In the living room, Aisha pushed back the rich burgundy and gold panel—a gorgeous sari she’d repurposed into a curtain way back when she’d first moved into Minnow cabin—as far as it would go. Then she did the same in the kitchen and dining area. It didn’t help. Even with every window as open to the daylight as possible, the living space was gray and shadowy. Thank goodness longer, lighter days were on their way. Seasonal Affective Disorder, a.k.a. SAD, really was a thing.
Though usually a diehard about only using electric lights when necessary, so at night, she turned on every lamp in the place. It wasn’t good for the human psyche to dwell in darkness. Besides, it made her feel bad for Mo. A bright spark like her shouldn’t have to play in the gloom.
As if sensing her mom’s affectionate gaze, Mo glanced up from her jungle babies coloring book and beamed approvingly at the closest lamp, which made the table she was working at shine with warmth and the nearby sari-curtain glow. “Cozy!”
It really was. Aisha’s heart filled. How had she gotten so lucky? To live in this tiny, beyond-beautiful refuge of natural wood and stone and comfort. And Mo. Did every mother feel like this about their child? That just by their existence in the world, yours somehow made sense? As if birthing that little creature was the whole point of you, and anything else you might go on to do would always be peripheral to the importance of caring for them? And anyone else you might come to love would always be second to them?
Oh gag, what a sap! But her inner sarcasm couldn’t erase the fact that she really, sincerely, did feel that way. And she knew she was fortunate—and that Mo was equally so—because her inner question had been rhetorical. Of course, not all mothers felt that way. Mothers were just people, as varied as they came. And what even constituted “motherhood,” let alone being a “good mother” was subjective. Look at Sam. Some people, even Aisha herself at times—all the time?—would say Sam wasn’t a mother, or hadn’t been one, at least, since she’d given Aisha up for adoption. But didn’t that very decision, made with what Aisha truly believed was Sam’s genuine desire for the best possible life for her child, show Sam was a mother and had always been one, the very best kind of one actually, right from the start?
Aisha didn’t feel rejected. She was eternally grateful to have had the parents she did. She just didn’t understand the selflessness Sam had shown because in the end that was what bothered Aisha about her adoption, now that she had a child herself. She knew how she felt when she was away from Mo. Even when she knew Mo was having the time of her life—and even when she herself was having a good time without Mo—it was like a part of her was missing. No matter how in the moment she was, or how she’d been craving “alone time,” if Mo wasn’t with her, there was a gnawing awareness of her absence at the edge of Aisha’s consciousness. And Aisha saw Sam with Mo, really saw her. There was a deep well of love there. The kind of possessive, proud, absolute love you have for . . . your child—or your child’s child—and it made Aisha wonder. No matter how cool Sam tried to play it, or how much she insisted she’d done the right thing and had no regrets, a part of her had probably yearned for her daughter . . . and as that daughter? Well, it was a lot of pressure.
Also, if deep down, despite her good life, Aisha really didn’t feel the tiniest bit rejected or resentful, why wouldn’t she just embrace Sam for her choice and empathize with her? If she truly didn’t mind, she would feel compassion for Sam, not just . . . meh. It was a mystery that made her uncomfortable and feel like she didn’t know herself very well.
On the heels of that annoying rumination was her unhappiness that she hadn’t seen Jase all day—and her unhappiness at being unhappy. He hadn’t been in the dining hall for Sunday brunch. Instead, it was crowded with townies (Sam’s word for customers who lived locally and came for weekend meals, which Aisha thought was hilarious and adopted immediately). She liked the townies fine. She disliked that she noted and was affected by Jase’s absences—disliked it immensely.
“Mom, why aren’t black flowers real?”
Mo’s question was a welcome distraction from all Aisha’s weirdo thoughts, and she joined Mo at the table to discuss it with her and do some coloring herself. Later she and Mo read bedtimes stories, then had a bubble bath, then curled up with a movie in their roomy bed.
As Mo’s breathing slowed and she fell into a deep, flush-cheeked sleep, Aisha tried to stave off memories of the last time she and Mo had watched a movie together—and of the lovely, gentle giant who’d filled her bedroom and felt like he’d belonged.
“You can dream,” she muttered, finally allowing herself to admit her longing—it was probably normal after all, “but you can’t act on it. You and Mo have things to accomplish. Someday there will be room and time for all that with somebody if you still want it.”
Although Aisha’s whisper had been as quiet as a breath, Mo stirred.
“What, Mama?” she asked drowsily.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Just I love you.” Aisha drew her close and Mo snuggled in like a puppy.
All in all, Aisha told herself sternly, except for the blow regarding her shop—something she’d just have to push to the back of her thoughts until a new idea presented itself—it had been a lovely two days off. She was glad she’d been honest with Jase. He’d understood and accepted where she was coming from, which was a relief—so why didn’t she feel it boded well for the upcoming work week? Why was she so unsettled? No, scrap that. She knew full well why. She wished Callum and Jo would leave everything be. Why couldn’t they just continue to hire the odd workers here or there on a when absolutely necessary basis? Adding another full-time staff member, especially one who lived on the property year-round—even someone as low-key and nice as Jase—would make things different around the place. River’s Sigh was supposed to be her steady, safe rock in the ebb and flow of life, and it was perfect the way it was. She didn’t want it to be one more thing that was always changing.