“How did you meet?”
We don’t have enough wine to get into that. “It’s a long, complicated story.” I set both glasses of wine down on the coffee table and settle into an armchair across from her.
The silence between us is thick and suffocating. Subconsciously, I run my hand through my hair. When my gaze flicks upward, it’s like looking in a mirror, because she is doing it too.
She looks over at the mantle, observing the photos of my life. Alongside my childhood photos of Dad and me, are photos of the family I’ve created for myself. From Ben, Peter, Charlie, and I at a Bruins game to Charlie’s first Thanksgiving. In the center of the mantle are photos from mine and Charlie’s wedding at the beach house in Cape Cod, including one of Ben walking me down the aisle.
“I can’t believe you’re all grown up. You’re married. I’ve missed it all.”
“Yeah, that happens when you leave.”No. I’m not gonna let you walk in here and put on a goddamn Mother Teresa martyr act. You missed this because you left. You.
“I know, Alice. It’s my fault. I know that. I wasn’t ready.” She shakes her head and leans forward before I can respond. “I know that’s no excuse. You deserve an explanation.”
“I don’t need one.”
“You still deserve one. I failed you. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I didn’t want to be a mother. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. I need you to know that.”
“Idoknow that.”
Her eyebrows lift with surprise. “You do?”
“I understand why you left. I didn’t always, but I do now. I was angry for years, and that anger hardened me. But eventually, I chipped away at it, and I grew. I found love. I found peace. And I moved forward.” I take a deep breath. “You don’t need my forgiveness. I’ve already forgiven you.”
She appears at a loss for words. “You have?”
“It took me a long time to figure it out, but I eventually realized that you left because youdidlove me. You knew you couldn’t be what I needed, so you took yourself out of the equation. Was it brave? Was it cowardly? Was it the right thing to do? I don’t know. I can’t answer that. But it seems like we both turned out okay.”
“I want you to know I loved your father very much. I just couldn’t be what he needed me to be.”
“I know.” I look over at a photo of Dad and me on the mantle.
Her eyes follow mine to the photo. “Did he ever talk about me?”
“After the day you left?” She nods her head. “No.” She gulps as she takes that in, as if it was a hard pill to swallow. “He could never find the words. It was too hard for him. He was heartbroken.”
Her face looks ashamed, as if pleading guilty to every charge leveled against her. “I hated myself for hurting both of you.”
“I hated you for it too.”
“I deserve that.” Her eyes curve as she looks at me sadly, as if I’m bruised and battered from a lifetime of being tossed aside.
“But Dad… he gave me a great life, okay? Maybe we didn’t talk about things we should have, but man, we had fun together. He tried. He did the best he could with what he had. We both did. So don’t look at me like I’m a little bird with a broken wing, alright?”
“I’m sorry.” She nods, acknowledging my defense.
“Why are you here now?”
She takes a sip of her wine and looks down. “A few weeks ago, I found a lump in my breast.” My eyes soften as concern settles into my face. I surprise myself with how quickly the worry comes. She looks up and seems just as surprised. “Oh, it’s nothing. It turned out to be a false alarm. But in that period of not knowing if I was dying, not knowing if I was running out of time, I evaluated my life and the decisions I’d made. When you think your life might be ending, that’s when you realize the mistakes you made at the beginning.” She takes a deep breath. “It took me years to do, but I confronted my feelings about leaving you. I didn’t want to be a mother, and I still believe that leaving put you in a better position than if I had stayed. But, I still regret it. I regret hurting you. I regret hurting him. I wish it could have been different. I wishIhad been different.”
I realize if she had shown up on my doorstep a year ago, this conversation would be far more hostile. I would not be nearly as calm or collected. A year ago, I thought I would unleash years of pent up rage on her if I ever saw her again. But now, after everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve learned, all I want is for her to let the pain go as I have.
“You can’t live life constantly thinking like that. You don’t need my forgiveness. You need to forgive yourself. That’s the only way you can let the pain go.”
“When did you get so wise?” She laughs through a sniffle. “Last time I saw you, you needed help to tie your shoes.”
“That wasn’t the last time you saw me.”
“What?”
