Electric Impulse: A Bond UnBreakable

Chapter 26 | Mommy Daughter Time

"Christmas is in a week, what are your plans, Ari?"

"Who me?" I ask, lifting a box of old magazines. "Where do you want this?"

"Sit it over by the window, there." Mom tells me, pointing in the corner.

I take it over and plop it down. "Phew! Got me sweating down here."

"Well, the basement ain't gonna organize itself." Mom wipes her brow.

"I think our plans are still on." I shrug. "We're not really on talking terms right now. But the plan is to spend Christmas Eve together and exchange gifts, then he'll leave in the morning to play Santa to his twins for Christmas morning. Those girls are nearly teenagers, but he's adamant about doing it." I pick up a tub of dishes. "Why haven't you ever unpacked these?"

"Those are the dishes we had when your father was part of this family."

"I remember them." My fingers trace the little flower border on one of the bowls. "Why are they stashed down here?"

"When your father left, it literally took the taste out my mouth. I felt sick like that for weeks. Couldn't eat a thing. Couldn't hold anything down." She walks to the tub and picks up a plate. "I realized it was because everything, including these damn plates, reminded me of him and our life together." Mom calmly drops the plate on the cement floor, sending shards everywhere.

"Mom?"

She picks up another plate and drops it again.

"Now, that was no accident."

Mom smirks and picks up another. "Yes, it was!" She drops it.

I stare at her dumbfounded.

She picks up one of the matching porcelain coffee mugs while looking me square in the eyes. "Oopsies!" It too meets its fate with the cement floor.

I cover my mouth. "Mom!"

"You should try it. It's so freeing, Pickle! After all these years." Excitement brews behind her eyes. A bowl comes crashing down, followed by a saucer, then a mug, then a plate.

A sneaky sensation takes over me. Eyeing one of the last plates left, I pick it up. Lifting it over my head, I throw it to the ground. The sound of it shattering sends elation through my body.

Mom happily grabs more dishes, shattering them and laughing. I follow suit, almost matching her ferocity. We're laughing so hard, we're crying. One after another, perfectly molded shapes become a hundred pieces scattered across the cold cement floor.

"Oh-oh! This was his favorite one!" She throws it hard against a wall. "Oopsies!"

I reach into the tub, my hands searching. "Welp, the tub is empty," I tell her breathlessly before pressing the non-existent button on my imaginary walkie-talkie. "A massive clean-up is desperately needed on aisle five."

Mom's doubles over, holding her stomach. "Oh, Pickle! That's too rich for my blood!" She laughs her way up the stairs. "I need a glass of wine after that."

I nod, looking at the mess we've made. "No need to offer to help!" I yell up the stairs. "Guess, aisle five is all mine," I sigh to myself, grabbing the huge push broom out of the utility closet. I push the porcelain shards to the center of the room, scooping them up in an oversized dustpan and dropping them into the empty tub. Clean and clear, I sit the broom against a shelf. A brown leather book falls to the floor.

"What's this?" Picking it up, I turn it over in my hand. I unravel the leather ties that bind the book closed. The date on the first handwritten page goes back to when I was a little girl. "Is this?" A familiar song pops up in my head. "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House. I flip through the pages and settle on one.