then,” he said. “Anything in particular you want?”
“No, not really,” she said. “Come home safe.”
“I will,” he called on his way out the door.
Mollie watched Kurt busily set the table, frowning in concentration as he folded the napkins in perfect triangles. She paused to hug him, wrapping her arms around his little shoulder and kissing his soft round cheek.
“Mommy, I’m working,” Kurt complained.
“Oh, so sorry,” she grinned, kissing the top of his head. She crossed over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of lettuce. “Baby, can you do me a favor? Can you get the big glass salad bowl out of the cabinet for me, please?”
“Sure, Mommy,” he said, pausing in his work to obey. Mollie rummaged around in the fridge for a bag of carrots. “Ooh, Mommy, what’s this? It’s pretty!”
She froze. “Honey, put that back,” she said.
“But it has my name on it,” he said, sounding pleased. She turned around to see him holding the box in his hands, tugging on the lid. “It won’t open, Mommy.”
She sank down in the kitchen chair. “KK, come here,” she said softly. He obeyed slowly, still focused on prying the lid open. She lifted him on her lap- he was still small for his age, and still liked to be cuddled. “Honey, that’s for….for later.”
“Like my birthday?” Kurt brightened.
“No, not for your birthday,” Mollie said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. She had a whole stockpile of presents for his eighth birthday, coming up in two months…and several presents saved up for Burt to give him for the next dozen or so birthdays. “Honey, those are…those are letters.”
Kurt frowned. “For me?” he said. He shook the box. “I want them now, Mommy.”
She adjusted him on her lap, pulling him a little closer, a little tighter. “They’re not for right now,” she said softly. “They’re for later. For when you turn nine, and ten, and…all those birthdays.” She cradled him close like he was still her little baby; he squirmed a little in her too-tight grip. “And for when you start high school, and when you get your first kiss. Your first job. When you go to college. All the big things.”
Kurt frowned. “But Mommy, that’s really far away,” he said. “I want them now.” He plucked at the lid. “Who wrote the letters to me?”
“I did,” she said. “Just in case…I’m not here for all those special days.”
Kurt dropped the box, letting it clatter to the floor, and wriggled around in her embrace until he was facing her, his arms tight around her neck. “Where are you going?” he demanded, equal parts angry and alarmed. “Are you going away?”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” she said. She cupped his chin in her hand and pressed a kiss to the corner of his pouting little mouth. “I don’t know, precious, but that’s why I’m writing the letters. It’s just in case.”
Kurt hugged her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. “I don’t want you to go,” he said. “Please don’t go, Mommy. Don’t go.”
She hugged him back, her throat painfully tight, and rocked him gently. He hid his face from her, and she was glad. She didn’t want him to see her cry.
