Love from a to Z

It’s okay to cry, then? Mom is crying and laughing.
I closed the door and stood up.
“Wash them well and then dry them really well,” she said, her voice full
again. Like her throat was tear filled too. She picked up the dish towel I’d
thrown. “Use this.”
I caught the checkered red-and-white cloth and hung it around my neck.

---

The sound of water running and potatoes being scrubbed masked the
sound of Mom sobbing.
Then it hit me. Why Mom was doing this today.
No one was home. Just me and Mom.
Grandpa and Grandma had gone to Costco, a trip that took them a long
time. Dad had taken Hanna for a checkup at the doctor’s.
We’re allowed to cry.
I let the tears fall too. I dried the potatoes with the dishcloth that had
wiped away some of my tears, but not all of them.
Then I brought the clean potatoes to the table on a cutting board with a
knife, and Mom showed me how to cut big fat wedges out of them.
When I was done, she grabbed my hand, looked in my eyes. “It’s okay to
cry a lot. But we have to get the crying done before we heat the oil.
Otherwise it will splatter everywhere. When it’s time to work with heat,
with the hard part, we have to be ready. But get it all out now before we fry
the best French fries in the world.”
I got off the chair I was sitting on and tucked myself into her arms,
slowly so I didn’t hurt her.
It took us a long time to get ready. For the stove, for the heat, for the hard
part.
I didn’t know then that Mom and I would be making her fries together
only a few more times that year. Before she left us.
They really were the best in the world.
She really was the best in the world.
• • •
Sitting in the car in the hospital parking lot, I told Ms. Raymond the whole
thing. The collision of memories, French-fried memories.
Ms. Raymond wiped her eyes. “Adam, why did you tell me this?”
“Because I can’t tell Dad,” I said, settling back into the headrest and
closing my eyes. “Not yet. Please, Ms. Raymond.”
“Is it because you don’t want to show him your pain?” Ms. Raymond
started the car. “He’s your parent. He’ll be the best support for you. The
support you need.”
“I’m going to tell him. In a few days. I promise.” I kept my eyes closed.
“You know, it’s not the right time right now. With him remembering Mom.”

---

“I still don’t understand.”
“I think that’s what Mom was trying to say. That there’s a time for
everything. The time to tell Dad is later.”
“I don’t know if that was what your mom was trying to tell you, but . . .”
She trailed off. “I’ll respect your wishes if you let me know soon that
you’ve told him. That’s the condition.”
“I’ll text you when I do.” Relieved, I opened my eyes to the blurred
shapes on the way to Connor’s house.

---