Page 70 of The Intimacy of Finding You

There wasn’t an immediate response, so I opted for the shitty, half-broken doorbell on the side. Instead of ringing like normal, it’d screech and groan throughout the house. Mom had put tape over it at one point, hoping it’d stop people from touching it.

Every second we waited felt like another eternity. But then the doorknob jiggled. And the door cracked open. Just a little bit—just enough for Mom to peek her eye through, looking straight at us.

She gasped, the sound getting stuck in her throat as she tore the door open the rest of the way. She stood in a pink robe, seemingly frozen. Stuck in a time that no longer existed.

I swallowed, wondering for a second if she even recognized me. Had it been so long that she no longer considered me her son?

Her eyes glossed over, tears rushing into them and down her cheeks in rivers and lakes. They could make their own ocean with how many dribbled down her chin, flowing down her neck. “Tobi.”

Fuck. Her voice had broken, coming out as little more than a whisper. “Hey, Mom.”

She stepped forward, barely placing her slippers on the porch. Her hands shook as she raised them, reaching for my face. I met her, placing my cheeks into her hands and closing my eyes. “My baby,” she whispered. “Oh, my baby. It’s actually you.”

“It’s me, Mom.”

“God, look at you. Look at you, my boy. My baby boy. Oh God, my boy. My boy.” She pulled me in, and I let her. I let her squeeze her arms around me, sobbing into my shoulder.

I let her wordlessly because if I’d said anything myself, I would’ve started to cry, too. I didn’t want to cry. All I’d done was cry. I was so sick and tired of crying. All I’d done for the first year that I’d stopped talking to her was cry.

I’d missed her, not the town.

I’d missed her voice, not the house.

I’d missed her touch, not the feathers I was enamored by.

She looked so much older, with mostly gray hair and wrinkles deepened and multiplied by age and years of worry. Worry about me, no doubt.

Mom took in a big, deep breath, her entire body shaking mine. “I thought you were dead.”

My eyes widened, the words burning themselves straight into my skin. Into my heart. Into my bones. I held her tighter.

“Jesus, child, I thought you’d died. I done prayed for your soul, and you know I ain’t the godly type.”

My lip started to tremble.

“I thought I’d done somethin’ wrong. I thought I’d deserved it. I thought I’d run you off ‘cause of me.”

My eyes slid shut, my lashes too weighed down with unshed tears.

“My baby boy wouldn’t do that to me. No, no, my boy wouldn’t just stop talkin’ to me for no good reason.”

There was a deep, heavy pressure sitting directly on my chest, and it was begging to be let out.

“I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re alive, Tobi baby. So fuckin’ glad. My one wish. My one miracle. You came back to me, baby.”

Her cries of pure relief tipped me over the edge with her. She wavered, and so did I. The wind pushed us together before knocking us down, our knees giving out as I melted into her hold.

Mama’s got me.

Mama’s here.

Ain’t nobody gonna hurt me no more.

“Mama,” I sobbed. I let go. I let the tears come because I couldn’t stop them. They wouldn’t stop. The weight of shame and fear my abusers had put on me finally lifted, clearing through my sober mind, and I could feel it. So deeply. So clearly. I wasn’t numb.

There was no distance.

She smelled just like she had when I was a kid. She held me just as tight, too. All those memories. All this time. All I’d ever wanted was for my mom to hold me and tell me that everything would be alright, but I’d been too scared. Too scared to confront the lies I’d been telling her and myself.