A Little Hope(45)

She brushes her teeth, twists her hair into a bun, and slips into a long sweater with tights. Her boots are imitation Uggs. Fuggs, Luke called them. She will buy herself a hot cup of coffee for her birthday, from the good shop down the street: Annabelle’s Brew House. She will even splurge on a pastry or croissant. She wishes she could go to a place like that every day. To stop being meager. She hates being meager. Did Luke think she was meager? This makes her heart hurt again for a moment. She knows she’s meager. Whenever she has pretended she isn’t, she feels like an imposter.

She moves things around on the TV stand and finds the apartment key. She slings her purse over her shoulder and opens the door.

“Oh, hello.”

She jumps back. She is surprised to find Mrs. Crowley standing there. Luke’s mom. A woman with high cheekbones and tinted eyeglasses. She holds a drink carrier with two cups from Dunkin’ Donuts and a large shopping bag. “I hope this isn’t a bad time, dear,” she says.

“Oh no. Not at all.” Coffee? Is this really for her? From this woman? She can’t believe Mrs. Crowley is bringing her a treat. Has anyone ever done this? And on her birthday, no less. Maybe this year will be different, she thinks. Maybe this is the start of something.

But Mrs. Crowley has always made her nervous. She feels every centimeter of not measuring up to this woman’s high standards. In the time she and Luke dated, she never ate a meal with his mom. Luke brought her home just once in December: a clean house in that perfect neighborhood, the type of street she never, ever set foot on when she was younger, with a polished dining room table and stiff curtains. Mrs. Crowley was polite but didn’t offer her anything. Didn’t ask her any questions. At the funeral, Mrs. Crowley sat close to Luke’s ex-girlfriend, a veterinarian. A goddamned veterinarian. Really?

“May I come inside?”

“Yeah, I was just going to get coffee.”

“Lucky timing.” She holds up the twin Dunkin’ Donuts cups.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Hannah says. She melts for a moment. This is a big deal. Happy birthday, she thinks. When they step inside, she feels nervous as she closes the door. Something makes her terrified of being alone with Luke’s mom. She is like the scariest teacher from high school, or a head nurse at a hospital who bosses everyone around. She speaks slowly and precisely. She emphasizes each word as though she will refuse to repeat herself later. Hannah looks at her sloppy apartment. Cheap. Unmade bed, all that clutter on the TV stand. This woman must be disgusted. I am not a veterinarian, as you can guess, she wants to say. I don’t have the clean face and honest eyes and good posture that that girl has, she wants to say. I was brought up on SpaghettiOs and Hi-C.

“I should have phoned you. I apologize.” Mrs. Crowley looks around, lifts her eyebrows for a second, and then puts her stuff (the coffee, the shopping bag) down on the small drop-leaf table. Hannah notices the lint on the floor. Mrs. Crowley wiggles a coffee free from the holder and hands it to Hannah. “I guessed cream and sugar.”

“Works for me.” She sips the coffee gratefully. Does she look like a beggar who just took a handout? She doesn’t care. She loves Luke’s mom now just for this. Maybe she will start having her coffee this way instead of black. It tastes like a cozy house, like care. She starts to wonder what has brought this woman here, and nervousness fills her body. I am meager, she thinks. This woman knows it. Why am I so meager? And how did she even know where I live?

Mrs. Crowley sips her own coffee. She gets lipstick on the cup. She breathes. Even her breaths are strong and confident. She gestures toward the shopping bag she brought. “I have some things of, of his.”

“Oh.” She stops being nervous. This feels nice, like she has, finally, been noticed. She sees Luke’s face so clearly then. He is laughing. He is waltzing by her at the restaurant carrying a tray with mozzarella sticks and dipping sauce. The couple next door makes one sound, and Mrs. Crowley turns her head.

“I thought you’d like to have them. Mary Jane and I have been getting the apartment cleaned out. Not much there in the way of big stuff, but you know: a thousand little things. I told him once he was a pack rat.” She laughs, but then there is a glimpse, a flash of hurt on her face even the blush can’t hide. Hannah starts to like his mother fully in this moment. Poor woman.

Hannah loves the coffee against her throat. She loves the perfect sweetness and cream. She is almost finished. She doesn’t know the etiquette. Should she take the stuff out of the bag now or wait until the woman leaves? “He kept a lot of stuff, yeah. Movie tickets, notes, fliers. Yeah.” She scolds herself. Stop saying yeah.

Mrs. Crowley walks around and looks out the window. “My goodness, I think about him a lot.” She puts her coffee down by the sofa. “You have a nice view here. I like the high windows.”

“Thanks. And, uh, he said that exact same thing. About the windows.” She lets out a polite laugh.

“He did?” Mrs. Crowley smiles gratefully. “Oh, that boy.” She sighs. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. I just wanted a quick visit.”

Hannah feels honored. She can’t believe she has even crossed this woman’s mind. “That was nice. Especially the coffee.”

“If you don’t want the stuff, don’t keep it for my sake. It’s a sweatshirt, a few pictures of the two of you. A mug with his name on it… just silly stuff, really.” Mrs. Crowley shrugs. She picks up her purse and starts to walk toward the door.