The Bottle at the Back of the Fridge
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

This is a short vignette about a parent who's coping with changes in family relationships while transitioning, and struggling to not give into easing the pain of loss in an unhealthy way. While there's a bit of sadness in this story, there's also hope as well. I hope you enjoy it.

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I leaned against the edge of the sink, and studied the chilled bottle in my hand. A drop of condensation slid down the dark brown glass. I could almost smell the earthy hops when I imagined popping off the cap.

I stretched out my arm, and said, "Today ... I choose to not drink from this b--"

My grip slipped when someone knocked at the door. I caught the bottle before it shattered, shoved it into the back of the fridge, and tossed the opener at the counter. I peeked out the window, then covered my mouth to stop a screech of surprise.

I dragged my fingers through my bed hair, then retied the sash of my robe. My slippers slapped against my heels as I ran the ten feet to the other end of the apartment. A few snowflakes drifted across the threshold when I opened the door.

"Peter!" I said while wrapping my robe more tightly against the cold. "It's so nice to see you!"

He gave me a small smile, then said, "Hey Willa."

There used to be a time when he'd call me Dad. Willa was definitely better, but not quite what I'd always wished he'd call me.

I swallowed my heartache, smiled back, and stepped out of the doorway. "Come on in, before you freeze to death."

While he stomped muddy snow off his boots, I said, "Does your mother know you're here early?"

Peter frowned as he walked through the doorway. "I'm twelve years old."

"Not until tomorrow," I said as I closed the door.

"Whatever," he said while rolling his eyes. "I'm still old enough to not be asking permission for every tiny thing."

I did my best to not giggle at the way my little boy squared his shoulders, and jutted out his chin. "Would you like some hot cocoa, or coffee, or ..." I thought about the contents of my fridge, ignored the one drinkable item, and said, "... water?"

"Nah," he said as he held up a hand. "I'll only be here a minute. I just wanted to let you know, Dan got here a day early, and has to leave first thing tomorrow, so ..."

My heart dropped into my stomach. "You won't be able to come over this afternoon?"

Peter lowered his head and said, "Ma wants me to get to know him better."

"Listen," I said while lifting his chin, "it's okay to like him."

"But he's not--"

"Shhh," I said as I pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't worry about what he is or isn't. Just have a wonderful birthday with him and your mother."

He chewed on his bottom lip, then said, "Speaking of my birthday ..."

I thought of the wrapped package under my bed, and said, "Oh! Wait right here."

He grabbed my arm as I turned, then said, "Could it wait for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"On my real birthday."

"How can I give it to you then?"

"I could ... y'know ... come over."

"You want to spend your birthday ... with me?" I gasped when he nodded, then said, "Nothing could make me happier!"

I gasped again when he hugged me. It took me a second before I thought to hug back. He grinned at me when he let go, then opened the door and said, "See you tomorrow ... Mom."

When the door closed, I spent a long time staring at it. Eventually, I lifted my jaw from the floor, then shuffled over to the fridge. I could barely see through my tears when I pulled at the handle. I groped around the back of the fridge until I felt a cool, familiar shape.

I grabbed the opener from the counter, then pried the cap off the bottle in my hand. The sweet, tantalizing aroma called to me. For a moment, I considered taking a final, goodbye sip.

Just one.

"No," I whispered as I wiped my cheeks with the fuzzy sleeve of my robe.

The bottle glugged when I tilted it. Amber liquid poured into the sink, and gurgled down the drain. I waited for the last drop to fall. The bottle made a hollow clink when I placed it on the counter. I looked out the window, and watched a distant figure trudging through a snow flurry.

I took in a deep breath, then said in a firm, clear voice, "Today ... I choose ... my son."