Chapter 322: Just Tonight
Rose wasn’t keeping track of the days anymore. She couldn’t remember the last time she got any proper sleep that wasn’t filled with nightmares. Every day, the gnawing feeling in her chest grew worse.
Her father wasn’t much better. Recently, he wasn’t leaving the house anymore. It had been two full days since he last stepped out. He spent most of his time on the bench, gripping his wife’s hands.
His shoulders were slumped as he sat on the bench. Her father, who always seemed so strong and put together, was visibly cracking.
"Fat’er," Rose called.
He jerked his head up to look at her, and for a moment, she could see nothing but pure confusion in his eyes. Just how deep in thought was he?
"Dinner," Rose whispered. "I made soup."
"Thank ye, Rose," her father said with a forced smile.
Rose thought the smile was familiar. Of course, it was. It was the exact kind of smile she had on her face when she tried to pretend everything was all right.
"Okay," she said. "I’ll fetch some for ye."
"And yer Mot’er?" he asked.
"I will feed her," Rose replied.
Rose scooped from the pot hanging over the fireplace, which served as both warmth and a stove. Their meals were mostly soup these days, simply because it was easier for her mother to ingest.
Chunks of potatoes, carrots, and tulips floated around in the soup, but Rose knew she would have to avoid them when serving her mother.
After scooping a generous serving, Rose handed her father the hot bowl, and he reluctantly pulled his hands away from his wife and accepted the food. He mumbled words of thanks again, but Rose wasn’t paying attention.
She had another wooden bowl in her hand, three times smaller than the one she had given her father, but even then, her mother wouldn’t eat half of the tiny bowl. Knowing this, Rose still filled it.
Holding out hope—was that the word for what she was doing? But she couldn’t help it. It was the same way she still had thoughts that one day her mother would be all better. She had held onto that thought for as long as she could remember, she could never let go of it, no matter how dire the situation got.
Rose moved towards the bed and lightly tapped her mother. Rose didn’t like to wake her up, but recently, her mother was sleeping even longer. She didn’t wake up as often as she used to, and if Rose didn’t wake her, she would miss mealtimes. Her mother ate very little — Rose couldn’t risk it.
"Mot’er," she called as sweetly as she could muster.
Rose fought the panic that was slowly rising to her throat. She could clearly hear her mother breathe; she just needed to try a little harder to wake her up.
"Mot’er," she tried again, feeling the heat of the bowl burn her hand — but a burning hand was easy to manage. All she had to do was drop the bowl and apply something cold to the surface. Even if it was badly burned, she would heal after some time. Rose wasn’t sure this was something she could recover from.
"Mot’er," her voice sounded hoarse. Her father had stopped eating to see if his help was needed.
Suddenly, her mother’s eyes flew open, and she looked disoriented for a moment, glancing around. Her expression softened when it rested on Rose.
"Sorry," Rose whispered. "It’s dinner time. Ye can go back to sleep after eating."
Her mother smiled softly, and Rose understood she didn’t have any complaints. She placed the bowl on the bench beside her father and gently lifted her mother’s head, adjusting the makeshift pillow — really just old clothes gathered in a pile.
They needed more pillows, as her mother could no longer stay upright by herself, but pillows were not a luxury they had. Besides, this worked, and Rose couldn’t tell the difference.
She lifted her mother’s head high enough to stop the risk of choking, but she didn’t move her to an upright position completely, as that wore her mother out. Satisfied that her mother was comfortable, Rose turned to grab the bowl — but her father beat her to it.
He handed her the bowl, which Rose graciously accepted. Turning to face her mother, Rose used the wooden spoon to scoop some into her mother’s mouth. She slowly swallowed, and Rose repeated the process.
Her mother ate very slowly, and Rose never ran out of patience. She fed her tirelessly, bent at an awkward angle, as the bench would be too low to sit while feeding her mother.
After barely ten spoons, her mother sealed her lips, refusing to take more food. Rose knew better than to force her; it could cause her to throw up, and that wasn’t good. Rose didn’t like the sound of her mother gasping for breath as her insides poured out.
Rose nodded and returned the spoon to the bowl. Her mother had eaten even less this time. Rose’s grip on the bowl tightened, and she turned her back to her mother, worried her face would show exactly what she was feeling.
"I will eat now," Rose said, and she stomped to the pot. Her stomach churned, and she had no appetite, but she would worry her mother if she didn’t eat — and Rose wanted to avoid that.
Rose didn’t approach the bench as she scooped some food for herself. She remained by the fireplace, settling down on her folded thin bed. Rose ate quickly, not wanting them to notice that the portion she was about to eat was a little too small.
After eating, Rose cleaned the dishes and returned to her mother’s side, sitting by the bench. She rested against her father’s arm, and he lifted his hand to lightly tap her on the shoulder.
Rose didn’t miss that her father had rearranged her mother’s position — now she was lying on her back again. Her mother looked tired. She always looked tired. Rose thought it was deafening, the sound of her heart breaking.
"Yer herbs!" Rose suddenly blurted out. She had almost forgotten. She started to get to her feet, but her mother’s tiny hoarse voice stopped her.
"May I skip today?"
Rose froze at her mother’s request, not sure how to react.
"Just today," her mother added.
Rose didn’t have the heart to say no, and it was particularly hard to refuse when it had taken a lot of effort for her mother to make the request. It was just one night.
"Okay," she reluctantly agreed. "Just tonight."
Her mother smiled at her response, and Rose sat back on the bench with her father — the three of them together.