Page 79 of Crash

“I do have a question. You have this nice apartment and beautiful furniture. How can you afford it? He controlled the money.”

She pulls out a bottle of white wine from the fridge and without asking us if we want any, pours two glasses and hands them to us. When I go to pour her a glass, she tells me she can’t mix alcohol with her medication, so I put the wine down.

“When I got my first job as an accountant,” she explains, “I had this mentor. She was going through a nasty divorce and instead of training me, she would tell me everything she was going through. She gave me a piece of advice. She said, ‘You’re an accountant, Jocelyn. You’re smart. You don’t need me to teach you this crap. Call me your fairy godmother because I’m going to show you how to hide the money. Women have to help other women out.’ She showed me and I took her advice. Your father has a big mouth but is a small man. He has a small mind and maybe that’s why he’s the way he is. I’m not rich, but I have money. If anyone should be worried about money, it’s him.”

Taken aback at her words, I remain quiet, unsure of what to say, but a part of me wishes this woman standing here had been my mother all along. That thought brings all the anger back to the surface. If she could figure out a way to hide money, why couldn’t she figure out a way to be a mother?

“Come have appetizers.”

“You two go ahead. I’m going to look around.”

She nods at me as she takes Luke’s hand to pull him into the kitchen. I can hear their voices in the background. My mother laughs as Luke compliments her on her cooking. His voice is muffled, and I imagine him stuffing his face with meatballs.

I walk to the back of the apartment trying to figure out who the hell this woman is. My heart still aches for what could have been. I approach a set of French doors and open to my mother’s home office. It’s a small space with a desk and two monitors. Above her desk is a shelf with a picture of me and her. I have no memory of that picture, and I look to be about three. My mother is crouching down, looking down at me as I look up at her. She’s doing something I never saw her do as a child. She’s smiling adoringly at me.

I pick up the picture and trace my finger along her smiling face when I hear someone walk in. She’s standing in the room, looking at what I’m holding, and her eyes fill with tears.

“I have something for you.” She pulls something out of her pocket and hands it to me. “I told you this is your home. I want you to have the keys. You can come and go as you please, Vivienne.”

I look at the two keys in my palm, my vision gone completely blurry. I hand my mother the picture and run out of the room and into the bathroom, passing Luke who is holding a platter of meatballs. I lean against the closed door, only to have it pushed open.

Neither one of us speaks for several minutes, but when she finally reaches for both of my hands, the tears start to fall. She pulls me to her, and for the first time, I let my mother hold me as we both weep.

“I’m sorry,” she says to me over and over again.

“I believe you,” I say when I finally get myself under control. “I believe you’re sorry. I believe you were sick, and I believe you love me, but none of that takes away the hurt. The fact that you’re sorry doesn’t change the past. You knew to hide money but not to be a mother?”

“That was easy. Hiding money took no effort because I was a robot. Anything that required human emotion, I couldn’t do. I can never go back, but all I ask is a chance to be your mother now. Please. I’m so much better. I’m going to make it up to you. I can’t give you back all those years, but I can fill the years ahead with so much if you let me. Please, let me.” She kisses my forehead. More tears fall.

Unable to speak, I nod and she starts to cry again as she takes me in her arms. “I don’t deserve you,” she says.

“I have some things to say, so I think your idea of going to therapy together is good, but I’m not ready yet. Soon, but not yet.”

“Whenever you are ready.”

When she doesn’t let go for several minutes, I say, “We better go before Luke eats everything.”

We step out of the bathroom hand in hand and almost collide with Luke and his platter of meatballs. He puts it down as soon as he sees us.

“Everything good, love?” he asks.

“I think they will be,” I tell him.

“Group hug,” he says as he takes both me and my mother into his arms.

“Do you want more steak or salmon, Lucas?” my mother asks.

“Yes, and yes, Jojo,” Luke says patting his stomach. “This has been amazing.”

It has, and not just the food. Once the tension died down, we had good conversation. She surprised me by revealing she’s been taking yoga and loves it.

“You two are a cute couple,” my mother says, handing Luke another plate full of food. “Did you start to like each other around the time of the wedding?”

I throw my head back and laugh so hard, I snort. Luke chokes on his laughter between bites of food, and my mother looks confused.

“No, she hated me, Jojo.” We take turns telling my mother the ways we tortured each other, and she laughs at every story.

“What do you like about my daughter, Lucas?”

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