My friend used to ride the midnight bus so he could spend time with his dead sister.
He had been doing this for about five years, right after she was killed. Her boyfriend shot her one night ove
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Eszter is a former teacher who lives by the windswept British seaside. By day, she teaches and cleans up after preschoolers. By night, she writes flash fiction and stories for children. "The Cancelled Holiday and Other Secrets" is in Short Circuit #15, Short Édition's quarterly review.
Your baby is due in two weeks. Naturally, I'm over the moon about this, but I'm also feeling a bit sentimental . . . hence this letter.
So here I am at the kitchen table, thinking about you and Anna and how your world's about to change. You'll make a terrific father.
But it won't be easy.
There'll be days when you'll question your sanity. Evenings when you just want to shut yourself in your bedroom. Without Anna; without your boy. And one morning you'll wake up and realize that you no longer know who you actually are. Who you used to be before you became a stressed-out parent. I know this because it happened to me.
I wanted to be young and carefree again. I didn't want to be just a mother. I had had enough of nappies, bedtime stories, dinners you didn't like, watching cartoons on repeat. I wanted something meaningful to happen to me. Something exciting and fun.
So I had an affair. Well, two actually. The third man was just a drunken kiss in the pub, so he doesn't really count. Plus, I didn't even know his name.
Your father never found out.
Did I feel guilty about betraying him? Do I now? It's hard to say.
When you were around 10, I was convinced that your father was about to leave me. A part of me was looking forward to it. I would've let him take you with him. I'm not talking about abandoning you—just letting you live with him. God, it sounds so horrible, but it's the truth. Night after night, I waited for him to come home, sitting in our bed, listening to him climb the stairs, hoping that he had finally figured out that he didn't want me anymore because I was a bad and careless mother. (This was right after you ended up in hospital with a concussion because I let you jump around on the sofa.)
But he never left, and in the blink of an eye you turned into a teenager. Life was getting easier. And I became bored. So I began to spend more and more money on myself. Hair, nails, cashmere sweaters, shiny new shoes. Necklaces and rings. I felt like I deserved it now that you were nearly a grown-up.
That's when your father and I began to fight. I spent more than we could afford. Remember that time when we had to cancel our summer holiday? We told you it was because of a last-minute work conference your father had to attend, but in reality we needed the money to pay off some of my debts. Your father was furious.
When you moved out I was lost, which truly surprised me. I put on a brave face, but I was falling apart. I wanted to do it all over again. I wanted you to need me. But off you went without a care in the world, leaving your menopausal mother to cry herself to sleep. I cleaned and cooked for days—I simply didn't know what to do with myself.
And now I'm about to become a grandmother. You're not even 25 yet. You two rushed into this. I know Anna's older than you, but she's still young . . . there's plenty of time. Did she trick you into having a baby? I guess I'll never know. I just hope you're happy with how things turned out.
I'm glad there's no talk of a wedding. It wouldn't last. Anna's a selfish, lazy, and spoiled woman. I don't like her. There, I said it. She's not good enough for you. She will let you down, I just know it. You never should've broken up with Flora. She was amazing; you were perfect for each other. I was ashamed of you when you broke her heart.
Needless to say, you'll never read a single line of this letter. I will destroy it in a minute. I will then change the flowers on your father's grave before driving to your place, where we'll order fish and chips from that posh place near the bay because that is Anna's favorite. But one day, you'll see. You'll know I'm right about it all. And then we can talk.