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Annoyed, I swipe to answer, ready to unleash a bit of harmless pranking.
“Yes?” I say, my tone edged with feigned cheeriness and politeness.
“Ameline,” a female voice says softly on the other side of the line. “Amy, it’s Mom.”
Amy?
Mom?
My heart feels like it skips a beat, then hammers in my chest. It’s been over fourteen years since I’ve heard that voice, since she divorced Dad and vanished from our lives.Since anyone’s called me Amy.
“Oh, uh . . . hello there,” I manage to say, though I’m surprised at the steadiness in my tone.
There’s a brief, awkward pause. She clears her throat. “How are you, sweetie?”
The endearment feels foreign yet comfortingly familiar. My mind spins as I grasp for words and the magnitude of this call.
And of course the questions begin to swirl. Why is she calling after so long? I have so many questions racing through me. Why did she leave us? But I don’t ask.
As casually as I can, I say, “I’m alright. Just studying for finals and all that.”
“That’s wonderful,” she says, a wistful longing in her tone that makes my chest clench.
Silence again. I clutch the phone, willing her to speak, to explain.
“This is a surprise,” I finally say, filling the void. “After all these years, I started to wonder if I’d ever hear from you again.”
Is that even true? I haven’t thought about her in years. But she doesn’t need to know that. I should call Izzy, ask her if she’s heard from her. Maybe this call happens when we turn twenty and are old enough to understand why she left.
“Umm, well, that’s actually why I was calling,” she responds, her voice wavering slightly with what sounds like nervousness. “I’d love to see you. Maybe we could meet up sometime soon? Catch up over a meal?”
My chest constricts. Fourteen years of absence, and she thinks it can all be wrapped up neatly in a lunch date—or dinner. I want to scream, demand answers, but my voice remains eerily calm. Do I even want to see her after all this time?
“I’ll have to think about it,” I murmur with uncertainty.
Inside, a whirlpool of emotions swirl tumultuously, each thought colliding against the next. Doubt intertwines with curiosity, fear mingles with a desperate need for answers, and a deep-seated longing for understanding battles with the instincts of protecting my heart from her. The woman who abandoned me when I was just a little girl.
“Of course.” There’s a tinge of disappointment in her tone.
What did she expect? That I’d be overjoyed because she suddenly decided to remember I exist?
She says, “Take your time. But I’d really love to reconnect, Ameline. I’ve missed you, sweet girl.”
Missed me? The irony of her words nearly chokes me. If she truly missed me, wouldn’t she have reached out sooner? Years ago, not now, when it was convenient for her. The urge to lash out, to unleash years of pent-up feelings, is overwhelming.
“I should go,” is all I trust myself to say.
“Of course,” she repeats, dejected. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here. This is my number and . . . well, I really want to see you soon, baby girl.”
Her words of endearment feel completely false, ringing hollow in my ears. The urgency in her words soon bugs me. And funnily enough, I think I would rather hear Helen use those terms of endearment than her—the woman who left us without a backward glance. But instead of lashing out, we simply exchange polite goodbyes.
As soon as I hang up the phone, I bury my face in my hands with a shaky exhale. All the emotions she evoked continue swirling within me. I feel somehow alone and lost after her call. I need to talk to someone about it. Dissect every word she said and every word I didn’t dare to speak out.
I scroll through my contacts. My finger lingers on the name of the one person I know I can always count on, no matter what.
Gabe.
My finger hovers over his name for too many seconds, second guessing my next move until I stop myself. I can’t run to him with my problems. It’s not fair. Taking a deep breath, I continue scrolling until I find Izzy’s number instead.
