Page 59 of Romeo vs Romeo

My gaze moved over to the opposite end of the garden, and my heart nearly stopped with shock. Wearing a green dress and her hair in a tight bun, my mother sat with a cup of coffee in her lap. Worry contorted her face, and she smoothed it quickly when our gazes met.

Some part of me wanted to step back and turn away. When I had gone to see them, their doors were locked to me. When I called their numbers, no one answered. Why should I spare her another thought, let alone a minute of my time?

Fearfully, Mother set her cup on the table and stood. “Everett.” Her voice was gentle, almost meek.

I balled my fists, my nails almost cutting into my palms, and walked toward me. When I got to the nearer end of the table, I halted, and my mother hesitated, then folded her hands in front of her. If she expected a hug, she’d lost that privilege too long ago.

“You look good,” she said.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “You too.” Silver streaks in her hair suited her.

“Should we sit?” she asked.

I watched her for a few heartbeats, some uneasy feeling rising in my chest. Would we need so much time to justify the effort it took to sit and stand again? I tossed that thought aside and pulled a chair for myself.

When we sat down, my mother tried to put a smile on her face. It was something I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Has something happened?” I asked, unable to rid myself of this queasy feeling.

“You’ve been away for a long time,” she said.

And whose choice was that?But I decided I wouldn’t fight with her. It would only upset us both, and I wanted to bring a good mood to the rest of my day with Roman. “I tried calling,” I said instead.

“Yes,” Mother replied. “You have.” Her lips quivered, but stillness came over her again. “So this is the place.”

“That’s the one,” I said. There were complicated and not entirely pleasant emotions roiling within me, but I was able to keep a tight lid on them.

“The garden is charming,” she said.

I was nearing the end of my patience.What do you want from me?

My mother closed her eyes, inhaled, exhaled, and looked at me. “I gave birth to you a month too soon,” she said. I knew that. “They didn’t think you would make it. But I prayed to God. I prayed until my knees were bruised and bloody. I prayed every day, ‘Please, Lord, spare my child, and I will devote my life to you. Save my child, God. Please, save my child, and I will sing praise to you until my last breath.’ And you lived. They called it a medical miracle, but I knew better. And it was that pledge that remained as I watched you grow up. I took my vows and carried them in my heart, Everett. Every day since then, I had to remain aware of all the dangers that lurk from the shadows because I was His. He had saved my child, but my debt remained. He blessed us, so I needed to keep my resolve. Every temptation, every sin, every corruption that would take Him out of my heart had to be trampled. I needed…”

I scoffed. “Or I would die?”

“Perhaps,” Mother said. “I don’t claim to know the ways in which He works.”

I put my hands together. “Well, thanks for sacrificing yourself, but I don’t remember asking you for that.”

“Calm down, Everett,” she said, and shame filled me. She measured me with a sharper look, then softened again, but she was clearly uncomfortable speaking about this. Or speaking to me. “Part of me must have known, you see. I carried you in my womb for eight months. A mother should know. Isn’t that right?” She grew distant, as if wondering, and then shook her head as if shaking that train of thought away. “I feared corruption. I judged you for it before I knew what it was. In my heart, I think I knew. I envied you. Was this the reward for my sacrifice? Was this another test He sent to see how strong my resolve was? I needed to stay true, Everett. I swore I would. And so I judged the sin in you before I understood that the true corruption lay here.” She put a hand on her chest.

I stared at her in dumbfounded shock. “W-what are you saying?”

“I was wrong,” she said clearly. “Perhaps this is my punishment. The destruction of my family and the shame in which your father lives. Or perhaps there is no punishment, and we all make our choices freely. Perhaps He never noticed us in his cosmic indifference. I can’t know that. But I know that no sin of yours comes close to the one in my heart. I wronged you, Everett. It hurts me as a mother, as a Catholic, and as a human being to admit this, but I failed you when I should have supported you.”

I tried to swallow, but my throat was tight, and my eyes stung. Headache knocked on the back of my head, and my deep, twisted frown threatened me with a sudden migraine. Even breathing was difficult.

“I don’t claim to understand, but I want to. And I would ask your forgiveness, but I can’t expect it,” she said.

“You have it,” I blurted, surprising myself as much as I surprised her.

My mother’s mouth remained open for a moment, and then she shut it quickly. “Can I hug you?” she asked, her voice thinning with suppressed feelings.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

She stood and was next to me before I could stand, and her arms wrapped around me with the sort of gentleness I hadn’t gotten from my mother in ten years or more. She hugged me hard, pressing my head against her stomach, then loosening her arms as I found my footing and stood up.

Tears then rolled down my cheeks, but I blinked the fresh ones away, sniffing shortly.

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