59. EMERSON
59
EMERSON
Now
When I arrive, she’s already sitting there. I haven’t walked through the door yet; I’m standing on the sidewalk outside. But I know she’s there. I can see her sitting at a table underneath the ‘eat now caffeinate’ sign. Her back is facing the window, but it’s the haircut and denim jacket I recognize.
Her chestnut brown hair is cut short, about an inch above her shoulders. Ever since Dad left, that’s been her signature cut. She said something about how her long hair felt too much like a security blanket for the old her and then rambled on about how Dad ‘loved’ her hair that way. New chapter, new cut, I guess?
The light blue chair she’s sitting in covers most of the jacket. I can only see her shoulders and the moments in time that cover them. I love that jacket and all the stories that go along with it. My mom, Susan, got matching jackets with her best friend Clarissa during their sophomore year of high school. Before my dad, they were inseparable, similar to Natalie and I. Music festivals, trips across the world, and college; everywhere they went or anything they experienced, they’d get a patch, a pin, or stitching to commemorate it. Their friendship slowly dissolved once my mom and dad got together. Clarissa never liked my dad and always told my mom that he’d end up breaking her heart—not sure if she was a fortune teller back then because she was right. Even though their friendship came and went, she still wears that jacket. I think it’s her version of a ‘you were right’ because she’d never come clean to Clarissa .
I’m standing on the sidewalk and second-guessing my invitation to the city for lunch. When she immediately texted me back, yes, I was in shock. I had assumed she’d say no and didn’t want to make the three-hour drive.
I don’t think I can do this.
Chloe: You can
Call me in 20?
Have an emergency or something?
Chloe: No
Chloe: She drove three hours to see you. Talk to her.
Ugh, fine.
Chloe: You’ve got this.
I stop at the counter to order before I go to her table. Ordered the huevos rancheros tostadas and then an iced strawberry matcha. Then to comfort the conversation I need to have with her, I ordered a slice of carrot cake Mom’s favorite.
”Mom,” my voice comes out small, weak.
I touch the back side of her shoulder as I step around to the other side of the table.
Placing the cake between us, I pull out the chair and sit across from her.
“Oh, honey. It’s so good to see you.” Her arm reaches out across the table and squeezes my forearm. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Mom.” I do miss her, but it hurts too. It feels like I’m letting myself down by missing her.
I’ve missed both of them, Mom and Dad, since that night when I was thirteen. Dad might have physically left, but Mom emotionally left.
And I’ve I’ve added Liam to that list.
The list of people I miss, but don’t miss. We all have one, right?
“When was the last time I was in the city? Oh, I know! Christmas after you and Natalie moved here. It was bitterly cold and snowed all day that we missed our tickets to see Hamilton.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
She cuts into the piece of salmon on top of her kale Caesar salad. “How’s work?” Mom asks me.
“Good. Yeah, good.” I nod my head. “Busy with a few new companies coming on board, but good.”
“I wish you’d quit.”
”Mom!”
“What? You are wasting your true creative talent working there. You should go full-time with photography. Do you know how much money is in the wedding business?”
I roll my eyes at her.
“You could make over six figures a year.”
“I don’t care about the money.”
“So?” She rolls her eyes back at me. “It’s more than what you are making now—”
“I don’t even enjoy shooting weddings.”
“What do you mean? You love photography.”
“Right, photography. Not weddings.” She gives me this look of confusion. “I want to take photos of places, people, animals, and moments—not weddings. Think travel and leisure. ”
“That’s not consistent or easy. Weddings are always happening. Just look at your father. Some lucky photographer got two gigs out of him.”
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“You know what.” I glare at her.
They deliver my food and drink. Using the interruption to get off that subject, I indulge in my food. My mom follows me, cutting another bit of her salmon before forking a bite of kale.
“What is Natalie up to today? I had assumed she’d be joining us for lunch.”
“She had a prior engagement. She says hello.” I lie. I won’t be telling my mom about my fight with Natalie. A fight—ha, that’s an understatement.
“Oh. I texted her that I was going to be in the city. Maybe I can catch her before I take off.”
“How long were you planning on staying?” We hadn’t discussed this.
“A day or two.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t look too excited. I wasn’t planning on confiscating anymore of your time—I wouldn’t dare.” She laughs and smiles. You know, the kind of laugh that is a bit nervous, but you cover it up with a smile so the other person doesn’t realize. She’s got that mastered.
“Okay.” I take another drink of my matcha. “I wanted to talk to you about something, Mom.”
She nods her head and smiles this time. It’s motherly and safe. It throws me back into the past when I was a child. It is the face she used to give me before life threw itself at her.
“Did you—” I pause. “Ever love Dad?”
“Yes, of course. Where is this coming from, honey?”
“I don’t know.” You do know, Emerson. You can do this. “Sometimes, I think about you two and us as a family before Dad left. It’s hard to remember the two of you in love.”
My mom laughs out two breaths.
“Did Dad ever love you?” I ask her.
“I like to believe so,” she tells me, and I think I believe her.
“What happened?”
“Your father and I loved each other the best that we could. When we met, our attraction was chemical. The fall into bed five minutes after meeting sort.” Huh, I understand that, unfortunately. “We were impulsive to get married and had you quickly after. It all happened quicker than we expected. I loved—I still love him in ways and always will. For years, our dynamic worked. And it was enough—till then, one day, it wasn’t, and there was a sense of his wild youth that he wanted back.”
“You were thirty-seven when he left?”
“I know. ” She laughs. “How you get back your twenties when you are almost forty still doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Yeah,” I concur.
“Why are you asking about this?”
“You told me it was my fault,” I finally admit.
That statement hangs there between us. Her face falters.
“Honey,” she says, taking a deep breath. “That’s not true; you know that, right?”
“I was thirteen, I didn’t know. How was I supposed to?”
“I guess. . . Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You went on for years with that story. Abandoning me, treating me poorly. I know you lost your husband, but I lost my dad and mom.”
“That’s—”
“Not true? It is. After that night, it was like neither of you wanted or loved me.”
“Emerson, we’ve always loved you.” Her eyes are watery, probably matching mine .
We both look at each other. We breathe, blink, breathe, blink—over and over for, I don’t know, how long.
“Because of the two of you, I thought there was something wrong with me, that maybe it was me who was unlovable, and that’s why love didn’t exist in my universe. Why didn’t you two work out? Why didn’t you two love me? It didn’t matter in high school. Didn’t matter in college. At least as I got older, it became easier and easier to build up a wall around my heart. I’d place people at a distance without letting anyone get close enough to even dare climb that wall.”
“Emerson—”
I shake my head at her, silently telling her to stop talking and just listen.
“It wasn’t till six years ago that I met someone who dared. He climbed and climbed and climbed and then tore down that wall. With everything in him, he loved me, and I couldn’t allow myself love him back. I was so scared that we’d become the two of you or that I was like an infectious disease, that somehow he’d realize he didn’t deserve me and destroy me.”
“What happened between the two of you?”
“I left—ironically, like the night Dad left. He yelled out my name, begging me not to go, and I didn’t look back as I got in the car to leave.”
“What is his name?
“His name is Liam.”
“Where—where did you meet?”
“That summer, I was in Europe. I met him the day Natalie left.”
“Oh, the young man that traveled with you. I remember Penelope”—Natalie’s mom—“telling me about that. Did you love Liam?”
“Yes.” I finish my matcha and then sip from the glass water cup. “He’s back.”
“Well, that is fantastic! ”
“It’s not because I still can’t allow myself to be with him fully. To actually fucking love him.”
“Language, honey,” she whispers like I’m ruining the children’s ears around us. “Is that why you wanted to get lunch? To figure out a way to unlock your heart?”
I nod. Those watery eyes? They are pools now, and a single tear overflows. Quickly, I wipe it away, not wanting to show too much emotion in front of my mom. I hate being a crier. Actually, no. I love how much I feel.
“First off, please know that I love you. Being your mother is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m sorry that for years, I made you feel anything but that. You were not the reason your father left, and I should never have said that. I hope you forgive us both one day for how we treated you, even if it takes the rest of our lives, but please understand now that we love you bigger than the whole sky, always.”
She brushes a tear away from both of my cheeks.
“And look, the thing about love is that it’s not perfect. I could recite to you all the love is kind, love is patient, love is whatever, but I won’t. I’m not saying that’s not true; it is, but love is so much more,” Mom continues. “Love is messy, and it can fail us, but it also reminds us that we are human. We are designed with love inside of us—it’s a chromosome. That’s what makes it real. It’s not a fairytale, made-up romance. It’s a feeling. It’s a decision that we get to choose daily to act on. But even when we don’t, that doesn’t mean we still can’t feel it.” She gives me this knowing look, another reminder that she may have failed to act on her love for me, but she still felt it.
I’m quiet, smiling and staring at her. Her words pour into me, and my brain soaks it all in like a sponge. I can feel the neurons inside my brain firing and rewiring themselves. Mental images of the future, all the possibilities that come with believing love exists, show up in them .
My what-ifs are changing from what if we fail or what if I’m not enough to what if we have kids or what if we celebrate fifty years of marriage?
I can finally feel and see all of it so clearly. And it’s all with Liam.
“Do you want to be with him?” My mom asks.
“Yes.”
“Then be with him. Tell him how you feel. Show up each day ready to choose love. And ready to learn because that’s another thing about love: it’s unique to each of you. It evolves and shifts. To make it work, you have to be flexible with it. Sometimes, the circle has to go through the square hole. Loving him and letting him love you will sometimes feel like that, but that’s when you stay. That’s when you choose love the action, not only love the feeling. Right now, I think you need to do some acting.”
Some? More like a lot.
“Thanks, Mom.” I smile at her.
“Of course, honey. I love you.”
We smile at each other, and for the first time since I was thirteen, I don’t just hear her. I believe her and feel it deeply like it’s always been there.
“I love you too.”