You are heading to the train station to meet your Mom, who is coming to visit for the weekend. You have gathered a bouquet of flowers from the garden in your front yard, and you have scrubbed your house to a high shine. You lean against your sturdy oak front door, taking in the tidy and cozy home you have made for yourself. You smell the faint scent of lemon and pine, and you breathe deeply.
A gentle rain is falling, so you take the tram from the end of your block directly to the station. Your Mom’s train is just pulling in as you arrive. She sees you immediately as she steps onto the platform, and beams at you as she waves.
“Hello, You,” she says, pulling you into a warm embrace. “Goodness, I have missed you.”
You say, “I missed you, too,” and you squeeze her tight. Mom steps back, resting her hands on your upper arms, looking closely at you. She says, “You look happy. Living here seems to suit you. Does that feel right?”
You say, “Yes, I’m very happy. Here! These are for you.” You hand her the bouquet. Mom smells the flowers deeply, and says, “Oh, I love the smell of lilacs. Thank you.”
The two of you take the tram back to your house. The rain has subsided into a light mist that is swirling in the air. Your Mom says, “If I didn’t know better, I would swear this is Ireland. Look at how green it is! Oh, let’s sit on your porch for a minute. This is my favorite kind of weather, you know.”
You place her suitcase inside the front door, and fetch a vase for her flowers, which Mom carefully arranges and then places at the center of the coffee table on your porch. The two of you sit next to each other, Mom resting her hand on yours, as you catch up on people from home, and reminisce about days gone by.
Just then, Grace walks up your front steps. She says, “I hope I’m not interrupting. May I come over for a visit?”
You say, “Yes, of course. Grace, this is my Mom. Mom, this is Grace. She lives across the street.” Your Mom stands up and offers her hand, saying, “Grace, it’s lovely to meet you.”
Grace shakes your Mom’s hand gently, and says, “I heard you were coming, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet you.”
Your Mom says, “Is that right?”
Grace sits down in a chair across from both of you and says, “Of course! You raised a wonderful kid – forgive me, dear, but you’re still a kid to both of us!” She and your Mom share a knowing look and a laugh.
Mom says, “I’m grateful to you for taking such good care of your new neighbor.”
Grace says, “We’re all here to take good care of each other. Isn’t that the point?”
You and your Mom both smile in agreement. Grace’s question hangs in the air, and the three of you fall silent for a long moment, each of you taking a slow breath of gratitude for each other.
You and your Mom end up spending most of the weekend on the porch. You attend Grace’s baked potato buffet on Saturday evening, but you excuse yourselves early so you can sit on the porch in candlelight and continue catching up before bed. Sunday morning, on Mothers’ Day itself, you serve croissants, raspberry jam, and coffee on the porch, all from the French bakery on Meade. The weather remains cool and misty, and the two of you take turns working on the crossword in the Sunday newspaper from the City.
Later in the morning, two kids from the neighborhood appear on the front steps. One of them is holding an envelope, and the other is carrying a large paper bag with handles.
They say, “Happy Mothers’ Day!”
Mom says, “Hello there! Come on up!”
The kids bound over toward your Mom, holding out their treasures. They say, “This is for you!”
Mom says, “Thank you so much. And who are you?”
The first one says, “I’m Jayda!” The second one says, very seriously, “I’m DeAndre.”
Mom says, “Jayda and DeAndre, I’m glad to meet you. Thank you for your gifts.”
DeAndre nudges Jayda and says, “We gotta go.”
Jayda beams at your Mom and says, “More deliveries to make! Happy Mothers’ Day.” The kids run down the stairs and out to the sidewalk, where their Dads are waiting, with cargo bikes full of paper bags. The Dads wave to you and your Mom.
Your Mom waves back, and then looks over her glasses at you, saying, “I wonder how they knew I would be here.”
The two of you sit for dinner on the porch, enjoying the feast that the kids delivered – vegetable risotto, a salad of mixed greens and vinaigrette, and one of the baguettes you got to try the other day. You hold hands for a moment of silence before eating, your Mom’s fingers worn but strong as they grip yours, and you close your eyes, taking an easy breath.
After dinner, you present your Mom with a memory book of photos and stories from your favorite times together. She says, her eyes brimming with tears, “This is beautiful. Thank you so, so much.” Mom has brought something for you, as well – your favorite bedtime story from childhood, dog-eared and well loved. She asks, “Do you remember this book?”
You say, “Oh, yes. I’m so glad to have it again. Thank you, Mom. I love you to the moon.”
Mom says, “I love you to the moon… and back.”
As you settle in on your living room couch for bed, reading your childhood book, your Mom comes out of your bedroom, tucks you in, and kisses you goodnight on your forehead. You drift off to sleep, your windows open to the soft rain falling in the night.