Page 67 of Motivating Mira
The phrase “rip me a new one” was a weird thing to come out of the very rich and sophisticated-looking woman who stood before me.
“I think my mom’s calling me,” Cleo said, her brows in her bangs as she slipped away. She knew I had this, because I did.
I had indeed shown up on the woman’s door two months ago and Ihadtorn her a new one.
I’d told her exactly what she’d done to my mother. I told her how we’d lived and how despite my mom growing up feeling unloved, that I’d never ever had to feel that way. And that actually, I’d never felt like I was missing out without a grandmother in my life because my mother loved me enough for an entire family.
I’d also told the old woman she was deplorable, but that it was something she’d have to deal with when it was her time to meet her maker. But that in the meanwhile, she might want to get her ass to the hospice and make amends with her daughter since she was the one who’d get there first. And if there was any justice, my mom would be the one to kick her ass to the curb for being an embarrassment and sullying their good name.
The stoic woman with the hard expression had instantly broken down. She’d been living with regret for years. And when she had tried to contact my mom, she’d hung up on her.
The woman sobbed, telling me she’d shown up on our door and had been turned away, and that once she’d even showed up at my school and watched me play at recess and then she’d been issued a restraining order.
By the time she’d told me all her woes, I was a little more empathetic to her plight but not by much.
“I’m sorry if this feels like an ambush. I can be a little pushy, but I have good intentions.”
I crossed my arms, and she nodded as if she fully accepted that I had every right to turn her away. So she opened her purse and pulled out two envelopes. One was the kind that housed a greeting card, the other a letter. She handed them to me.
“I went to see your mother a few days after you came to see me.”
I pulled in a breath. “You did?”
She nodded and then a ghost of a grin showed up on her face. “I needed her to put in a good word for me with my maker after all.”
I didn’t laugh at her little joke, so she awkwardly continued.
“I made things right with her the best way I could.”
Anger rose in me like bile after a night of hard lemonade and spicy food. “How? How does one make up for a lifetime of rejection and neglect?”
“I told her I’d be there for you.”
I was taken aback.
“Not to take care of you, but to be here for youfor her. To cheer for you when she can’t. To remind you how proud she would be as you move forward to accomplish your goals. To give you everything I should have given her.”
I don’t know how I managed to keep my tears at bay, she certainly couldn’t, but I did. “It won’t be easy,” I said. “I can forgive but I can’t forget. But if it’s something she asked of you, then I owe it to her to let you.”
“Thank you.” She took a tissue out of the pocket of her overcoat and dabbed at her impeccable make-up. “And congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll call you? I’d really love to see more of your paintings. Your mother showed me the pictures she had on her iPad. You’re very talented. She was so proud. And she regretted discouraging you from pursuing it.”
I swallowed hard. “She was worried I wouldn’t be able to make a comfortable living off of it,” I croaked.
My grandmother, the woman I’d hated all my life but only met once two months ago, reached out and tapped the envelope.
“Your mother had dreams and because I wasn’t the supportive mother she needed, she never got to follow through with those dreams. So, I want you to follow yours instead. And Mira, you will be able to live off your painting. I know you will. I can see your success in your talent. In fact, I’m so sure, I’ve put a little something else in this envelope.”
I looked down at the pretty mauve envelope decorated with hummingbirds, my mother’s favorite, and when I looked back up, the old woman was walking away, standing tall and looking regal as she moved through the crowd. And then my eyes fell on the letter and my name written in rough pain-filled script across the front.
I made my way through the crowd and all the way back to the apartment without being stopped by anyone else despite my disappointment.
The mauve envelope held a graduation card, with a very large check, one that I tossed aside like trash, because it was basicallyblood money. But the other thing in the envelope was a business card of the owner of an art gallery in New York. One I’d heard of. And on the back in a handwritten note, it said,I’ve seen pictures of your work. Call me. I’m very interested.
I gasped. And then, after several minutes of hysterical freaking out, I picked up the letter from my mom.
