Page 10 of Awakening
The café was too quiet. Too neutral. Pale wood tables, a dreary day, honestly, no sun shining through the old windows, espresso hissing in the background, the decadent smell of baked goods.
I don’t know what I expected my mother to look like. Dro didn’t have any old pictures of her that he kept tucked away. All he would tell me was that I was a much more beautiful version of her because my inner beauty matched the outside.
Not this, though. Not someone so normal. Late fifties, well-dressed, with eyes that mirrored my own, freckles that bound us together, and lips that twitched nervously every time we made eye contact.
She picked a table in the far corner of the Mocha Motive café, discreet, shaded, like she was hiding. Fitting. Kimberly Brooks always did cower. I’m sure her shame in this moment was no different.
When I walked up, she looked up from her tea with that hesitant, rehearsed smile. Like maybe if she were soft enough, I wouldn’t blow up her fragile little bubble.
“Ajaih…” She stood halfway, hand fluttering like she didn’t know what to do with it. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
I sat down without acknowledging the gesture. I didn’t come here for nostalgia.
“Let’s not do this,” I said flatly. “You wanted to meet. I’m here, say what you have to say.”
She sighed, sitting back down, smoothing her skirt like she was on a fucking job interview. Like this moment was casual. This woman was such a stranger to me that I was shocked to see in the flesh how much I resembled her. I was looking at an aged version of myself and knew what I would look like as I aged.
“I know this is a lot,” she started, voice syrupy with guilt, “But I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve always thought about you. I just… didn’t know how to reach out.
I snorted, “Bullshit, you knew how to pick up a phone to reach Dro; you even know where his businesses are located, just like you knew how to walk away.”
Her smile faltered.
“You left me with Dro like I was a spare bag you didn’t feel like carrying anymore. No calls. No birthdays. No explanations.”
“I was young, Ajaih. I wasn’t ready to be a mother.”
I leaned in, flabbergasted at her audacity, “But you were ready enough to play happy homemaker with a new man and have two shiny new kids?”
She froze. And there it was, the guilt of truth that she couldn't hide.
“Don’t look surprised,” I said, voice hard, “I did my homework. It’s quite amazing what a Google search can tell you when your mother abandons you your whole life and finally decides to reach out.”
“I didn’t mean to hide you.”
“You ARE hiding me.”
She looked away.
“You haven’t told your husband about me, have you?My brother? My Sister? ”
“Ajaih, it’s complicated,” her voice shaking with fear now that I knew intimate details of her life.
“No, it’s cowardly,” I replied. “You’ve had a whole life without me. A life that’s now falling apart, and because your shiny new family is in crisis, I’m good enough to exist?” She opened her mouth, but I didn’t let her speak. “Let me tell you what I found on Facebook. My baby sister Lena needs a bone marrow transplant. Nobody close to you has been a match, so as your last act of desperation, you dig up the one piece of your past you buried and hidden out of shame and embarrassment. So no, you don’t miss me, no, you didn’t think about me, not until you needed something from me, needed me to be a genetic Hail Mary.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but I didn’t give a single damn.
“I don’t know what else to do,” she whispered, “I thought maybe this could be a chance for us to reconnect, to heal.”
The cold and bitter laugh that poured from my lips surprised even me. “You want healing? Start by telling your husband you had a daughter you tossed aside like trash, then tell Lena and David Jr they have a big sister, an extremely accomplished, successful big sister, and maybe we can talk about healing.”
“I was trying to protect them,” her voice elevating.
My blood began to boil at the implication that I was someone she needed to guard her family against.
“From what?” I snapped, “Me? Your mistake?” She flinched, the word hitting its mark. Her hands curled into fists on the table.
“You don’t know what I went through,” she said, nowtwisting the napkin in her hands.
