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Her nose turns up, and a vein in her forehead pulses. “Are you daft? Of course she wants to see me. I’m her mother.”
Even though I’m getting to her, her voice reflects that she doesn’t have a care in the world. I’m not so sure that’s true. She’s here, isn’t she? Something isn’t right.
“Are you? Is that the title you claim?” My hands grip on to the seat of my chair.
“I gave birth to her, so I most certainly am.” She delicately blows on her drink.
“You legally gave up those rights years ago, didn’t you though?” Yeah, bitch, I know what you did. “So, cut the pretentious crap. I know Noah, what’s inside her heart and everything she’s been through. I can’t speak for her, but if I had to call it, I’d say she’d choose to meet with you once I tell her you were here. Before that happens, you’re going to answer to me first, and I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to protect her. How about we start with you telling me your name? Then, we can move on to why you’re here.”
“My name is Catherine.” Her response is short and direct and full of contempt.
“Great, Catherine. I’m Brazen. I’m Noah’s boyfriend.”
“I see,” she says like she hates her daughter’s taste in men.
That’s rich.
“I’m assuming your husband doesn’t know you’re here. Am I right?” In the letter, Catherine told Noah that she never told Mark that she had a daughter, and I doubt that has changed.
“That’s between me and my husband.” Another nonanswer.
He doesn’t know. I don’t need her confirmation.
“Okay, so what will you tell me? Because you’re going to need to give me something.”
“You can’t judge me. I assume you don’t have kids. So, you have no idea what it’s like. Noah is a piece of me, and I don’t owe you any sort of explanations, no matter what pieces of the story you’ve heard.”
Every limb in my body tenses, and I want so badly just to lay into her. Yeah, there are always three sides to every story, but the only one that matters to me is Noah’s. I raise my eyebrow, not needing to say anything in response. Apparently, she has already forgotten that I read the letter she’d sent. My hold on the paper-thin coffee cup increases, and it ever so slightly bends to my will. Catherine weighs her options, and I wait. Her fingers idly tap against the table, and her knee bounces up and down.
“It’s been twelve years since I’ve seen my daughter. She’s no longer the little girl I knew. I’ve wondered every day how she’s doing and if she misses me. If you want to judge me, then fine, go ahead, I can’t stop you. But I’m here now, and I came a long way. I just want to see my daughter.”
At least she’s talking, but what she’s telling me is still mostly all about her.
The woman is selfish to her core. I am judging, and that’s my stance on her.
“You’re here only because you want to see her, right? There isn’t anything else that you’re leaving out? Tell me now if you’re here to drop a bomb or pull the rug from beneath her.”
“That’s all. That’s the reason I’m here.” Once again, she turns her nose up at me as if she can’t believe she has to answer to me.
And, still, I don’t care. This woman has the capability of causing mass amounts of emotional distress.
“Give me your number. I’ll let Noah know that you’re in town and leave the decision up to her. If she doesn’t want to see you, there is nothing I can do about that. I hope that you’ll respect that, too. If you don’t hear from us, then don’t stick around. Go back, and leave her alone.” I wait for her to find a pen and scribble her number onto a napkin before I stand, feeling as if I’ve said everything I need to.
“Brazen, I need for her to call me, please.” For the first time, there is something different in her voice, and it smells like desperation.
I’ll make no promises, not to her. As clearly and as directly as I can, I repeat my argument, “The choice is Noah’s. You made decisions for her years ago that were out of her hands, and now, this is out of yours.”
I leave Catherine sitting at the table by herself.
For me, work is over for today. I’m headed home since that’s where Noah is studying for her exam. On the drive over, I think about what I’ll say and attempt to predict how Noah will react. The truth is, I don’t exactly know. When she burned the letter from her mom, I was positive she’d let her past go with the rising smoke, but neither of us anticipated this surprise visit. I could just not tell her about her mom showing up. It would be so easy to just toss away the napkin, go home, and make love to the girl I want to spend my life with.
That would make me just as bad as the woman sitting inside the coffee shop, and I refuse to take the decision away from Noah.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t hope she doesn’t want to see her mother.
After I pull up in our driveway, I spend a good ten minutes in the truck before I head inside. I find Noah on the bed with a plethora of books scattered around her. She flashes me an unreal smile, surprised to see me when I enter our bedroom. I hate to do this.
“We need to talk,” I tell her, attempting and failing to keep the concern from my voice.
