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I walk up to the woman behind the podium, and say, “Hi, I’m meeting someone here for dinner.”
Without looking at me, the host asks, “Name on the reservation?”
“Elizabeth Shaw.”
She grins, but I don’t sense any sincerity in it. By how busy she is, I won’t take it personally. Leading me through the tables to a back room filled with even more tables, I see Liz before we get close. It would be hard not to recognize an older version of myself.
Is it weird to think she’s pretty? Is that a compliment in disguise for myself? Anxiety has my feelings reeling along with my mind. The host says, “Here you are.”
Liz looks up from her phone and then quickly stands. Looking at me probably how I’m staring at her. Her hair is medium brown in color and falls just below her shoulders. It’s straight, not like mine that has my father’s wave to it. Her eyes match though but hold more gold than green in them. I say, “Hello.”
Dressed in fitted black pants and a white blouse, she looks younger than her age, maybe early forties. Until now, I’d almost forgotten that she was so young when she had me.
She sets her phone down, and then says, “Lark, it’s . . . it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” Though she makes it sound like we’ve met more recently, I don’t consider that to be accurate since I was a toddler. But I do find relief from her appearing as nervous as I am. Signaling to the chair across from her, she smiles. “Please. Sit.”
Pulling the seat out, I sit down and hang my purse from the top of the chair. We sit across from each other a moment before she says, “Thank you for coming. I didn’t think you would.”
“I didn’t know if I would. Not until a few hours ago.”
She swallows, and it makes me self-conscious when I do. I take the glass of water already on the table and sip. She asks, “Would you like a drink? I’m having wine, hoping to settle my nerves.” She laughs anxiously.
Call me soft, but my heart feels for her and me trying to reconnect after a horrible situation. “It’s nice to see you, too. Why did you . . . why now?”
“My parents passed away a few years ago, and I realized that life is too short to not be there for those you love.”
The shock of learning that both my grandparents have passed away, that they’re gone without the option of ever having a reunion is disconcerting. I take the napkin from the table and twist it in my lap. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry for yours,” she replies. Leaning forward, she says, “They had a lot of regrets.”
“Most people do on their deathbeds.” I don’t mean to sound cold, but I’m more confused than ever as to why I’m here. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s understandable. That’s why I waited to reach out to you. It’s hard to empathize with someone when they’ve been hurt by you.”
I start to release and feel more myself. “It’s not hard. I’m a doctor. I do it every day.”
Her smile is tight, but she nods. She releases a long breath just as the server arrives to take our drink orders. I order wine, thinking she’s probably right. Maybe it will help me drop my guard so I can enjoy this meeting instead of it being a confrontation. But also because I keep thinking about how she confessed that she loves me, even if it was indirectly.
“I’m so proud of you, Lark. You’ve accomplished so much that I wonder if it would have been the same if I had been there.”
“We’ll never know, but I’m starting to realize that living in the past won’t move the needle forward. I have questions, and I’m hoping you’ll be willing to answer at least some of them. I’ll give you that same opportunity, and then when we leave, we can decide what happens from here. How does that sound?”
“I’d like that very much. Would you like to go first?”
The wineglasses and a bottle are set on the table. After the server pours the wine, we order appetizers. I’m not sure if we’ll make it to dinner, so this feels like less of an obligation. The alcohol helps. I’ve asked so much of her, but I’ve still been dancing around what I want to know most. So I take another heavier sip, and ask, “Why did you leave?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself for twenty-five years. The reasons made sense in the beginning, but then time passed, and it felt too late to turn back. Does that make sense?”
“No, it doesn’t. I was your daughter. You had a man who worshipped at your feet. You left us. You left us for what? Why?”
It’s the first time tonight that tears begin to well in her eyes. And because I feel this surge of overwhelming emotion from just voicing that question, I take my napkin and dab the corners of my eyes.
She dabs her own eyes, and then says, “My parents cared more about status than my happiness back then. I loved your dad so much, but they cut me off when I refused to stop dating him. They cut me out of their lives entirely. I had no money. I had nothing more than a high school diploma and eyes full of stars when John and I fell in love. Then I had a baby—you. I don’t think you’ll be surprised to hear you were unplanned, but we never had a doubt about starting our family. It just came a little sooner than expected.”
Briefly looking across the room, she turns her attention to the wineglass and takes another sip. “It’s a hard lesson to learn that money matters when you’re surviving off love. If I found a penny, I’d pick it up because we needed it. We had nothing back then, and your dad was trying to buy his garage. It wasn’t going to happen. He would have been turned down for the loan.” She’s nodding as if she’s attempting to convince herself.
“How would leaving me get him the shop?”
“It wasn’t as easy as you make it sound. There were offers and threats. My parents wanted to leave Beacon Pointe to remove me from the situation.”
