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“Someone arrived today,” Keefe said, voice bouncing. “They said I need to forget you. That you’re not real. They’re taking you away from me, Mother Dearest.”
Lady Gisela sat on the edge of his bed and brushed the hair from his face.
Keefe ignored the fact that his hair didn’t actually move.
He could see his mom right there.
She was nice and wonderful, the mother he had always wished for. He wasn’t going to give her up.
He closed his eyes as her image flickered for a moment. “No, you’re real. They say you were never mine to save. That you’re dead. You’re not dead, are you?”
Goosebumps rose along his arm as she spoke. It had been a while since he had gotten her to speak.
“No, son. I’m not dead. They’re right, though. Soon you won’t get to see my face.”
Keefe clenched his jaw. “Stop doing this. You need to stay this time. You’re finally visiting me. It’s been a full month. And that’s not even the longest it’s been. I knew you’d come after they said they wouldn’t, though. You always come when I need you.”
“Keefe, I came by to say I love you one last time. I have to leave for a very long, long time and you won’t see me for a while.”
“You’re not like any other mom I’ve met,” Keefe said softly, swallowing. “They all stay. Sometimes you’re a good mom like the others and you’re not evil,” he swallowed back a sob, “I know you’re not evil, I know it was just a dream, you’re here, you’re alive. Please don’t leave me again.”
Gisela gave him a stern glance, brushing her hand against his.
(Why was there no warmth? He needed warmth. He was so cold already.)
“Keefe, darling, you’re not making any sense.” She flickered and disappeared.
“Mom!” he yelped. He turned quickly, and his mother was beside his bed. He hated when this happened. She must be a Vanisher, he reminded himself. Secret third ability.
“I have to leave,” she reminded him. “I can’t stay for much longer.”
Keefe felt tears well in his eyes and willed his father not to walk in because he couldn’t deal with a lecture about being weak right now.
“You’re all I’ve ever known,” Keefe whispered. “I don’t have another mom. I need you.”
Lady Gisela brushed her lips against his forehead gently and squeezed his hand before slipping in and out to his door. Like a Vanisher, but not quite. There was no presence in the room when she vanished.
“I’m sorry if I pushed you to be a good mom,” he choked out. “I don’t need you to be a good mom. It’s okay. We can try again. Just stay. You don’t have to be like Della. Just be my mom, please.”
She shook her head and again her entire body vibrated, her limbs pixelating and flashing purple and red and black for a few seconds.
“Or if I came on too strong,” he forced himself to add. He had said this to the wall many times, pretending as if his mother were there to hear the words. He wasn’t prepared for the real thing. It was the real thing. It had to be. “You can pretend I don’t exist. Please. Just stay. I’ll be obedient this time. Just stay, please.”
“I can’t,” a voice too unlike his mom said. Really, it was only an echo of his.
But it was hers.
It had to be hers.
He looked her right in the eyes, forcing himself to look past the flashes of red that sputtered inside them.
“I was wrong. I need you too much. I get that, I’m sorry. I won’t ask for anything except for you to stay this time.” He took a deep breath, his chest tightening painfully as he inhaled. “I get it if you hate me. I’m sorry my love is too much for you. But I’m not sorry I love you. I’m not.”
(Was he? He wasn’t. But it would have been so much easier if he didn’t love his mom. If he hated her. If he didn’t want her to love him, to not leave him, so much. He wished he didn’t love her. He was sorry to himself for doing so.)
(No, he wasn’t.)
(He couldn’t be.)
“Keefe,” Lady Gisela started.
“Let me speak,” he forced himself to spit out. He didn’t want to speak. He wanted to hear her voice and he wanted to be a child again and to have her sing to him and be like his friends’ moms.
“I spent my whole life here,” he continued. “This is the only home I know. But it’s not home without you. Please, I need you to stay. I’ve been alone for so long. I don’t talk to my friends anymore. They might be dead. I don’t think they’re dead. I don’t know why I don’t talk to them. I miss them. I’m sorry. I need to be quiet now.”
Tears wouldn’t stop falling from his eyes and he dug his palms against the bottom of his eyes to try to stop the flow.
“I feel like I’ve been alone for a hundred years. You coming back now is like a dream come true. So I need you to stay. Please. Please stay.”
A sneer twisted Gisela’s face and for a moment she looked like Lord Cassius and Keefe leapt up to his feet, ready to lock the door before it dawned on him that he was in the same room and he couldn’t get away and he was crying and…
…and it was his mother again.
“You need to stop pushing me!” she screamed.
Keefe slammed his hands over his ears, scrambling backward. He tripped and fell back against his bed. He pulled his knees to his head and rocked back and forth. “I thought I knew you’d leave me again, so I tried to push you again. Again. Again. Again. That’s a weird word. I came off too strong. Again. I’m sorry. You can hate me. Why don’t you love me?”
Someone knocked on his door, and Keefe ducked under his covers, banging his head against the wall.
“Stop,” he muttered. “Stop. Please stop. She’s going to leave soon. I need to finish. Before she leaves and I never get to say anything again.”
He ripped off his blanket (it had been warm; it wasn’t warm anymore; he was too cold; he needed to be cold) looking for his mom.
He let out a loud scream. “No!”
People were speaking, and someone was banging on his doo,r and he couldn’t breathe, and he needed his mom back, and he would never see her again.
“I am sorry my love’s too much for you,” he yelled. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Keefe,” someone said gently or screamed or something, he didn’t know, but regardless, it was too loud.
He tugged at his ears. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. You don’t love me.”
“Keefe,” someone repeated and this time he realized it was his mom.
He grinned, tears falling down his face, and he thought maybe he was broken, but he didn’t care.
“I’m not sorry for loving you though. I’m not sorry.”
She booped his nose. “Keefe, I love—”
Her voice was interrupted by a whistling sound.
Keefe buried his face in his hands, still unable to shake his grin, even though he was sobbing.
“Why can’t you finish that sentence? I need to finish even if you can’t. Let me finish. I practiced. I’m stuck replaying moments I swore we had but they say never happened because you’re dead, but I know you’re not dead you can’t be dead.”
“I’m not dead,” Lady Gisela echoed.
“I wish you would stay with me and hug me and I, I wish for once you would just lie and say—”
“I love you,” she interrupted.
“You do?” Keefe asked hopefully. “You love me. I have a mother who loves me. I knew you loved me.”
“I can’t love you, though,” she told him, and his heart broke; he felt the shatters because everything hurt so much and it felt like broken glass.
“I hate that I love you,” he admitted. “You don’t love me. Why in the world won’t you love me too?”