Page 82 of Pucking Fate

“Yes?” I repeat again, since I’m at a loss for what else to say. I’ve waited years for our mother to call and say she had left our father and wanted to be a part of our lives again, that she wanted to finally meet her grandson.

“This was the only phone number I could find for Preston,” she explains in a rush.

Of course, she’s calling for my brother and not for me.

“He doesn’t live here anymore. I can give you his cell number,” I offer. Then, because I’m still hurt by her audacity, I add, “But I can’t guarantee he’ll want to talk to you either.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…I wanted to let you both know that your father has passed away.”

“What?”

“Yesterday…he didn’t wake up…” she trails off as if unable to explain further or like there’s nothing that can be done about it.

When I don’t say anything else, she adds, “I just…I thought you would want to know so you could come say goodbye.”

“I’ll let Preston know,” I tell her.

“It would be nice to see you and the baby, too.”

“He’s not a baby anymore. He’s five now.”

“Right, well, it would be nice to finally see him…”

I want to yell at her, to tell her that she had years to see him, to be a part of my son’s life, but she refused. She refused because my father put his foot down and forbade her from having any contact with me. Our mother called Preston on all his birthdays and sent him Christmas cards, but not me.

“I’ll call Preston now to let him know,” I tell her. “It’ll be better if he hears the news from me.” Mostly, I just want to end this awkward conversation and talk to my brother. He’s the only one who will understand the shock and disbelief I feel from her phone call.

“Okay. I hope you can come home. The funeral is going to be Friday at eleven.”

“I’ll tell him,” I say, refusing to commit to anything.

“Goodbye,” she eventually says through sniffles.

“Bye, Mama,” I reply, using her name for the first time in years.

As soon as the call ends, I dial up Preston on my cell phone while pacing around the kitchen, chewing on my thumbnail.

“Hey, sis,” he answers right away, like I knew he would. “I’m about to head into training. Is Finley okay?”

“Finley’s great,” I assure him. “Well, other than missing everyone. And I’m sorry to bother you, but, um, you’ll never believe who just called the house or what she said.”

“Who? What?”

“Mama.”

“Ourmother?” he asks, his voice raised in disbelief.

“Yes, our mother called to tellyouthat our father died.”

“Damn. That’s…the last thing I expected you to say.”

“Right? I was so caught off-guard by her calling the house phone that I could barely speak a word. She wants us to come home for the funeral. It’s Friday at eleven. And she said she wants to finally meet Finley.”

“Jesus.”

“What do you think? Are you going to go?”

“I don’t know, Maya. This is a lot to spring on me.”

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