Page 33 of Something like Love

She seems to be deep in thought, silently watching the coffee percolate, so I remove the top of my muffin and bring it to my lips, eager to take a bite.

But Cynthia’s unexpected confession stops me from moving or breathing. “I did love your father.”

I’m so glad I wasn’t chewing, as I would have choked on my food.

Placing my muffin onto the plate, I silently wait for her to continue.

“We were high school sweethearts, and I always knew we’d get married,” she says in a faraway voice, her back still turned. “He was such a good man, always doting on me, and during our senior year, he surprised me by proposing right before prom. Of course, I said yes. We got married right after graduation.”

She pauses before continuing with a sigh. “I was so happy back then.”

Hopeful I don’t disturb her reminiscing, I ask, “What happened?”

She remains still, her soft sigh the only thing alerting me to the fact she’s listening.

“When I got pregnant with you, Mia, I was the same age as you are now. The day I found out I was pregnant was the happiest day of my life. I always wanted a family because it was only me, my brother, and my mother growing up.”

“I have an uncle?” I question. I never really considered the prospect of having uncles, aunts, and cousins.

“Yes,” Cynthia replies, but the sharp tone of her voice has me thinking my uncle is someone she wishes to forget.

“When you were born, I counted each of your perfect little fingers and toes, and at that moment, I knew my purpose in life had become clear. I was put on this earth to look after my baby girl.” A small sob escapes her.

As touching as this story is, a lash of anger overtakes me because a mother abandoning her three-year-old child doesn’t really classify as looking after her “baby girl.”

“Yeah, well, you failed on all accounts,” I bite back, unable to control my annoyance.

“I know,” she whispers, and I see her wipe at her eyes. “If I could take it all back, I would. But I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“What was?”

With her head bowed, she replies, “Leaving you.”

Rage boils to the surface because deep down, I hoped that maybe she was suffering from some kind of amnesia, or maybe she suffered a mental breakdown or was abducted by aliens, and that was the reason she left me.

But to hear her admit she intentionally left me with my father fucking hurts. I mean, what kind of mother does that? What kind of mother admits abandoning her child was the right thing to do?

“I was three,” I say between clenched teeth, barely containing my fury.

“I know, Mia,” she says, spinning around to face me, her mascara tears running down her porcelain cheeks. “But I—”

“You what?” I demand, kicking back my stool as I stand.

“I thought it was for the best,” she whimpers, her lower lip trembling when she meets my enraged eyes.

“How?” I yell, slamming my palms onto the marbled counter, frustrated with her heartless excuses. “Please explain to me how you thought leaving a three-year-old with her unstable father was for the best? Because from where I stand, that’s just a fucking weak and selfish thing to do.”

When my mother begins sobbing, choking on her tears, I storm over to her, tempted to shake the answers from her.

But instead, I decide to share how her decision to leave was in fact not for the best. She needs to know how her decision ruined my hope of ever living a normal life.

“Do you want to know all the things he made me do?” I cry, ignoring all personal boundaries. “Do you want to know all the things hewantedme to do?”

“Stop, Mia,” she wails, raising a quivering hand to her mouth. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Please, just stop.”

“No, I won’t stop just because my fucked-up childhood makes you uncomfortable. Try living it! Try living with memories that will never disappear, no matter how hard you try! Try being an eight-year-old little girl, scared out of your mind because your father has left you with a disgusting drug dealer who has no qualms about ruining your innocence.

“Try being an eight-year-old little girl who has no friends because you’re too busy dealing drugs to every lowlife scumbag in LA.

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