The next few weeks come and go. Edd

The next few weeks come and go. Eddie helps out with watching the boys until Will gets home on the days I take my mother to her treatments. Will leaves every morning at six-thirty and doesn't return home until after five-thirty. We don't see each other. I make sure we don't see each other. We've resorted to texting and phone calls when it comes to Kel and Caulder. My mother has been pressing me for information, wanting to know why he doesn't come around anymore. I lie and tell her he's just busy with his new internship.
 
He's only been to the house once in the past two months. It was the only time we've really spoken since the incident in the laundry room. He came to tell me he was offered a job at a Junior High that starts in January.
 
I'm happy for him, but it's bittersweet. I know how much the job means for him and Caulder, but I know what it means for Will and I, too. Deep down there was a part of me silently counting down the days until his last day of internship. It's finally here, and he's already signed another contract. It solidified things for us, really. Solidified that they're over.
 
We finally put the house up for sale in Texas. Mom has managed to save almost 180,000 dollars from life insurance dad actually had. The house isn't paid off yet, but after all is said and done we should get another check from the sale. Mom and I spend the majority of November focusing on our finances. We set aside more for our college funds and she opened a savings account for Kel. She payed off all the outstanding credit cards and charge cards that are in her name, and instructed me to never open any in my own name. Said she would haunt me if I did.
 
***
 
Today is Thursday. It’s the final day of school for all the districts; including Will’s. We have early release today, so I bring Caulder home with us. He usually spends the night on Thursdays while Will goes to the slam.
 
I haven't been back to Club N9NE since the night Will read his poem. I understand what Javi meant in class now-about having to relive heartache. That's why I don't go. I've relived it enough for a lifetime.
 
I feed the boys and send them to their bedroom and then head to my mother's room for what has become our nightly chat.
 
"Shut the door, these are Kel's," she whispers.
 
She's wrapping Christmas gifts. I shut the door behind me and sit on the bed with her and help her wrap.
 
"What are your plans for Christmas break?" she asks.
 
She's lost all of her hair now. She chose not to go with a wig-said it felt like a ferret was taking a nap on her head. She's still beautiful, nonetheless.
 
I shrug. "Whatever yours are, I guess."
 
She frowns. "Are you going to Will's graduation with us tomorrow?"
 
He sent us an invite two weeks ago. I think each graduate gets a certain number of guests and his grandparents are the only other people he invited besides us.
 
"I don't know, I haven't decided yet," I say.
 
She secures a box with a bow and sets it aside. "You should go. Whatever happened between the two of you, you should still go. He’s been there for us, Lake."
 
I don’t want to admit to her that I don't want to go because I don't know how to be around him anymore. That night in his laundry room when I thought for a brief moment that we could finally be together; I had never felt so elated. It was the most amazing feeling I've ever experienced, to finally be free to love him. But it wasn't real. That one minute of pure happiness I felt and the heartache that came moments later is something I never want to experience again. I'm tired of grieving.
 
My mother moves the wrapping paper from her lap and reaches out and hugs me. I didn't realize I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve.
 
"I'm sorry, but I think I may have given you some terrible advice," she says.
 
I pull away from her and laugh. "That's impossible, Mom. You don't know how to do terrible."
 
I take a box from the floor and pull it into my lap as I grab a sheet of already cut paper and begin to wrap it.
 
"I did, though. Your whole life I've been telling you to think with your head, not your heart," she says.
 
I meticulously fold the edges up and grab the roll of tape. "That's not good advice, Mom. That's great advice. That same advice is what has gotten me through these past few months." I tear a piece of tape and secure the edge of the package.
 
My mother grabs the box out of my hand before I'm finished wrapping it and sets it beside her. She takes my hands and turns me toward her.
 
"I'm serious. You've been doing so much thinking with your head that you're ignoring your heart completely. There has to be a balance. The fact that both of you are letting other things consume you is about to ruin any chance you'll ever have at being happy."
 
I shake my head in confusion. "Nothing is consuming me, Mom."
 
She shakes my hands like I'm not getting it. "I am, Lake. I'm consuming you. You've got to stop worrying so much about me. Go live your life. I'm not dead yet, you know.