“
I
’
m sorry,
”
he repeated.
“
I didn
’
t know.
”
“
No, I know,
”
she said with a sigh.
“
I
’
m
sorry. And I love that you did that for her. You
’
re so sweet.
”
He went in for another kiss. This one was returned, and when they separated, my mom looked back over in my direction, but seemed to look beyond me.
“
Are you okay, Mommy?
”
“
Yeah, baby,
”
she answered, walking back over to me.
“
I
’
m great. Let
’
s get this back on you. Your Grandma Hennigan made you that sweater, and she
’
d kill me if we ruined it.
”
She slipped the smock back on my arms and secured it with the ribbon.
“
Why don
’
t you finish the dog house, and then we need to get you ready for bed.
‘
Kay?
”
“‘
Kay.
”
After I finished painting the pink dog house, Mom carefully removed my smock, hanging it on the short coat-rack that matched my furniture in my bedroom. She was giving it to me, even though I knew it was more than just some ratty piece of clothing to her.
“
Livvy?
”
Mom calls as she walks downstairs. Quickly, I exit my room to meet her in the media room so she can
’
t see what I
’
m working on.
“
Yeah?
”
She laughs at me when she sees me.
“
When are you ever going to retire that thing?
”
she asks as she tugs on the frayed ribbon around my waist.
“
I like it,
”
I tell her.
“
It has history.
”
“
You should let me wash it for you.
”
“
I just did two days ago. I take care of it, Mom, don
’
t worry.
”
She smiles and nods.
“
I know. Wait, is that a new hole?
”
she asks, poking her finger through an opening in the seam.
“
I just noticed it yesterday, but yeah.
”
“
That dress was expensive when I bought it. Very high quality, but I guess I never thought it would get this much wear. Anyway, dinner will be ready in five minutes. Can you get cleaned up by then?
”
“
Yeah, of course.
”
“
Is your homework done?
”
“
No. I don
’
t have much, though. I can knock it out after dinner.
”
“
Subject?
”
“
English. I just have to read two chapters of
Brave New World
.
”
“
Ahhh, that
’
s one of your dad
’
s favorite books, you know?
”
“
He mentioned that. I don
’
t like it.
”
“
Of course,
”
she answers, giving me a strained look.
“
Five minutes.
”
“
I
’
ll be up.
”
“
Bring the smock up with you,
”
she says on her way back up the stairs.
“
I can stitch up that hole for you.
”
“
Alright, Mom.
”
Many years after the first night I got to paint with brushes, I learned the real story behind the smock. When my mother was on bed-rest six years ago, pregnant with my brother, we had a lot of mother-daughter conversations. My dad was out of the country on business. Grandma Hennigan was staying with us while he was away. Mom
’
s pregnancy was high-risk, so she had to be very careful.
Grandma had taken over my bedroom and I was allowed to sleep with my mother when Dad was away. We had many late-night talks. I learned so much about my mother then, and just when I thought a new baby would drive a wedge between me and the parents that had been my own for almost six years, Mom and I grew very close, creating a special bond that we still have to this day.
We had been talking about how she met my dad. She was telling me about this
“
other guy
”
that she had been dating, and at some point, his name slipped out: Nate.
I knew the name, though. I knew that he was my mother
’
s friend. I knew that he was Granna
’
s son, who had died years ago. She had told me many stories about him over years of afternoons and evenings I spent first as a student, then as a mentor, at the Art Room. I had no idea Nate had been romantically involved with my mother.
“
He was your boyfriend?
”
I
’
d asked Mom. She was reluctant to answer me, but finally did.
“
Yes, briefly,
”
she said with a wistful smile.
“
But, really, we were just friends for most of the time I knew him.
”
“
Does Daddy know?
”
I
’
d asked first.
“
Yes, Daddy knows.
”
“
Did Granna know?
”
She laughed at that question.
“
Of course she knew. It
’
s not nice to keep secrets from your parents. We didn
’
t keep secrets from them.
”
“
Did they like it that you were dating?
”
“
Who?
”
“
Everyone. Granna, your parents...
”
“
Yeah,
”
she answered.
“
You know, Donna
’
s always treated me like a daughter. And Nate was friends with
your uncle–
Chris
–and me
. My family liked him, too.
”
“
Why didn
’
t you marry him?
”
“
Well, Livvy. I like to think it
’
s because I was meant to be with Jacks all along. And Nate and me, we were just supposed to be best friends.
”
“
Well, how come you broke up?
”
“
We didn
’
t exactly.
”
I could sense her hesitance, but I was silent, waiting for her answer.
“
Nate and I were together when he died.
”
This revelation startled me, and I remember sitting up in bed, frightened at the thought of my mom
’
s life being in danger. I knew how Nate died.
“
You were in the car with him?
”
She sighed.
“
Yes, baby. I was.
”
“
How come you lived?
”
I
’
d asked her.
She carefully rearranged herself in bed, sitting up against some pillows. She put her arm around me and pulled me close.
“
I guess because someone had to be here to raise you.
”
“
No, really, Mom,
”
I
’
d urged her.
“
Were you hurt?
”
“
Yes,
”
she answered quickly.
“
I had broken some bones. I was in a coma for a few days, and... well, my heart was broken, too,
”
she added.
“
I
’
d lost my best friend.
”
I
’
d learn later that she left out a very significant detail.
“
And your boyfriend.
”
“
Yes. And my boyfriend.
”
“
So Granna could have really been my grandma?
”
“
Well, Livvy, I don
’
t think I would have ever met you if he hadn
’
t passed away. I only had the chance to meet you because your Dad volunteered at the hospital you were at. Do you remember that night?
”
They
’
d told me the story so many times that I wasn
’
t sure if I remembered the night I met Jack and Emi or if my imagination just built around their description of that Christmas Eve when I pulled on my dad
’
s tie and instantly worked my way into their hearts.
“
Yeah.
”
“
That was probably the best thing that
’
s ever happened to Dad and me. Meeting you.
”
“
It
’
s the best thing that
’
s ever happened to me, too,
”
I had told her. We were quiet for some time, reflecting on that night. At least I was.
“
You know the smock you wear when you paint?
”
“
Yeah?
”
“
It
’
s actually a dress.
”
I had figured that out quickly when I saw the typical smocks at the art school I attended.
“
I was wearing the dress the night Nate first told me he loved me. He was painting, and I hugged him and got paint on the dress.
”
“
Why didn
’
t you wash it?
”
I
’
d asked.
“
Oh, I did. Carefully. I hand-washed it, but I was careful not to remove the paint. I wanted to hold on to a little piece of that night. It was a pretty special night.
”
“
Did you love him?
”
“
Of course,
”
she told me.
“
Like you love Daddy?
”
“
Yeah, a little like that. But I have to be honest, Liv, your daddy has made me the happiest woman in the world. I love him and I
’
m very much in love with him. Still.
”
“
What
’
s the difference?
”
“
Hmmm,
”
she began, contemplative.
“
You know how you love your cousins, your grandparents, even me and Daddy?
”
“
Yeah. Like, they
’
re family.
”
“
Right. Nate was kind of like family to me.
”
“
But Daddy
’
s family.
”
“
Right, Daddy
’
s family
now
. How can I explain this?
”
she struggled.
“
With Daddy, I kind of picked him, to love him... to fall in love with him. And I couldn
’
t help it. My heart just made me go to him.
”
I looked at her, unsatisfied with her simplistic answer.
“
Let
’
s see. With our family, we just accept who we have, and we care about them first because of who they are. And then as time goes on, that caring turns into love.
”