Chapter Text
Her arms had ached from the motion of carrying so many books at a time. From old romance novels to encyclopaedias to musical librettos she sought out in the summer of ‘89. Occasionally, if a title had intrigued her enough, there was time to skim read and thumb over old notes she had made in the margins.
Living alone, she hadn't even realised just how much she had collected over the years. Books, photo albums, even records. Old souvenirs from dead friends. Unopened gifts that she realised were unopened for a reason, because memory had never served her well even despite her old age. None of it had been unkind, barely scratching the surface of the life she had led.
Nadine kept the letters and the memos and threw away much of the rest. Her heart had been different at the age of thirty when she prioritised status and affiliation over anything, and ambition had driven her to heights she had never seen before. Once, she had been proud to serve her country. Nowadays, it was little more than that. What existed in its place was a faint sense of exhaustion weighing in her bones.
Rifling in a spare box, she glazed over the notes and the texts with little more than an informed hum. There were government statistics, old work documents, and… a red envelope. Papers she would have otherwise been relieved to throw away.
The envelope was covered in handwriting that was familiar, perversely so, and she couldn’t quite pinpoint just when it was made. ‘ For :)’ It read, in jaunty, barely legible writing. The smiley face had instinctively made her smile, even if the word next to it had been smudged to the point of being unrecognisable.
Withdrawing the single folded note inside, she didn’t miss the way her heart tightly clenched on the insides. Her hand began to tremble as if maintaining such minimal strength was a task.
Nadine stared at the scrap of paper, running over lines and barely legible writing. Marks were made in the form of crudely drawn humans, stick-men-like, except one was bigger in size with rough swirls for hair and bug-like eyes. Beside it was an arrow with the words, ‘Mom,’ followed by a linking of hands and a smaller figure.
It was a portrait made by…
By…
She hasn’t spoken his name out loud for years . And yet, the memories were there. All twenty years of them, mismatched and aching and-
“My sweet baby boy,” Nadine speaks out loud without meaning to. She thumbs over the intricate folds, the text, even the small love hearts that were done in red marker, albeit rushed.
If she thinks hard enough, she can see him there - with tiny hands and a smile that lit up her whole world. If she wonders momentarily , she can see why her cruelty had wandered far enough for the rift to grow six years between contact.
Maybe it was pointless to believe he would come back. She would never have forced him to.
Nadine misses him more than anything.
February 10th, 1992
“Roman…”
She crouches down so she is at eye level with him. Between cries, he grabs tightly at her shirt, pulling and tugging at the fabric. It doesn’t feel normal for him to cry so much. She doesn’t even know why. He shakes her softly, expecting a response she doesn’t even know how to give.
“Mama!”
“I’m here, baby. I’m always here.” She coos, hesitantly rubbing the back of his head. God, at this rate - she would end up crying too. There was no way she could get fired again for her persistent tardiness. They needed to eat something more than just noodles and rice, and the evenings would spur on another wave of hunger headaches when there just wasn’t enough for both of them.
It doesn’t register that she might be late for yet another day at work until concern falls away into carefully tuned exasperation. There wasn’t enough time to arrange for someone to come by so early and at such late notice. Nadine slings an awkward arm around him, holding him close before reaching for the phone again and dialling once more.
There was one more person - maybe…
“Helen? Helen! Thank god you picked up. Could you come over and look after Roman for a few hours? I k-know I didn’t- it's just till lunch. I’ll come back for him, it's just that I’ve been too late- no? Please. I promise I’ll pay you this time- I just can’t-”
Her jaw clenched as the dial tone clicked, the phone balancing in the crest of her shoulder. There was only so much money left, and how would she even-
Her hands began to shake out of desperation, even when the back of her hand pressed against his forehead. Roman flinched away from her cold hand momentarily, shaking his head - or the pain – away.
He was burning up. Again? It had only been a month since-
“Mom, it hurts! My tummy hurts. I miss you. Please stay?” She was going to be fired again. It was her fault for not planning ahead, of course it was. If she left for work, nobody would be around to look after him, and to even consider leaving him again? It would break her heart.
But then that meant even more days of barely anything. Nadine would have to call him again, and explain. She couldn’t go through that again. Never. Tucking him further into the empty spaces of her body, she held him tight - smoothing down his hair and staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the tears to come.
Hunger stirred within her. She had to put her son first, it was integral that she had to make sure he was safe and fed and healthy before she even remotely considered herself. Another week of leftovers it was.
“I’m sorry it hurts, baby. Mama’s not going anywhere. I’m here. It’s okay.”
By the time the sun began to set, Nadine had already managed to re-organise seventy percent of her condo. The envelope had been a slight shock to her system, dredging a multitude of memories she hadn’t even realised had existed - but those years had represented something inexplicable and profound. Nadine separated them into boxes, categorised by years. She had put the remains of Roman’s old items at the back of the storage, only to be opened when she wanted another reminder.
Motherhood had never been kind to her.
It had eaten away at her conscience as the years passed. Words she had never managed to find the sentences for. Apologies that would never be enough. Nadine spent nights wondering how to fix what she had done, to repair the irreparable damage that occurred when her only son had hated her for something out of her control. She’d let the anger fade away instantly, because it was impossible to hold a grudge against her own son.
Even if she didn’t know.
Especially because she didn’t know.
“ I spent a year depressed at Juilliard because of you, Mom. And you had no idea, did you? No! Because you never fucking cared about me. You never asked how I was! You only ever care about projecting your failures onto me and suddenly, I’m not enough.”
Her throat began to tighten. The accusation felt like a dagger to the heart. She didn’t even know what to say. How could she have known? It wasn’t like he spoke to her. Did she call him enough? Of course, she did, but the dropped calls had meant something. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe she was just a shit parent.
Thoughts were running through her head at the speed of sound. She couldn’t even look him properly in the eye. Nadine couldn’t defend herself against his anger. Instead, she tried to keep her voice as level as possible.
“That’s not fair, Roman. You said you didn’t want to talk to me. I didn’t know-”
“It’s never your fault, is it? Jesus Christ, it’s like I don’t even have a mother anymore.” He kept his head in his hands, pacing back and forth dangerously. She didn’t even know what to say in response.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wish you’d told me. I’m so sorry.” She wants to do more. Yet, she is helpless.
Nadine placed the final item in the box, a wooden sculpture resembling a pair of antlers from a Scandinavian province in the 90’s. That had completed her collection from her travels to the Nordic countries, and she even had the heart to think about sending Roman something as an act of goodwill. She didn’t even know where he was. It was possible she’d never see him again for as long as she lived.
Nadine stood up and stretched, proud of being able to clean the place on her own. The floor still required a deep clean, but for the most part - the boxes were organised and packed away, and a new set of souvenirs were on display in her front room.
After several hours of contemplation, she had decided to keep the photo of him in the black frame on the third shelf up. Even if she wanted to, it was almost impossible to remove, but the summer of ‘99 had brought back one of the happiest memories known to her. It was a reminder of her persisting, unconditional love for him.
To her, it was a recollection of an old life.