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“Enjoy,” she says as she places the treats in front of me.
“Thanks, Rosa.”
She wipes her palms on her skirt a wide smile spreading across her cheeks. “I made orange juice, just the way you like it, with a dash of lemon. I will bring it over once it’s chilled.” She says in her thick Spanish accent
“The moment I told Rosa that you’re coming over, she swung into action making all your favorite treats,” Mom says smiling as she reaches for a shortbread in the tray.
“It’s been a while since Miss Jewel came to the house, you look so skinny, I’m going to make some of your favorite meals for you to take back to your house with.”
I can’t help but smile, the scene takes me back to the time when I still lived here, and Rosa would always insist that I finished allthe food that she placed in front of me because she believed I looked too skinny and wasn’t eating enough.
"Enjoy," Rosa says again before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen, leaving my mom and me in the uneasy quiet of the room, surrounded by the lingering aroma of freshly baked treats and the unspoken complexities of our relationship.
Rosa has been our longtime housekeeper, and she’s like my second mom. At some point, she cared for me more than my mom did. She was the first person I told when I had my first period.
“Hmm, Rosa went all out in making these,” my mom says as she eats a shortbread. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
I reach for a cinnamon roll and take a bite. My mom cleans her fingers with a napkin and takes a sip of water before speaking.
“Mija,”comes her soft voice, I raise my head to look at her and she has a sorry expression on her face. “I’m sorry.”
I’m a little taken aback by her apology, and I find myself speechless as I stare at her.
Her movements become uneasy as she shifts on her seat, edging closer to the edge of the chair.
“I’m sorry for everything, for all the times I made you feel like it was your fault your brother had died because it was never your fault. I was dealing with…” Her voice breaks as her eyes become misty with tears.
I hand her a napkin. “Thank you.” She dabs the corners of her eyes with it, sniffling.
“I loved your brother. And I love you too. And it was very heartbreaking when he died, I…I didn’t know how to process the loss. I was devastated, and I didn’t know how to deal with the loss. And I ended up shutting you out.”
"I was hurting too, Mom, he was my brother!" The words tumble out, carrying the weight of years of unspoken sorrow. Tears blurmy vision, a cascade of emotions breaking free. I never realized how much I longed to voice this, to release the pent-up anguish that had taken residence in my heart.
My mother's eyes mirror my pain, reflecting her regret and longing for a chance to make amends. "I know, and I'm sorry,mija," she murmurs, her voice laden with remorse. "I wish I could go back and change things. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize you were hurting, I’m sorry that I was too selfish and was only thinking about myself.”
Her admission softens the edges of my hurt, the acknowledgment offering a glimmer of healing to wounds long neglected. I reach for her hand, feeling the warmth and the unspoken plea for forgiveness.
"We both lost him, Mom," I whisper, the weight of shared grief connecting us in this moment.
“Yes, we did. I’m so sorry.” Tears are now streaming down both our cheeks.
“And I’m also sorry that I allowed your father to constantly compare you to him.” She looks away in shame.
“I have a lot to apologize for,” she continues. “I’m sorry we pushed you into a marriage that you weren’t ready for, because of money. We shouldn’t have done that.” She turns to look at me. “I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that our actions were pushing you away.”
I know I should make this easy for my mother, but I don’t. instead, I go on to say, “You both orchestrated this entire marriage for your business, without any regard for my feelings.” I see the sincerity in her eyes, the regret etched on her face, but it doesn't erase the years of resentment.
"I can't change the past, Jewel," she says, her voice a mixture of regret and plea. "But I want to make amends. I understand how you feel and I want to find a way to heal our relationship."
I take a deep breath, grappling with my own conflicting emotions. It's a step, a glimmer of acknowledgment, but the wounds run deep. "It's not that simple, Mom."
Her eyes brim with unshed tears, a vulnerability that mirrors my own. “I know, but can we at least take it one step at a time?”
A smile curls up my lips. “Yeah, one step at a time,” I say with a nod.
My mom stretches out her arms and I go over allowing her to hug me. And for the first time in years, I felt loved by my mother.
The warmth of her embrace, the tentative but genuine connection, feels like a fragile bridge spanning the gap between us. In that moment, there's a shared understanding that we're both trying to rebuild what was lost.
