You are currently viewing First Impressions- A Short Story by Martha Artyomenko

“Mommy, why is that lady here?” Ethan’s question broke through Abigail’s fog to realize that Mildred, the always perfect neighbor, was indeed in her living room still.  

It had been one thing after another. The grocery store was packed with last-minute shoppers, collecting the items for the holiday meals, when Meredith decided to throw a fit.  

“I want ice cream that is pink!” The wailing pierced through the aisles, creating a ruckus that no mother wanted.  

“It has pink in it.” Abigail said helpfully, peering at the cart, hoping to distract the stubborn toddler.  

The screeches that escalated in volume, combined with the kicking the cart sustained from unhappy child.  

“Does this help?” A voice broke through the noise to catch Abigail’s attention. A picture of perfection, her neighbor Mildred stood before her, dressed in a matching mint cardigan and skirt, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she approached. She held out a cookie from the bakery, trembling.  

“Sure, why not.” Abigail bit her tongue as she said the words, not meaning for it to sound as clipped as it came out. Leave it to her perfect neighbor to show up in the middle of a meltdown.  

The neighbor bent down to eye level to connect with the screaming child and held out the cookie.  

“Want a cookie?” Meredith snatched at the cookie, stuffing it into her mouth settling the cries. “I know that life has hit you with a lot of challenges and if there is anything I can do to help, know I am here.” Mildred offered.  

Abigail glanced at the now crumb-covered toddler and slowly pushed toward the checkout. “Thank you. Really.” The safety of home called to her, where she didn’t have to face prying questions about the loss of her daughter.  

“I lost my youngest son last year and I wanted to hide from everyone, but at the same time, I was angry that no one was there.” Mildred stated simply. “It is easy to say that you are there for someone, and hard to know how to reach out. I could come over to help you with laundry, babysitting, or just wash dishes. I know it is hard to get the basics done.”  

Abigail stared at her in response before realizing she had been quiet for far too long. “Um, I appreciate it. I just…” she trailed off mid thought.  

“I can start by helping you get your groceries put away.” The words of the neighbor that Abigail had often referred to as perfect, seemed to bring her down to earth in a way that she never thought could be possible.  

“I only heard recently that you had also lost a child. I would love help.”  

The words surprised Abigail as she had not imagined inviting the woman into her home. She winced as she thought of the scattered newspapers, mail and dirty dishes that graced the living room, but pushed through the feeling.  

“I would appreciate your help.” 

When Ethan asked the question later, Abigail still did not have a response that made sense, but she murmured, “She is here to help us.” 

An hour later, when the mint cardigan had long been discarded, Mildred’s white blouse was marked with something unmentionable from the piles of dirty dishes they washed together.  

“What was Tiffany like?” Mildred asked as she whisked the final pieces of silverware through the water.  

“I don’t remember when someone asked me that question last. She was a happy child, full of mischief though. I never knew what she would be into next. I struggle to not wonder if her death was not something I could have prevented.” Abigail fingered the spoon as she placed it in the drawer. “It was unrelated, of course, cancer doesn’t have anything to do with mischief, but I think it would be easier if I could blame it on something I could have prevented. What was your son like?”  

Mildred paused before answering, shuffling the dishes into the cupboard. “He was a quiet child. I like to think that he would have been a scientist or mathematician had he lived that long, but he always had his nose in a book about science.”  

“Do you have other children?” 

“We only had Jack. I had trouble getting pregnant, and when he came along, it was kind of an unexpected miracle.”  

Abigail glanced at the living room where her other three children played with blocks, and wondered what it would be like if she had lost her only child. “I’m sorry. It’s not as though having other children eases the pain of losing your only child.” She paused, seeking the right words. “I just can’t imagine.” 

“It did seem like a cruel blow, to have been given a gift like Jack, and then have it snatched away. Everything I see in the house reminds me of him. When I get a graduation announcement from a friend, which reminds me that we never will see him graduate, never take his prom picture or get to dance with him at his wedding.”  Fat shiny tears rolled down Mildred’s face to join the dishwater as Abigail’s mingled with her own.  

Abigail stared at her newfound friend, wondering how she could have thought her out of reach for friendship when grief touched both their lives.  

“I’m sorry you lost your son. But thank you for being here in my grief today.” Abigail hugged her new friend goodbye glancing around at the now clean living room. “It’s just a house, but it feels like I have space to grieve with it clean for now.”  

“It doesn’t take away the pain. You will still not be able to sleep, eat or function perhaps, but maybe it can lighten the burden today.” Mildred squeezed her into a warm embrace and once again, Abigail wept. In the grief, there was a new friend that came from the most unexpected place.  

“It seems I have misjudged Mildred in thinking her life was perfect.” Abigail recounted to her husband as she prepared for bed.  

“Oh?” Adam slowed his toothbrushing to ask. 

“I thought she had everything in life. She always appeared so put together. I thought she had chosen to be a childless couple, and I hate to admit, I felt like she was selfish for that. Finding out that she had a child and lost him makes me realize that things are never quite as they seem on the outside.” 

Adam’s arms went around his wife as he pulled her in close. “It seems like that is the way we should be thinking about most people before we make a judgment. Sometimes it may not be as black and white as in this case, but most people have pain we cannot see.  If we offer grace to others, we can find friendship in those unexpected places.”  

“That’s how I feel today, like I gained a friend. It doesn’t have to do with just the fact that we bonded over a shared loss, but with setting our preconceived ideals aside and allowing someone else to enter my life. I could have rejected the cookie. I could have been embarrassed when she saw me in a messy moment. But I allowed myself to be vulnerable and in that, learned a lesson.” Abigail paused before turning off the lights. “It doesn’t take away pain to have someone share it, but it gives me something to have someone that is willing to walk beside me in it outside of family.” The thoughts of the day’s reflections were her last thoughts as she drifted off to sleep. It would be another day tomorrow of dealing with the pain, but walking with friends would lighten the burden.  

martyomenko@yahoo.com

Martha Artyomenko is an unpublished fiction author who has published some nonfiction magazine articles and reviews over the years. An avid reader and mother of four sons, she brings her many years of expertise to play when writing realistic fiction about topics of mothering, domestic violence, and childbirth. In her free time, if she is not reading, you will find her walking while musing about her next story to write or traveling to learn history for another story. Martha Artyomenko supports authors by running an active social media group (Avid Readers of Christian Fiction) and newsletter promoting niche fiction authors that would otherwise be unknown. Join me by leaving a comment or signing up for the newsletter.

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