Page 48 of Resolutions

“Mom?” The word comes out barely above a whisper, fear making my voice small.

“That's better.” With the authority of someone who has raised three sons, she walks past me into the apartment.

I close my eyes, still gripping the doorknob, trying to process what's happening. How did she find me? What do I do now that she's here? The time for hiding seems to be over. Taking a deep breath, I close the door and turn to face her. She's already seated at my dining room table, her presence somehow making my modest apartment feel both smaller and warmer at the same time.

Back against the door, my knees give out and I land in a heap on the floor. Tears flowing, I'm struggling to breathe. I don't know what to do - Michael's going to know she's here. She's going to ruin everything, and yet I'm so happy to see her. Face down on the carpet, I sob. I'm not sure when she came to me, but when I finally came to my senses, mom was on the floor next to me, rocking me back and forth. Telling me it's going to be okay; everything would be okay. But would it? Really?

“Come on, let's sit and talk.” She says as she stands. “I'm too old to be sitting on the floor. Let's go to the table.” She holds out her hand and helps me stand.

Consciously steadying my breathing, I eye her sitting across from me. Our relationship had always been special, growing even closer after Cameron and I got engaged. With my own momacross the country battling Alzheimer's, Evelyn became more than a future mother-in-law. She, along with Cameron, became my rock.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” I offer with a shaky breath, partly to be hospitable, partly to buy time before what promises to be the single hardest conversation of my life.

“Coffee, thank you.” Her smile is gentle, understanding. It's like she knows I need these few minutes to gather my thoughts.

I busy myself in the kitchen, selecting her favorite pod for the coffee maker, gathering creamers and sugar. My hands tremble slightly as I arrange everything on a tray. I have to stop to take a deep breath. As she inspects the creamer label, I return to start my own coffee brewing.

The soft whir of the machine covers my racing thoughts:

How did she find me?

What does she know?

Can I trust her?

How's the family?

How's Cameron?

Should I tell her everything?

Can I trust anyone anymore?

What do I do?

The coffee maker's shrill beep causes me to jump, yanking me back to reality. I grab a package of Oreos, double stuff, of course, my comfort food for the inevitable doom that's about to come. As I doctor my coffee, I wait for her to speak first.

“Melanie,” Her voice carries such genuine concern that my head snaps up. “Mel, are you okay?”

“That's what you want to know first? How am I?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I'd expected accusations, anger over me leaving Cameron on our wedding day. But she wants to know how I am? I was prepared for an attack, not this maternal worry.

“Yes, dear, that's what I want to know first.”

“I'm...” The truth, my truth, is that I'm lonely, terrified, missing you all desperately, catches in my throat. “I'm okay. How are you?”

“I'm fine. Better now that I've found you.” She sips her coffee carefully. “I hope to be even better after we talk. I'm relieved you're safe.”

I stare at her, thrown by her kindness. The sight of her is so familiar, so much like Cameron around the eyes. Seeing her brings everything I'm missing rushing back. Memories of family dinners, shopping trips, late night talks. She was everything I wanted to be - smart, capable, loving, a good mom. The perfect mixture of strength and warmth.

Suddenly again, it's all too much. The weight of everything all the endless nights of sobbing, the bone-deep terror every time I leave the apartment, the crushing loss of my whole life. And now her concern at my well being, crashes over me like a tidal wave. I try to hold back the tears but they come anyway, harsh sobs that shake my whole body. I place my head in my hands on the table, unable to stop myself.

I feel her hand on my back, making those small soothing circles she used to make when I was upset about my mom's declining health. She doesn't speak; just offers that maternal comfort I've missed so desperately. When I finally raise my head, she hands me a napkin and opens the Oreos, placing one in front of me like she used to do with her boys. Her own eyes are wet with tears.

“I know this must be hard to talk about,” she says softly, returning to her chair. “But I'm not here to yell or point fingers. I just want us to talk, woman to woman. Do you understand?”

I nod, not trusting my voice yet.

“How about this? Let's take turns asking each other questions. There must be things we both want to know.” When I nod again,she continues. “Whatever is asked must be answered honestly. Agreed?”

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