27 - ANYSSA
27
ANYSSA
ANYSSA’S THIRTY-BEFORE-THIRTY LIST
I couldn’t remain behind in California any longer. As much as Camila wanted me to visit our father in the hospital, my heart wasn’t ready for it. My mind still struggled with accepting the facts of our relationship.
First, I need to have a conversation with my mother and then bask in the familiarity of home. Then I might consider returning to California for a visit.
There’s so much unforgiveness abounding in my soul.
While I have to forgive my father for the pain that he took my mother through, I also have to forgive her for not telling me the complete truth.
She’d lied to me about my sister, telling me it was a cousin. I couldn’t understand how she could leave a child behind, knowing that the child could possibly be in harm’s way.
Although I tried to downplay my mother’s behavior to Camila, I could see the hurt in her eyes. Not only could I see the hurt in her eyes from being rejected, but I could also see that she was trying to pretend it didn’t hurt her so much. That was more for my benefit than hers, I suspect.
I need to know why Mommy chose to do what she did. This wasn’t a conversation you had over the phone. So, I remained in California for another day to get to know Camila better. She’d given me a tour of her property and the vineyards.
She warmly introduced me to her staff on the property, but when her stepmother announced that she would visit her soon, I knew it was time for me to go. I’d booked a flight back home with little warning to Camila.
I explained that I needed to talk to Mommy in person about this. It wasn’t something suitable for a phone conversation.
She’d understood why when I explained and hadn’t hassled me about it. Instead, she’d asked me to reconsider returning. I promised her that I would and would also see if Mommy might consider visiting or allowing Camila to come for a visit.
I have been back home for two days, and today was the first time I had called Mommy. I needed time to process everything that had happened on this last trip, including Nazár.
Finally, I decided to push him to the back of my mind while I dealt with family matters. When I called Mommy to invite her to dinner this evening, she said she would come after she finished some program they were having at church.
In the meantime, I needed to be around someone who would keep me grounded. Being alone for too long allowed my thoughts to meander down roads they had no business journeying.
I was happy when I called Kayla and discovered she was free for the afternoon. She’d come by with a bottle of wine and a box of turtles for us to demolish while we caught up on each other’s lives.
The chocolates were finished long ago, as was her brief update on her life. Nothing much had changed for her, so my life events had dominated the last hour of conversation.
“So, what are you going to do?” Kayla asks, reaching for my right hand with her left one.
We’re sitting side by side on my couch with our feet propped on the table. Our heads are leaned back on the sofa, and we both hold a glass of wine loosely in our fingers.
“Honestly, I don’t know. It depends on what Mommy says. She’s avoided this topic for so long, and forcing her to deal with it now is almost cruel.”
Squeezing my hand clasped in hers, Kayla says, “And almost just as cruel for her not to answer your questions, especially when you’re so close to getting the closure you’ve always sought.”
“Do you think I’m being selfish?” I ask, rocking my head sideways to stare at my best friend.
“Hell no! You didn’t do this to them, Nys.”
“Mommy didn’t do it either.”
“Not that I’m blaming her for any of this because domestic violence in any form is inexcusable. But she did make the choice not to talk to you about him. She chose never to reveal what lay behind the hurt. She chose not to answer the many questions you’ve had through the years, Nys. That was very much in her control.”
“I know, but she was hurting.”
“And I understand that. I’m sure she was scared too, but again, just because you want these answers doesn’t make you selfish. Too many years have passed, and there’s no way that he can hurt her now. Your parents are older, and it seems like he’s knocking at death’s door.”
I chuckle softly and point my finger at her. “That was not funny.”
Smirking, she replies, “I wasn’t the one laughing, though, was I?”
“No,” I say solemnly as the smile drops from my lips.
“You need to confront him to get closure. And peace,” she adds as an afterthought.
“Do I, though?”
“Mm-hmm. You don’t want to wander through life with a bag of what-ifs. Your ass will be weighed down with shoulder pain and back pain.”
I laugh again. “Maybe.”
“Forgiveness is a wonderful thing. And though you may not feel like it, at the end of our lives, we all deserve to know that we’ve been forgiven by someone we’ve wronged. Give him that gift, Nys.”
We unlock our fingers, and I pull the wineglass to my lips again, pondering her words.
As I sip from my glass, Kayla says, “You know this shit sounds like a Lifetime movie, right?”
Laughing, I pull the glass away and shake my head. “Nope, not even Lifetime worthy. This is more like a women’s fiction novel.”
“You’re right about that. Too much hot sex involved to be a Lifetime movie, but definitely more than a women’s fiction novel,” she says before pulling the wineglass to her lips.
My head bobs lightly, and I close my eyes. “Yeah, maybe more like an erotic romance novel?”
She licks the droplets of wine from her lips, points a finger at me, and nods. “Mm, good one. Speaking of which, what’s happening with you and ol’ boy?”
“Nothing is going on. I told you, he’s blocked me out completely.”
“Well, you’re the one who wanted to play games,” she points out.
Nodding, I say, “I had a valid reason.”
“How did Camila take that?”
“Very well, considering. But her mind is on other things. I didn’t get the impression she was even concerned about the possibility of being banned from the island. With her father’s health deteriorating and finally finding my mother and me, she doesn’t have time to worry about visiting Belle Baie in the future.”
“That’s a shitload of stuff she has to deal with.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Are you two going to build a relationship or keep in contact now that you know you’re sisters?”
“Absolutely. You ever feel like you’ve been plodding along in life, but you know that you’re operating at less than full capacity?”
Kayla nods.
“And then, did you ever feel like the real reason you weren’t operating at full capacity was because a vital part of you was missing?”
“I can’t say that I’ve had that experience.”
“Well, that’s what this feels like. The missing part of me is finally surfacing after all these years, and the water is subsiding so I can get a clearer picture.”
“Is that picture a beautiful self-portrait or a caricature drawing of what should be muddled by the lens of life’s sorrows?”
Shrugging, I reply, “Only time will tell.”
“Pass me that cayenne pepper, girl,” Mommy says, reaching her hand out as she stirs the meat sauce for our spaghetti.
“Mommy, light on the cayenne. Remember your heartburn.”
“Girl, you love this stuff.”
“I know that I do.”
“And so do I.”
“Right, but it doesn’t love you back, Mommy.”
“Mm,” she says, dropping a teaspoonful of cayenne into the meat sauce.
Her ass knows she’s going to pay for that later. I just shrug and return the canister to its space in the cabinet.
“You want some wine?” I ask, pulling two fresh glasses down.
“Mm-mm. From the looks of that empty bottle on the living room table, it doesn’t look like you need any more wine. And why did you let Kayla go home? She should’ve stayed here until—”
“Mommy! Mommy!” I interrupt her in a whiny voice. “She didn’t drive home. She caught an Uber. Her car’s still outside, and I’ll take it to her tomorrow, so please quit playing judge and jury.”
“Not judging. I just love Kayla, and I don’t want her hurt.”
“Well, she won’t be. Won’t be catching any DUIs either because she’s being safe.”
“Okay, that’s all I want.”
She returns to stirring the sauce and then replaces the lid on the pan. Turning to me with her hands on her hips, Mommy lifts an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I know that you didn’t invite me over here for me to cook dinner.”
“You’re right. You were supposed to come and eat, but you took over in the kitchen.”
“That’s because you always wait until the last minute to cook. It should have been ready when I arrived.”
Smirking, I say, “You got me. I love your cooking. Besides, you’re right. That’s not why I invited you.”
“Then why? We Kelley women do not keep secrets from each other.”
“Ohhwhoowhoo! You might wanna revise that statement, Mommy.”
“Girl, what are you talking about?”
Taking her hand, I lead her into the living room, and we sit on the couch. Turning, with my knee resting on the couch cushion and my other foot planted firmly on the floor, I stare into my mother’s eyes.
“Mommy, I met a lady in Curacao. She’s beautiful, smart, and funny. We had a conversation which led me on this last trip that I just went on.”
“Which I still have no idea where that was.”
“I know. That’s not my point. My point is that she contacted me before I returned from my trip and begged me to visit her. I didn’t understand what was so urgent, but I flew there before I returned home.”
“Flew where?”
“California. Sonoma.”
My mother’s eyes widen, and she seems to stop breathing, but I press on.
“She wanted to show me something. She had a little envelope with some pictures and her birth certificate in it. Mommy, the woman’s name is Camila Martinez.”
The blood drains from my mother’s beautiful brown face, making her look ashen and tired. Tears pool in her eyes before she drops her head into her hands.
I scoot closer on the couch to her and wrap my arms around her. My mother sobs for an interminably long time before I finally speak again.
“Camila says that she is my sister. And on her birth certificate, I saw your name. I also saw you in several pictures with her when she was younger . . . and my father.”
“Anny,” my mother moans.
The hurt in her cry is so deep and so painful that I feel it in the depths of my soul.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she continues. “Oh my God. My sweet Cami. My sweet, sweet Cami,” she cries. “Oh God!”
We rock like that, and she continues crying and repeating those statements. I don’t stop her. I suspect that she needs to get this out of her soul.
Mommy never openly grieved for the loss of my sister. It was always something that she hid away from me.
If I happened to walk into her room in the middle of a crying session, she would quickly tuck the photo away, wipe her tears, put a smile on her face, and insist that she was okay.
This time, when she sits up and wipes her face, she turns to look at me. My mommy has aged several years in just a few minutes.
“I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you.”
“I saw that picture, and you always said she was my cousin.”
“I couldn’t bear to tell you the truth, Anny. There would have been so many questions that I couldn’t answer.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” I challenge.
“How is she doing? Is she healthy? Is she happy? Does she have her own family now? What did she say about me?”
Her questions come like torpedoes firing one after the other.
I take my mother’s hands in mine to offer her comfort. “She’s doing well. She’s running the vineyard now and looking for ways to expand it. It’s been very successful. Whether she’s happy or not, I don’t know. She seems to be from all appearances. When I spent time with her in Curacao, she was very reserved but polished, mature, and friendly when necessary. She holds a deep commitment to family and making sure that she upholds her responsibilities, even at the detriment of what’s important to her,” I say, thinking about how she had to give up the trip to Belle Baie in exchange for being there with our father during his surgery.
“So, she does have a family?” she asks with open wonder, still wiping the tears from her face.
“No. Not like that. She’s not married, and she doesn’t have any kids. I meant family as it relates to her father and . . . stepmother.”
I struggle with saying “our father” to Mommy because I don’t know how she will take it. I also don’t know how to tell her he married her former best friend.
“So, he remarried.”
“Yes.”
“Good for him,” she says.
There’s a tiny hint of bitterness in her tone, and I wonder if she’s mad that he went on with his life while she didn’t.
“Did you meet him?” she asks after several seconds.
Inhaling deeply, I shake my head. “No. I wasn’t ready for that. I needed time to process everything that I’d been told. Besides, I needed to speak with you first.”
“Anny, I’m sorry for lying to you. When you were little, it was necessary to protect you. If you knew the truth, I was scared you might say something to a teacher or classmate at school. You always had a gift of gab. It wasn’t surprising to me when you said you wanted to become a reporter,” she says, cupping my face.
I smile, and she continues. “I didn’t want you telling the wrong person. God forbid it somehow got back to Chris, and he found us. He would have taken you away from me, and I have no idea what he would have done to me. Physically. Though taking you would have been the worst thing.”
“All the way in Georgia? I doubt that news would have traveled back to California.”
“It wasn’t a risk that I could take, baby. I was terrified.”
I nod, trying to understand, but I’ve never walked a mile in her shoes.
“What about when I got older? When I became an adult and you would shut me down whenever I asked you questions about him?”
“It was ingrained in me to be that way by then. I was angry that you would even want to meet him. So that selfish part of me that wanted to punish him for hurting me didn’t want him to be a part of your life. That was how I punished him.”
“You also punished Camila and me by keeping us from each other.”
“I told myself that. It still wasn’t powerful enough to overcome my fear and my bitterness toward your father for what he had done. Anyssa, I am so sorry for what I did wrong. I could never apologize enough. When I ran, my only thought was protecting you. That he wouldn’t take you from me the way he’d planned to do with Camila.”
Seeing her pain etched so deeply and feeling the raw, heavily burdened guilt that she carries, I know that I have to forgive her. I cannot be angry at her for her choice to leave me in the dark about my family. She’s suffered enough by carrying this weight around.
“Mommy, Camila wants to see you.”
Those words start a fresh round of tears for Mommy and for me.