“Me either,” she responded.
“So I guess we can just walk and see where the road takes us?” I said.
She nodded her agreement, and I started down the block, knowing the guards were behind me and feeling safe for it.
Safe, but still a jumbled mix of emotions because she was here.
We walked a couple of blocks, and when I saw what looked to be a green space, I nodded toward it.
“How about we take a break there?” I said.
My mother nodded.
She hadn’t said anything since we’d started to walk, and I was grateful for that.
I appreciated not having to try to make small talk, not with all that was weighing on me.
I sat on the bench, and she sat next to me. Then I shifted slightly, studying her face.
My heart clenched as I saw the similarities between us, realized yet again that I was having experiences I never thought I would.
My mother was here.
She was alive.
There was another human being in this world that I could see myself in.
I’d be able to look at her, see myself, or at least pieces of me. Just as I would my daughter.
The emotion of that, the beauty and the terror of it, they both almost took my breath away.
And reminded me of something that I desperately needed to speak to her about.
“Who’s my father?” I asked.
For the first time since I had met her, she seemed surprised.
She blinked then frowned. “Raphael James.”
I glared at her. “After all this, I’d think we’re past the lies, don’t you?”
“Why? What are you talking about?” She blinked, her face twisted in confusion.
I stood from the bench, suddenly feeling enraged.
“Look, if there’s going to be any chance—”
I cut off, trying to take a moment to regain control of my emotions.
She had stood too, and looked at me with that same tense, confused expression.
I took a deep breath then sat back down, knowing that the guards would probably intervene soon if they thought something was happening.
“Look…”
I started then shook my head. “I don’t even know what to call you.”
“What you call me isn’t important. What’s important is whatever has gotten you so upset,” she said.