Page 24 of Anything For This Love

There’s a soft knock on the door. “Abby?” my grandmother’s voice calls to me tentatively.

I sigh and stand from the floor, opening the door. “Come in.”

“I know your mother is the last person you want to see right now, but I think you need to give her a chance. She’s been gone a long time, but I think she’s clean right now.” My eyes go round in surprise. She hasn’t been clean in a long time.

“Are you going to let her stay here?”

“For now,” she answers slowly, compassion filling her eyes. I gulp back my fears, hoping she’s making the right decision. “If I suspect she’s using again or if anything goes missing, she’ll have to leave.”

“Why are you letting her back in? She’s only going to hurt us,” I say before I can stop myself.

“She’s my daughter and I still love her just as much as I did the day she was born. Yes, she has made mistakes and I won’t make excuses for her, but that doesn’t mean I love her any less,” she explains, grasping my shoulders and forcing me to look at her. “If she’s under my roof, I know she’s safe. I’ve spent years worrying about her and wondering if she’s even alive.” Her eyes narrow and her face turns resolute. “But I will not put you or Chloe in harm’s way just to appease her. She may be my child, but she’s an adult and I can’t protect her from everything, including herself.” She wraps her arms tightly around me and I melt into her embrace.

“Will you talk to her? She would really like to meet Chloe.”

I don’t have the heart to tell her I already talked to Mom, and that I’m not convinced she’s changed at all. Or about the phone call I received when I was six months pregnant with Chloe. Remembering that conversation, I squeeze my eyes shut to stem the flow of tears threatening to spring forth.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Abs, it’s your mom.”

I hold the phone from my ear, looking at it dumbly as though I’d just imagined hearing my mother’s voice.

“Hello? Are you there?” her voice calls to me from the speaker. I press it back to my ear.

“Uh… yeah, I’m here. What do you want?” I’m finally coming around, realizing I’m not hallucinating this phone call. She cackles, the sound shooting a shiver of unease down my spine.

“Heard you went and got yourself knocked up. Guess you turned out just like me, huh?”

Her words stun me, freezing me on the spot. How the hell does she know I’m pregnant? I instinctively cradle my growing belly in my hands protectively. I hope my little girl never has to withstand my mother’s vitriol. I will do whatever it takes to keep her from causing my child any pain, physical or emotional.

“That’s not exactly true, though, is it? At least I knew the man who put a bun in my oven. Rumor has it you don’t even know the guy. Or do you just not know which one got you pregnant?” she sneers.

I’m paralyzed by her assault. Just like the day she admitted to never wanting me, she struck a devastating blow. I can’t find my voice to fight back. But really, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not the same scared girl as before. Her words can no longer hurt me. As she cackles and calls me names, I calmly tell her goodbye and hang up the phone. She never calls again.

Begrudgingly,I nod my agreement and step out into the hall, nerves fluttering in my belly. I haven’t seen her in almost a decade and haven't heard her voice for two years. My mother is a stranger to me. I step into the living room and instinctively cross my arms. It’s my barrier, the wall of protection to shield my heart from her venom and hate.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier,” she starts, taking in my defensive stance.

“For once, we agree on something.”

She lets out a sigh before stepping closer. “You looked pissed to see me and I let my disappointment in your reaction turn to anger. I was expecting a warmer welcome from the daughter I haven’t seen in almost ten years.”

“Well, forgive me if I wasn’t thrilled to reunite with the woman who hit me, called me names, and then abandoned me and my little brother. Although, I really should be thanking you. You did us all a favor when you left,” I seethe, my emotions rolling over me like a tidal wave.

Her face momentarily tightens with anger, but she shakes it off. “I know I haven’t said it out loud, but I’m sorry. The drinking got out of control after your dad died and I was drowning in grief. I was desperate to numb the pain and all it took was one hit.”

Something about her apology leaves me unsettled. She made it sound like the drinking wasn’t a result of Dad dying, but a vice that got out of hand once he was gone. “Wait a minute. What do you mean by ‘the drinking got out of control’? Was it a problem before Dad died?”

She grimaces before shooting me a sympathetic look. “You were so young. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. I struggled with it for a long time. Your father was my rock. He kept me in check and was always there to talk me off the ledge. Until he wasn’t.” Sadness fills her deep brown eyes. “There were some hard times, especially after each of you kids were born. After I had Ethan, Colin recognized that something was very wrong. I ended up hospitalized and medicated. They diagnosed me with postpartum depression and underlying bipolar disorder.” I suck in a breath, shock freezing me in place. “I didn’t believe them. Back then, mental illness was still treated like something to be ashamed of. It was taboo and I was afraid of being labeled as a crazy person.”

I soften toward her infinitesimally. She was battling an invisible foe I never knew was trying to take her down.

“I got better for a while after that, so I stopped taking my meds, thinking I didn’t need them anymore. That’s when the drinking picked up. Your father would convince me to go back on them and I was able to curtail my bad habits, but I always fell back into that mindset where I believed I was cured and didn’t need medication. He almost left me over it.” Her chin wobbles and she blinks a few times, stemming her tears. “I promised I’d stop for good and got back on my meds. Six months later, he was gone.”

Shame envelops me like a suffocating embrace. All these years, I’d done nothing but judge my mother, never asking what drove this once beautiful and vibrant woman to spiral into the desolation of drug and alcohol addiction.

“I know the chances of mending our relationship are slim to none, but I would like to get to know my granddaughter.”

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