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I wait for the argument, the yelling, but it doesn’t come.
“There are some things you need to know, things that Richard wants to do, that I don’t think are right. I never wanted to take it this far.”
I don’t allow myself to trust a word she says, but if there’s a chance even part of what she is saying is true and it might help me with my case, I have to listen.
“I know you don’t want to see me. I know I messed up. But please. I don’t want to do it over the phone. He could be listening,” she pleads, her voice dropping even lower. “I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”
I hear the fear in her voice, and my pulse speeds up. I heard it when we first moved out to the city, before I’d booked my first job, when the landlord had threatened to kick us out for not paying rent. I don’t know what she said or did that day to convince him to let us stay, but it was the apartment we celebrated landing my first big commercial in.
“Where?” I finally ask.
“Two, at that place we used to go to on Melrose.”
“Fine.”
After a quick shower, I text Eden before calling a rideshare to the restaurant. I let her know where I’m going and for how long. She will pass along the message to Titan. I leave out who I’m meeting and why.
This I have to do on my own.
* * *
My mother shifts uneasily in her seat. She hasn’t seen me yet and hasn’t had the time to plaster on a maternal smile or fall into her studied relaxed pose. No, this is Kathleen when she doesn’t know she is being watched.
Her beachy waves are sprayed into place, and the newest designer bag is at her feet. Whatever she wants to talk about, it better not be asking for money, because she still clearly has all of mine.
“Honey.” Kathleen waves.
I move through the tight seating, wearing a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater Eden had picked out for me and that Titan had paid for. My mother stands.
Standing? For what? To hug me? No, we are long past that.
Kathleen adjusts her fitted dress and pulls her phone from her purse, setting it face down on the table before sitting back down. She hangs her bag on the back of her chair, careful to position the logo outwards
My lips press into a firm line, disappointment and relief churning my stomach faster.
“Hi, Mom.” I sit down on the opposite side of the table.
“I’ve missed you,” she says, her gaze searching out the waiter.
I nod and swallow hard to keep from vomiting up everything I want to say to her, everything I want to yell at her.
When she catches the waiter’s eye, she flags him down, waving him over.
“I’ll get the harvest salad, no croutons, no cranberries, dressing on the side.” Without waiting for the waiter’s response or confirmation that they had the order correct, she turns to me. “Honey?”
“I’ll have the same, thank you.” I’m not likely to eat at this meeting, but if I were to order less, Kathleen would find fault in it and claim I didn’t really want to be here.
Before the waiter can even leave the table, my mother’s attention is back on me.
“Please tell me you don’t hate me,” she coos. “I’ll just die if you hate me. After all I did for you.”
“Is this what I’m here for today?” Anger, fierce and burning bright, heats my cheeks and chest. “I thought you had something important to tell me.”
“I do, honey. But don’t you miss me, just a little bit?” She toys with her phone on the table.
I frown, looking away, because yes, I miss my mother. Those first years alone, I missed her so much I contemplated giving into her and Richard’s demands, giving up everything I worked so hard for, just so I could see her, just so I could feel her love. But the woman in front of me is not the mother I once knew.
“Are you planning on giving me my money?” I finally ask.
