Page 95 of Faux Real
“Mom—” It feels odd saying that name. It’s foreign to my tongue. To my vocabulary. “Tell me why you left, where you’ve been. Why— why did you leave, mom? Why did you leave?”
“I didn’t leave you, honey,” Mom says, the pain in her tone palpable. “Or I didn’t mean to leave you. I— I left your father. I wanted to take you with me, I really did but—”
“Dad said you left because you didn’t want to be a mom anymore,” I whisper, sniffling away the residual snot. “He said you couldn’t handle me.”
“Your father—” She takes a small pause. “Your father is a smart man, Kennedy, one of the many reasons I fell in love with him, but he’s also vindictive. It doesn’t surprise me that he said that to you. That he lied to you. That he never gave you my letters.”
“Letters?” I ask, sitting up. “What letters?”
“When I first left, I never anticipated leaving you behind, believe me,” she says. “My plan was always to bring you to California with me but your father, he wouldn’t let me. He said he’d take me to court, that he’d—” She sighs. “Anyway, I wrote to you, Kennedy. Every day. I tried to call but he’d change your numbers so often, I couldn’t keep up. I couldn’t contact you, baby—”
“But you could’ve come back,” I cut her off, clenching my teeth. “You could’ve come and gotten me.”
“I wanted to, Kennedy, I did, but I had to get away,” she says, voice shaking. “I couldn’t be around him anymore. I was drowning, Kenny. Every day, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Some days, I didn’twantto breathe.”
I swallow. “Did he hurt you? Did he—”
“Not physically,” Mom admits. “But it was enough to make me want to run away, and I’m so sorry I didn’t take you with me. I really am.”
I sit on Maxine’s stairs and listen to my mother explain how she’s been in a legal battle with my fatherfor years.How my father refused to let her contact mefor years. How my father has been lying to mefor years.
I knew Dad was a stubborn man. Petty. Cold. An asshole, really. But I never thought he was a liar. I believed him. I believed every word he said. I trusted him.
And he lied to me.
“I tried contacting you earlier. I...” She takes a solemn breath. “I’ve had your number for a few months now... I tried calling you, I did, but every time the line rang, I got scared. I didn’t know what to say... whatyou’dsay.”
“Mom...” My eyes water.
It was her. All those random calls were her. She was scared. For some reason I understand. I understand being scared. I understand being afraid of another person’s reaction.
“I’m sorry for being a coward,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I know you are probably very upset with me, Kennedy, you might even hate me, and that’s okay,” Mom says. “But if you’re willing, I would love to see you and talk more.”
“I don’t hate you,” I say, closing my eyes. “I... I miss you, Mom.”
“I’ve missed you every day, Kennedy,” she says. “I’m... I’m renting a house in New Haven for the holidays... Maybe you’d like to come? Stay a couple of nights?”
“You’re here?” I ask, my heart expanding. “You’re in Connecticut?”
“Yes,” she says. “I’m here. I’m here, honey.” She pauses, adding in a warm tone. “If you’re willing, I’d love to hear all about your life. Every single thing.” Another hesitant pause. "What do you say? We can make gingerbread hot chocolates and watchFriends? Like we used to do?”
I close my eyes, a slight ache pulsing in my temples. She’s been through a lot. I get it. I understand how she felt. Like she was being suffocated. Like she was being controlled. Like every single moment, every single day, every single choice was made for her. She was caged. Locked up. Like a prison. She needed freedom. She needed to break out of the chains. To set herself free.
I get that. I really do. “Kennedy? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I am, I’m just—”
“Overwhelmed,” my mom says, reading my mind. “I know, and I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown everything on you at once, especially not so late at night, you must be tired and—”
“Oh, my God!” I gasp, checking the call time. “Shit!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Mom asks. “Kenny?”
“I was supposed to be somewhere at eight,” I say, standing up, my head immediately spinning. “Oh no, I’m so late. Damn it. He’s going to be pissed off at me.”
“Go,” she says. “I’ll text you my information and we can talk later, okay?”
“But—”
