Ajaih
Present
The café was too quiet. Too neutral. Pale wood tables, a dreary day, honestly, no sun shining through the old windows, espresso hissing in the background, the decadent smell of baked goods.
I don’t know what I expected my mother to look like. Dro didn’t have any old pictures of her that he kept tucked away. All he would tell me was that I was a much more beautiful version of her because my inner beauty matched the outside.
Not this, though. Not someone so normal. Late fifties, well-dressed, with eyes that mirrored my own, freckles that bound us together, and lips that twitched nervously every time we made eye contact.
She picked a table in the far corner of the Mocha Motive café, discreet, shaded, like she was hiding. Fitting. Kimberly Brooks always did cower. I’m sure her shame in this moment was no different.
When I walked up, she looked up from her tea with that hesitant, rehearsed smile. Like maybe if she were soft enough, I wouldn’t blow up her fragile little bubble.
“Ajaih…” She stood halfway, hand fluttering like she didn’t know what to do with it. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
I sat down without acknowledging the gesture. I didn’t come here for nostalgia.
“Let’s not do this,” I said flatly. “You wanted to meet. I’m here, say what you have to say.”
She sighed, sitting back down, smoothing her skirt like she was on a fucking job interview.
Like this moment was casual. This woman was such a stranger to me that I was shocked to see in the flesh how much I resembled her.
I was looking at an aged version of myself and knew what I would look like as I aged.
“I know this is a lot,” she started, voice syrupy with guilt, “But I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve always thought about you. I just… didn’t know how to reach out.
I snorted, “Bullshit, you knew how to pick up a phone to reach Dro; you even know where his businesses are located, just like you knew how to walk away.”
Her smile faltered.
“You left me with Dro like I was a spare bag you didn’t feel like carrying anymore. No calls. No birthdays. No explanations.”
“I was young, Ajaih. I wasn’t ready to be a mother.”
I leaned in, flabbergasted at her audacity, “But you were ready enough to play happy homemaker with a new man and have two shiny new kids?”
She froze. And there it was, the guilt of truth that she couldn't hide.
“Don’t look surprised,” I said, voice hard, “I did my homework. It’s quite amazing what a Google search can tell you when your mother abandons you your whole life and finally decides to reach out.”
“I didn’t mean to hide you.”
“You ARE hiding me.”
She looked away.
“You haven’t told your husband about me, have you? My brother? My Sister? ”
“Ajaih, it’s complicated,” her voice shaking with fear now that I knew intimate details of her life.
“No, it’s cowardly,” I replied. “You’ve had a whole life without me.
A life that’s now falling apart, and because your shiny new family is in crisis, I’m good enough to exist?
” She opened her mouth, but I didn’t let her speak.
“Let me tell you what I found on Facebook. My baby sister Lena needs a bone marrow transplant. Nobody close to you has been a match, so as your last act of desperation, you dig up the one piece of your past you buried and hidden out of shame and embarrassment. So no, you don’t miss me, no, you didn’t think about me, not until you needed something from me, needed me to be a genetic Hail Mary. ”
Tears welled in her eyes, but I didn’t give a single damn.
“I don’t know what else to do,” she whispered, “I thought maybe this could be a chance for us to reconnect, to heal.”
The cold and bitter laugh that poured from my lips surprised even me.
“You want healing? Start by telling your husband you had a daughter you tossed aside like trash, then tell Lena and David Jr they have a big sister, an extremely accomplished, successful big sister, and maybe we can talk about healing.”
“I was trying to protect them,” her voice elevating.
My blood began to boil at the implication that I was someone she needed to guard her family against.
“From what?” I snapped, “Me? Your mistake?” She flinched, the word hitting its mark. Her hands curled into fists on the table.
“You don’t know what I went through,” she said, now twisting the napkin in her hands.
“And you don’t know what the fuck I went through,” I fired back.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up wondering why you weren’t good enough to keep?
To have to show up to every mommy/daughter event with an aunt or one of Dro’s flavors of the week and pretend you loved her with your whole heart?
To have to ask the school nurse about your period and what products to use because I didn’t have a mother who loved me enough to realize it would be her love that helped usher me into womanhood!
” I yelled, forgetting where we were, as onlookers kept their gaze on us.
Her lip quivered. I didn’t soften.
“I’ll get tested,” I said, “Not because of you, but because my sister didn’t ask for any of this. Not whatever illness is plaguing her, and she damn sure didn’t ask for a mother who’s a coward and has been hiding a child.”
She reached across the table, “Ajaih, please.”
I snatched my hand out of her grasp as I stood. People turned to look, but I didn’t care.
“You made your choice, Kimberly. Live with it. You left a baby in a hospital and walked away. I don’t know you and don’t know if I’ll ever want to know you, because first impressions are forever, and yours was the grandest disappointment of them all.
You’re just a woman who gave birth to me,” I spat venomously.
I watched my mother swallow hard. “I never stopped thinking about you. I saw you on the news and read about the work you do as a volunteer firefighter and flood fighter. I saw myself in your face, and I… I couldn’t stay away any longer.
It’s not about you being a match for Lena; we’re on the donor list. I needed to meet you,” she sobbed quietly.
My stomach turned. The praise felt sharp-edged, misplaced.
“I know I don’t deserve anything from you,” the woman who called herself my mother whispered, “But I wanted to say I’m sorry. Truly. And I wanted you to know I’ve always loved you and I always will.”
I stood up. Too fast. My chair scraped back sharply, drawing glances from other tables as I walked away, shaking, furious, and more heartbroken than I’d let her see.
The fluorescent lights above me hummed like angry bees. Nurses moved like shadows, voices blurring into muffled echoes. My body felt too small for the terror inside it. The tightness in my chest, my breathing shallow, fingers clenched like claws into the scratchy ER blanket.
I couldn’t move. Anxiety-induced paralysis had my limbs feeling like they were filled with cement.
I’d managed to get through the meeting, barely. That woman, my mother, had said things like, “I prayed you’d have a good life.” “I was just a child.” “I’ve thought of you every day.” One excuse after the other, when all it boiled down to was that I wasn’t worth sticking around for.
And then I felt my feet moving, my body leaving the café, hurrying away from Kim the coward.
Out of the café, into the street, onto the sidewalk where my knees buckled, and strangers stared as I spiraled into the darkness.
The walls had come down so fast, snatching my next breath from me and dangling it over my head like a carrot.
The quick onset of anxiety and panic swarmed me, wrapping me in a cloak of terror.
I closed my eyes, trying to focus on anything real, anything I could find joy in, something I could touch, but everything inside me felt numb, cold, still.
Until him, his voice was low, smooth, and warm like a hand pressing gently to my spine, “You’re okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”
I didn’t open my eyes, but I felt it, his hand, resting over mine, not heavy, not invasive, but present, soothing, loving.
My fingers twitched. I didn’t know this man. Didn’t know his name. But his energy was steady, anchoring.
“I’m Nurse Carter,” he said quietly, “I’ll be with you until your vital signs stabilize and we get you feeling better.”
His voice held none of the pity she dreaded. No condescension. No judgement, just calm.
“Can you hear me, Ajaih?” He asked, mispronouncing my name like most people did, calling me Asia.
I nodded faintly, my throat burning, my eyes still shut as I corrected him, “Uh-Jye-Uh.”
“Breathe with me, Ajaih,” he said, correcting how he pronounced my name. “Alright? In… and out.”
I did as I was told, slowly— matching his rhythm, clinging to it like a lifeline.
Minutes passed, hell, maybe hours. Time seemed to warp when your mind and body are working against each other. Eventually, my heart rate normalized, my body stopped fighting itself, and the fog in my mind started to clear.
I opened my eyes.
And there he was.
Tall, deep, dark brown skin that resembled the finest silk, sharp cheekbones, and gentle eyes that I knew smoldered under the right circumstances. He was a calming presence I didn’t expect in a place built around chaos.
Our gazes locked, giving way to something in his expression. Something in his eyes flickered. Was it Recognition? Empathy? Something unspoken?
“Thank you,” I rasped.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “Just doing my job.”
“No,” I said softly, “you did more than that.”
I saw it again, the flicker, as if every word I spoke was lighting a fire within him, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know if he should.
Perhaps he was just kind and an amazing nurse, or maybe it was something more, and because I didn’t have the energy to unpack it yet, I remained quiet.
But as he stepped back, checking monitors and scribbling notes on my chart, I couldn’t help but wonder: Why do I feel like I’ve known you forever?
And for the first time since my world cracked open that morning, I didn’t feel entirely alone.