Best Friends Forever

12

I went home from school that day with a box of smores Poptarts and a goal: I was going to talk to my mom.

I'd given her the time my dad had suggested, more than enough of it actually. I'd been avoiding this at all costs, partly because I was scared of what I was going to hear and partly because I felt weird talking to my mom about things.

It was so hard with her, because she tried so hard to be okay when she was obviously not, and that just annoyed everyone around her. If she had a problem and everyone could see it, she would still refuse to admit it. It annoyed me to no end, because nothing got through to her.

On the same note, I struggled with feeling like we could confide in each other. I always knew she didn't tell me much about herself, about her childhood, her adolescence, her anything, and as an act of defiance I chose to tell her nothing in return. It was an unproductive reaction to the problem, but the stubborness she'd passed on to me kept me from changing my ways.

Now that Jason had confirmed to me that there was something potentially serious I didn't know about, it felt like the right time to suck up any bitterness I held towards my mother and be a grown up and communicate. In the end, I was just worried about her. I needed to make sure she was okay.

Back at home, the house seemed to be in a perfect state of calm. That all changed when I entered the kitchen to find my mom mixing hard at a bowl of batter, the whole kitchen completely covered in flour and various other baking ingredients.

"Mom?" I said, and she looked up, looking frazzled. "What the hell happened to the kitchen?"

"Ugh, Leila, I'm such an idiot. I dropped the bag of flour and it got everywhere. I'm going to be washing flour out of my hair for the next month. And I still have to clean it up."

"I'll help," I said, grabbing a broom from the closet and starting to gather the huge amounts of flour covering the floor.

"Leila? Doing chores?" my mom asked with feigned surprise. "Are you okay? Is heaven freezing over? Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"

I rolled my eyes at her. "Oh my God, mom. I do chores all the time, what are you talking about?"

"If Ella were here right now, she would probably beat you up for that huge lie, so you should be glad she isn't here to witness this."

"Where is she?"

"I let the staff go home today. It's such a nice day, they deserve a break. And that's how I ended up here. This kitchen is a bigger mess than my life."

I laughed at how relatable that was. "What are you making anyway?"

"Carrot cake," she said with a smile. "Remember when we used to have carrot cake for dinner once a month? I loved that tradition, I don't know why we stopped it."

"Because you refused to grate the carrots and Dad wasn't here to do it," I laughed, thinking about how adamant my mom was about not grating carrots.

"Toby used to bake it with me," she smiled sadly. "He's so busy these days, so I just want him to come home to something that'll make him smile."

"Aw, Mom, that's so sweet," I said. They were so cute, I felt a pang of jealousy. When would I find what my parents had?

"Speaking of him, smile!" she said, whipping out her phone and capturing a picture of me with my broom, in an unsuccessful effort to clean up the mess she'd made. "Toby will never believe that you're cleaning, he has to see this."

"You make me sound like a spoiled brat. I do chores!"

"Sure, honey," she said. "You tell yourself that."

"Ugh, Mom! You're so annoying."

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Deal with it."

I laughed and kept sweeping as she continued to make the cake. I took my time cleaning up, trying to muster up the courage to ask her if she was okay. But I couldn't do it.

She was about to grate the carrots when I was done cleaning. She was really going for it, pure concentration on her face as she brought the bright orange vegetable up and down the grater, slowly getting shorter and shorter.

A few seconds later and it was dangerously short, and I already knew what was going to happen, because it happened every time. Just like clockwork, my mom cut her finger trying to get all the carrot.

"Are you okay?" I asked, but I meant it in more way than one.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Gosh, I'm so stupid. This happens every damn time."

"Why don't you just stop grating the carrot earlier?"

"I don't know," she said. "One third of the world's food supply us thrown out and wasted. There's actually a food crisis and I don't want to contribute to it."

"I'm sure the end of this carrot really would've saved the food supply problems in the world," I said.

"Why are you being so sassy today?" my mom asked. "And why are you just standing there? Can you at least like, get me a bandaid or something?"

Realizing I really was just standing there uselessly as my mom bled, I quickly went and got the first aid kit from the cupboard, then helped her disinfect the small wound and wrap it in a bandaid.

"Are you okay?" I asked her again, but softer this time. This time I wasn't asking about her finger.

"Yeah, it's just a cut," she said. "I think I just might live through it."

"No, Mom," I said. "I'm not talking about the cut. I mean... about the other day... is everything okay?"

"Ugh, I'm sorry you had to see that, Leila," she said. "It really was nothing. I got my period, so you know how emotional I get."

"It wasn't nothing," I insisted. "I'm not falling for that."

She sighed when she realized I wasn't going to let this go. "Leila-"

"Mom."

She sighed again and looked down, playing with the bandaid on her finger. "I'm fine, I promise. It's just... Suicide is just so sad, Leila. No, it's not sad. That doesn't even begin to explain it. Suicide is a fucking tragedy."

"I know that," I said, surprised to hear her swearing. I was confused about what she was trying to say. Was that her explanation?

"And shows like that... I already know what they'll make it seem like. Suicide isn't always the sad pretty girl. It's not something the romance arc in the show will fix."

She held up her sliced finger again, examining the bandaid. "This is totally going to scar," she said. "I sliced the skin right off."

"It'll be healed in like, two days," I said.

"I know," she said. "My finger will be fine. But you know what, Leila? I'm lucky that it will. Because I want you to remember that some wounds never heal."

- - -

So I've decided I won't be putting this story on hold for now, so it can keep me accountable to keep writing!

Having said that, what are our opinions on how Talia is choosing to handle the situation? Should she tell Leila? Is keeping it a secret the right choice?