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I scoff and pick at a scratch on the table. “How does she think I’m doing? Why does she suddenly care now?” I snap.
Tammy gives me a sad smile. “Because you’re still her child. And I think deep down, she loves you. We’ve discussed that before.”
My mother made it clear I was too needy and that she couldn’t handle my mood swings. More often than not, I would end up at Tammy’s house after school instead of my own, until I finally just started sleeping there on school nights and going back on the weekends to my mother’s house.
At the time, I thought it was awesome. My mom didn’t have to worry about me anymore, and I always had a home cooked dinner and time with my best friend. They even had a spare room they turned into a bedroom for me.
I loved it. I missed my mom, but I told myself she was able to work more this way and not have to trouble herself with taking or picking me up from school.
I didn’t find out until later that she would occasionally stop by and try to give Tammy cash for taking care of me. She always refused it.
It took me until adulthood to realize exactly what had happened. My mother essentially handed me off to another person, unable or unwilling to parent me herself.
She started forgetting my birthday once I turned fifteen.
By sixteen, I had to find out from Tammy that she moved away with her new boyfriend.
And when she called me on my eighteenth birthday, after I hadn’t seen her in more than two years, I told her to fuck off.
I haven’t heard from her in years. So, knowing that she reached out to Tammy steals the breath from my lungs.
“Is that all she wanted?” I finally ask, staring at the white surface of the table. “Just to see if I was okay?”
“She also wanted me to ask you if you’d be willing to talk.”
And suddenly, I hate my mother for putting me in this position.
If I say no, I’m the bad one. I’m the child that refuses to talk to their parent.
I’m the one not willing to work on mending the relationship.
“This is a hard situation, honey,” Tammy says. “Relationships with parents are always complicated.”
Not with you, I want to say.
It’s been years since my mother has bothered to reach out. And now that she almost lost me, she wants to talk?
Part of me wants to say yes. The part that still holds on to the thread of hope that one day we can mend that relationship. That she’ll tell me she regrets ever leaving me, and that she wants to try again.
That part, the lonely, small part of me, is desperate to say yes.
But there’s another part, now. A stronger part.
A part of me that knows what I have and what matters. April and Tammy are my family.
And now, so are River, Landon, and Vincent.
“I don’t think I can,” I whisper. “Does that make me horrible?”
Tammy shakes her head. “Of course not. Especially with everything that’s happening. It’s opening a door to something potentially damaging.”
With Tammy’s confirmation, I know my answer.
“I have my own family,” I say softly, and she gives me a soft smile.
“You do,” she agrees. “An unconventional one, but a family, nonetheless.”
“Yeah, well, I’m nothing if not unconventional,” I quip, and she chuckles.
