Learning to Pause

Narrator:

“MOOOOM! No offence, this tastes disgusting!”

Ziva wrinkled her face at the yellow gloop that filled her bowl, patiently waiting to be eaten.

“It’s inedible! MOM?”

Fingers flying in a haze, clicking furiously on the laptop; golden-brown tangled hair (which any bird would mistake for a comfortable nest); pursed lips; eyes darting from the clock to the glowing screen; a mind racing against time.

That was Eda Avergan.

Ziva’s mom.

---

“Mom?” Ziva called out weakly.

“Hmm…?” came the distant-sounding reply.

“I am not feeling well,” Ziva whimpered.

She was greeted by silence, stinging every unstung part of her. Would Mom ever realize that she, Ziva Avergan, was a living being in the tiny apartment, unlike the long-since-dead plants?

---

“Mmmm.”

Ziva stifled a yawn.

The sun shone bleakly into her face, casting shadows in the emptiness of the room and reminding her of the start of a new day.

Pushing aside the blanket, Ziva sauntered into the living room, pleased for no apparent reason.

Just like always, Eda had vaporized into thin air. At least, it seemed so.

She drew in a sharp breath, which felt chilly. A quick glance through the window proved her right. Snow was stacked up until it almost reached the top of the window.

Her heart felt lighter, though her head was pounding, urging her to sink back into the comfortable depths of her bed.

During the last snowstorm, Eda had already left for work (despite it being a Saturday) and was unable to return home even when the moon was high in the sky.

“Mom?” Ziva called out, maybe a zillion percent sure that she would be answered only by the walls.

“Ziva?” a voice echoed.

It caught Ziva off guard. She was unprepared. Maybe because she hadn’t heard it in a while, or because she had forgotten what her mother’s voice sounded like.

Ziva crept to her mother’s bedroom and pushed open the door.

Eda sat on the bed, her hair now pulled into a bun, bent over her laptop, her fingers jabbing at the keys.

“Internet…” she mumbled.

“Oh! Good morning, Ziva,” she greeted her daughter once she noticed her presence.

“Mom? There is a heavy snowstorm. The internet might be having some… issues,” Ziva mumbled, mostly to herself, though she wanted her mom to hear every word.

“Oh.”

Eda looked surprised. Genuinely surprised.

“Maybe that’s why I needed two layers of blankets to feel warm.”

She looked out the window, closing the laptop with a sigh.

“Now, how am I supposed to work?” Eda mumbled to the walls. Or the comfy cushions that looked very inviting.

But that was their job—to look comfy.

And everyone had to do their job, no matter what.

At least, that’s what Eda thought.

---

Eda:

I really couldn’t believe I couldn’t work because of a snowstorm.

I had to finish a bunch of projects. Every second wasted was like a drop of gold… gone.

“Mom?” Ziva called softly.

“Are you okay?”

Wait, did I look that bad?

“You look pretty flustered,” she continued.

“No, Ziva… I’m fine,” I said, as if saying so would make it true.

Running my hand over my matted hair, I glanced at the mirror.

My reflection stared back.

Except the person who blinked back at me did not seem like me.

My jaw dropped as I stared at what I had let myself become.

“Mom?”

Ziva’s voice echoed, decluttering my brain.

“Do you want to have breakfast… together?”

I nodded, and I caught a glimpse of her face breaking into the biggest grin I had ever seen.

I stared at the tablecloth spread across the table, complete with plates, knives, glasses, and a beaming Ziva.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat here.

“MOOOM!” Ziva called out.

“Try this pie! It’s delicious!”

She dropped a pink-looking pie onto my plate.

I picked it up and took a slow bite (something I never did).

The creaminess rolled around in my mouth, then slid down my throat on its way to sweeten my stomach.

Then I remembered.

This was the same pie I had stuffed into my mouth yesterday without a second thought.

“It feels so nice, Mom, to eat with you,” Ziva said dreamily, cutting a pea into tiny pieces and trying to eat it as slowly as she could.

As if she wanted this moment to last forever.

And maybe she did.

That realization jolted me awake.

I looked at the contentment spreading across her face.

She was truly enjoying this.

Is this what she wanted?

Rather than a week in Majorca?

The thought hit hard.

Maybe I didn’t need to work so hard.

Maybe I could take the weekends off.

I sighed.

It had been difficult, but I thought I was providing the best for her and trying to fill the gap left by her father.

But maybe all she wanted was…

Me.