Epilogue #2
“I haven’t blocked anyone. I’d already moved on and found my own happiness.
It wasn’t hard to just ignore the text. It was only one.
It was meant to hurt me or prove something, but all it did was make me glad that Preston found happiness.
He’s Odin’s son and no matter what he did, that’s always going to be true. ”
“That’s such a na?ve way to look at betrayal.”
“You betrayed me as well, but I still want you to be happy.” That earns me a gasp and at last, a little bit of Mom’s genuine pain slips through the mask she wears so well, even for herself.
“I want your world to grow beyond the knowledge and emotions that you had at that time. It’s in the past. I’ve worked hard to move on from it.
Being angry and holding onto bitterness only poisons you. ”
“So does lying to yourself.”
“That’s the opposite of what I’ve done. I think that I’ve been very honest with myself and everyone else in my life.
I want to be honest with you as well. I’m not exactly sure why you’re here and I do sense quite a lot of hostility and unhappiness.
It’s not fair that I take your burdens on any longer.
I can be your friend, but you have to be accountable for yourself.
” The words pour out of me, even, steady, and so long overdue.
I continue, “If you want to be in my life, you have to learn to honor my boundaries and respect me. I would love nothing more for you to know your grandchild right from the start. Dad would have wanted that. No matter what happened between us, he would have wanted us to stick together. He valued and loved us more than anything. You can always miss him, but you can’t use that as an excuse to not live your life any longer.
The world can be mean and harsh. It can hurt and wound more than it ever brings happiness, but you’re alive.
You’re healthy. You’re here right now. I think that’s because in some way, you want to fix this, and you know that talking in person is the right thing to do.
You were never a perfect mom, but that’s okay.
I still love you, and I miss you. I’d like things to be different going forward. ”
The room is quiet for a long time. Mom sits there, frozen in place, but I know that’s because she’s thinking. I don’t rush to fill the silence. I’ve said what I needed to say, and she needs to turn that over before she responds.
“What if they can’t be? We can’t change the past,” she whispers. Her fingers resume their anxious drumming on top of her knee.
“No, but we can move on from it.”
“You cut me out of your life,” she bites out.
“Mom.” I lean forward and look her right in the eye. “I didn’t do that. I did need some time and space, and maybe that time and space isn’t over if we aren’t ready to try to build a healthy relationship, but when we are ready, I’d like us to have one.”
“By we, you mean me.”
“I mean we. I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes.
I take full accountability. I made the decisions and choices I made.
They might not all have been correct, but they’ve led me to right here.
” I indicate the room with a wave of my hand, but I know that she can’t possibly imagine what my life is like now.
I need to share with her. I want to share it with her.
“I have a loving husband. Like any couple, we’re learning how to manage living together, change, work, and life.
We came together for this baby, but we’re learning how to have a successful, happy relationship for us.
It’s our happiness. We chose each other, and we’re going to do our best in the future, to raise a beautiful family, contribute to the club, and to help make this community and this city a great place to live. ”
“What about your dreams?” Mom asks, like she really wants to know, not like she once encouraged me to take a break from school and focus on my personal life.
“When the baby is a year old, I do plan on going back to school. My dreams are important to Odin, and his feelings and happiness and health are extremely important to me. I need you to know that and understand what I’m saying.
I chose this marriage, and I choose forgiveness, happiness, and living our lives.
I choose Odin, every single day, even on the days that are hard.
That’s the example that you and Dad set for me.
I know that losing him changed you. It changed everything, but I also know that he’d want you to be happy again. ”
“You can’t just pluck happiness out of the sky and make it a reality,” she fires back, but there’s almost no heat in it, as though she wants me to convince her that she’s wrong.
This isn’t just about us and it’s not just about the last eight months.
“No, you can’t. But you can work hard. You can change your mind. Moment by moment, day by day.”
“You know I’m never going to read those stupid self-help books or see a therapist.”
“I know you don’t like them, but there are other ways.
If you’re open to it and you’d like to move down here, you can be a part of this community.
You can feel what it is to be accepted for who you are, no matter your past. All this time it was just us, and we were really struggling, but in Hart, it’s not just me anymore.
It’s Odin, and the club, and the women who all support each other.
” It’s a big thing to offer, but I do feel like I can extend it to her because it’s the truth.
She pushes back against the idea immediately, but I can see the longing in her eyes and in her posture. She leans forward on the couch like she wants to be closer to me in any way she can. “We have family.”
“We do, but they don’t live close. They couldn’t help us financially, but they could have offered us some kind of emotional support.
I’m not saying they won’t in the future, but we were essentially alone.
It’s not lonely like that here. There’s no expectation to live, dress, or look a certain way.
If you do want to move here, I know you’ll figure out what it means to be you again. ”
“If I say that I’m happy where I am, does that mean you won’t send photos of the baby?”
Ouch. That has me blinking back tears. I’ve been able to hold them off this long, but the pain so evident in my mom’s voice has my throat closing up and my heart riddled with a fresh kind of pain.
“It doesn’t mean that. We can open up a line of communication again, as long as it’s healthy for both of us.
I’d like nothing more than to support each other, love each other, and help each other grow again. Even if you’re in LA and I’m in Hart.”
“It’ll take some time for me to get used to the idea of you as a biker’s wife.”
From pain to hope in one single heartbeat, I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but that snotty statement is real progress. “I know.”
“And the age gap.”
“I know that too.”
“And who he is.”
“I think that once you can make peace with that, we’ll be okay. It might take some time, and I do respect that. I’m always here. You can let me know when you’re ready.”
I’d love for that time to be now, but if it’s not, rushing it will only make things worse. That’s not my cue to kick my mom out, but for once, we both realize that this is the best natural end of the conversation.
She stands and I mirror her. She’s never been one to take control of a situation, but she walks over to the door without any prompting.
I follow her and stand naturally, my arms at my sides, at ease.
I’m still a little bit tense, and I know there’s a big decompression coming, but this is the best outcome I could ever have hoped for.
I’ve thought about picking up the phone and calling my mom, or texting her, or going to see her in person, countless times over the past six months.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to break first. I just didn’t know how much time she needed, or if she’d ever change her mind about the way she viewed my choices and my decision to move here.
I guess she figured that I was going to change my mind about the marriage, or maybe she was waiting for me to come to her until she just couldn’t stand it any longer.
I’m not sure why she led with trying to prevent me from going through with a wedding that I told her I was going through with six months ago.
That’s just my mom, I guess. I do love her, even if she doesn’t always live in the real world and some of her ideas are just… not all that compatible with reality.
She stands by the door, debating about pulling it open and heading out.
I’m not sure where she’s staying, or for how long.
I don’t want to let her walk out the door, not knowing when I’ll see her again.
I will call. I will send her photos. It’s not going to be the same as physical, in person contact.
I step forward and she falls into me as I wrap an arm around her waist. The side-hug is the best I can do given the large baby bump. She hugs me back, clenching my arm and clinging to me for a good while before she pulls away.
“I took a few days off,” she whispers, her words faltering. “I figured I might need them to talk you into coming back with me, but I realize now that I need to spend the time thinking carefully about what you said. I never wanted to be a bad mom.”
“I know.”
I can’t remember the last time I saw my mom cry.
I know that she probably did, plenty of times, after my dad died, but throughout the whole cancer journey, at the hospital when he passed, and during all the funeral arrangements, she was detached.
Spacey. I can see now that she didn’t want that life to be her reality, but I didn’t understand it as a teenager.
I was hurt over her refusal to share her grief with me.
The tear that trickles down her cheek is even more shocking and meaningful given how she’s kept them solely for private moments.