true. He said things about me and about you, and he lied. I have regrets, Lilybeans. I let us stay too long and I let him harass you after we left. He said things to make me believe we could go back to the way we once were. I was na ï ve, too hopeful. I ’ m sorry. I ’ m not brave like you are, my darling.
I pause for a minute and let Mom’s words sink in. She thought I was brave. I thought she was. We each believed we were the weak one.
You are brilliant. You are beautiful. You are the best person I ’ ve ever known. Your heart is bigger than the world. I look into your eyes and I see the woman you will become. Your gentle ways, your spirit, your ability to see the good in others, these things will attract people to you when you ’ re older, sweet girl. I know friends are scarce right now, but it ’ s a matter of time before someone glimpses that soul of yours and when they do, they ’ ll never let you go. I wish so much I could hold a mirror up and show you what I see. All I can do is hope you will read this and believe me. I never lied to you. Not once. Your father had it wrong and I will always feel pity that he chose the path he did and pushed us away. And I will always feel lucky that we had our time together, that you are my daughter, my girl, my Lilybeans. I ’ ll be waiting for you up ahead. Take your time and have a beautiful life. And remember, life is beautiful. I took so many pictures of you because I wanted to remember that. With all my heart, I love you.
Love,
Mom
I hold the letter for a long time and feel myself rip inside. It’s a tiny hole, a puncture. Inside the rip is peace and quiet. I feel it there, waiting. I can go, it says. I can stay if I want to. I don’t have to keep stuffing. I can just let go and be gone.
I look over at Binka washing her whiskers. I want to hold onto my kitten, to the beauty I see in her. I think I understand how I helped Mom—I was her always-tether. I think about Binka’s whiskers. Only her whiskers. They keep me here.
I let the tears drop one by one onto Mom’s beautiful handwriting. The letters smear a little. My tears, her ink, together. No matter what happens with Hank’s promise to come for me, a part of Mom and a part of me will be here. Always. I fold the stationary back up, put it in its envelope and hold it against my chest.
Binka stops bathing and stares at me with huge green eyes. All her fur is straight out from her body and the ends are shining in the filtered sunlight streaming through the window next to us. She tips her head to the side. Her ears are huge and all the way forward. She’s trying to figure me out. Being the spaz she is, she lets out a trill twice her size and launches. She lands on my shoulder, smashes her forehead to my cheek and starts purring in big, looping reverberations. I can feel her whole body, nose to tail, vibrating with the power of those purrs.
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
She trills again and rubs my head with everything she’s got, leaving her tail to twitch up my nose. This makes me laugh so hard the rip widens. Laughing and crying are right there together, so I quiet down quickly, go back into that small space where I don’t lose time, but I can still be. I stay here for Binka and for Margie.
My thread: Binka’s whiskers.
Twelve
I show Margie the letter and she cries. She cries for a good ten minutes, but they’re not all grief tears.
“Did you read it out loud, like she said?” Margie’s asks in a watery voice.
“No, maybe another time.”
“Your mom was a special woman, Lily. She loved you more than anything.” She stares at me for a minute and I watch the tears in her eyes amplify the gold flecks. “Did you know that?”
“I always knew,” I say, but it’s too much, talking about Mom’s letter. I turn to the bookcase nearest me and pull out a random book. “Why do you have these?”
Margie’s still for another minute, making up her mind to let me stay quiet or
I pause for a minute and let Mom’s words sink in. She thought I was brave. I thought she was. We each believed we were the weak one.
You are brilliant. You are beautiful. You are the best person I ’ ve ever known. Your heart is bigger than the world. I look into your eyes and I see the woman you will become. Your gentle ways, your spirit, your ability to see the good in others, these things will attract people to you when you ’ re older, sweet girl. I know friends are scarce right now, but it ’ s a matter of time before someone glimpses that soul of yours and when they do, they ’ ll never let you go. I wish so much I could hold a mirror up and show you what I see. All I can do is hope you will read this and believe me. I never lied to you. Not once. Your father had it wrong and I will always feel pity that he chose the path he did and pushed us away. And I will always feel lucky that we had our time together, that you are my daughter, my girl, my Lilybeans. I ’ ll be waiting for you up ahead. Take your time and have a beautiful life. And remember, life is beautiful. I took so many pictures of you because I wanted to remember that. With all my heart, I love you.
Love,
Mom
I hold the letter for a long time and feel myself rip inside. It’s a tiny hole, a puncture. Inside the rip is peace and quiet. I feel it there, waiting. I can go, it says. I can stay if I want to. I don’t have to keep stuffing. I can just let go and be gone.
I look over at Binka washing her whiskers. I want to hold onto my kitten, to the beauty I see in her. I think I understand how I helped Mom—I was her always-tether. I think about Binka’s whiskers. Only her whiskers. They keep me here.
I let the tears drop one by one onto Mom’s beautiful handwriting. The letters smear a little. My tears, her ink, together. No matter what happens with Hank’s promise to come for me, a part of Mom and a part of me will be here. Always. I fold the stationary back up, put it in its envelope and hold it against my chest.
Binka stops bathing and stares at me with huge green eyes. All her fur is straight out from her body and the ends are shining in the filtered sunlight streaming through the window next to us. She tips her head to the side. Her ears are huge and all the way forward. She’s trying to figure me out. Being the spaz she is, she lets out a trill twice her size and launches. She lands on my shoulder, smashes her forehead to my cheek and starts purring in big, looping reverberations. I can feel her whole body, nose to tail, vibrating with the power of those purrs.
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
She trills again and rubs my head with everything she’s got, leaving her tail to twitch up my nose. This makes me laugh so hard the rip widens. Laughing and crying are right there together, so I quiet down quickly, go back into that small space where I don’t lose time, but I can still be. I stay here for Binka and for Margie.
My thread: Binka’s whiskers.
Twelve
I show Margie the letter and she cries. She cries for a good ten minutes, but they’re not all grief tears.
“Did you read it out loud, like she said?” Margie’s asks in a watery voice.
“No, maybe another time.”
“Your mom was a special woman, Lily. She loved you more than anything.” She stares at me for a minute and I watch the tears in her eyes amplify the gold flecks. “Did you know that?”
“I always knew,” I say, but it’s too much, talking about Mom’s letter. I turn to the bookcase nearest me and pull out a random book. “Why do you have these?”
Margie’s still for another minute, making up her mind to let me stay quiet or
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