Page 97 of Silver Linings
“I don’t want it.”
“You get that stubbornness from your dad, you know.” She huffs a laugh that makes me grind my teeth.
“Good.”
The silence permeating the room is suffocating, and the woman trying to masquerade as my mother shifts back and forth, clearly weighing a decision before deciding to drop a nuclear bomb on the last dregs of our fractured relationship.
“I’m getting remarried.” The words echo through my mind, pin balling around and banging against my skull. I wish I could say it stopped there, but that would have been a mercy. “Paul wanted me to try and mend our relationship. He wants to meet you.”
“Well, ifPaulwants it.” I let the unspoken words hang in the air. Paul may want to meet me, but if he wasn’t suggesting it, would she have ever even showed up here?
“He’s got two young kids and wants them to know you too.” My stomach sinks, and a painful pricking starts behind my eyes. I don’t think that’s the good news she thinks it is. All I hear is therearekids she’s willing to raise and nurture, just not me. It stings more than salt on a festering wound.
“I want you to leave. Please.”
“Silver–” She moves to take a step towards me.
“No!” I shout, stopping her with a upheld hand. “You don’t get to show up here after twenty years and try to upend my life! I do not owe you anything when you have given menothing. Istopped waiting for you to show up, stopped waiting foranyoneto show up for me because of you and your choices. I have spent years feeling unlovable, squeezing myself into a fun and agreeable mould, keeping everyone at arm’s length because I was afraid they would all just leave like you did. So forgive me if I don’t feel inclined to accommodate you now.”
The tears finally fall, and I roughly wipe them away with the back of my hands.
“Please, just go.”
She stares at me, face unreadable, before she rifles around in her bag, pulling out a cream envelope and handing it out to me. When I make no move to take it from her, she walks toward the cash wrap and sets it down on the smooth wood surface before heading towards the entrance.
She turns back when she’s at the front door, pausing with her hand on the new brass fixture. “I loved him, you know, your dad. Probably too much.” And that love poisoned everything in the end. She spares me one last glance, as if she’s memorizing my face, cataloging all the ways it might change in the future, how it might look like hers. A future she won’t see.
And you didn’t love me enough, I think as she walks out the door and out of my life.
I rest my hands against the table in front of me, taking a deep breath in, and start to cry. And cry. And cry. I cry until my lungs ache and my eyes burn from exertion, and when it seems there’s no moisture in my body left to release, I reach for my phone and dial the one person whose voice I need to hear most, whose presence will tether me back to Earth and make me feel like everything will be alright.
But the phone just rings and rings and rings before taking me to an automated voicemail.
I pull the phone from my ear, disappointed but knowing I’ll see him soon enough. He’ll wrap his strong arms around me andtell me he’s proud of me in his deep baritone, and everything will be okay after that.
Because he’s the sure thing I never expected.
“Jesus Christ. Maybe I would’ve updated this shit hole years ago if I knew it would make this much of a difference.” I sent Pat an email inviting her to the reopening if she was still in town, hoping she would be able to come and see her place was in good hands.
“Do you like it?”
“Do you?” she asks.
I scan the room, seeing people of all ages and walks of life moseying around, books in hand, smiles on their faces. I also see Hendrix everywhere. He’s in every paint stroke, perfect shelf alignment, and beam of crown molding—even though he’s still not here.
I turn to Pat and nod. “I don’t think I realized how much this place meant to me until the threat of losing it happened. I’ll owe you forever for letting me do this.”
“You owe me nothing as long as the checks clear,” she jokes, even as her face is set in a look of severe stoicism.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Honey, nothing could keep me away.” She grabs my hand, which is a bit of a shock to the system, because Pat has never been affectionate. “I’ve watched you grow up here over the last ten years. It feels right that it belongs to you.” She pats my cheek and walks away.
We’ve been open for a couple hours, and I’ve never seen the store so busy.
It would seem the combined efforts of the reno plus all the word of mouth advertising we’ve been doing really paid off. The opening is a success, and I can’t relish the feeling because my mind is too distracted, alternating between the encounter with my mom and Hendrix’s absence.
I tried calling him again, and it went straight to voicemail instead of ringing. I’m trying not to let it bother me, but on the cusp of the ordeal with my mom, I’m feeling a little tender.
