Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Late afternoon on Tuesday, as part of my birthday gift, Mom goes shopping with me to help me buy a dress for my date with Crispin. She has far better fashion sense than I do; plus, she wears dresses, whereas I wear sweats.
We go to a cute little boutique I’ve been eyeing.
Mom describes the dress she’s imagining to the shopgirl, who scurries off to find a selection of options to fit the bill.
I settle Mom in a comfy chair just outside the dressing rooms and then perform a fashion show for her.
I’m surprised to like most of the dresses, which all have a relaxed bohemian style.
The long, flowing fabrics make me feel like I wouldn’t be flashing my underwear at people whenever I sit.
Mom and I like the same dress the most, so I buy that along with a new pair of sandals to go with it.
“You and Crispin seem to be getting serious,” Mom says when we sit perpendicular to each other at a Mexican café a couple doors down from the shop.
We’re seated on a rooftop patio, protected from the heat of the setting sun by a shade cloth flapping in the sea breeze overhead.
We have a spectacular view of the ceaseless tide rolling onto the beach.
The waves shimmer and sparkle in the waning light as if they are sprinkled with diamond dust. Seagulls land on the patio and give us the side eye, hoping we’ll offer a chip before scampering to the next patron to beg a bite of enchilada.
I shrug as I dip a chip into a bowl of salsa. “I wouldn’t say serious, but it has definitely accelerated this week with my birthday making me legal to date.”
Mom sits back in her chair and studies me.
I study her as well. It’s so good to see her putting on a little weight again.
The dark circles have faded from under her eyes, which spark with interest as she considers what I said.
I can’t say I miss the dull, flat expression she had for months.
I’m proud of her for the work she’s doing to dig herself out.
And it’s nice to have her back again as my mom.
“Obviously, you’ve seen each other prior to you turning eighteen,” Mom acknowledges. “But I like that he waited. Was it his idea? Or did you two talk about it?”
I sigh and put the chip down on my little plate. “Honestly, I never thought to talk to him about it. The whole time I was worried about our age difference, but never said anything to him.”
“That bothers you.”
It’s both a statement and a question. I nod. “I should have trusted him more to talk to him about it.”
“Ari, you’re just getting to know one another. There’s no reason to feel bad about being cautious. You have a right to protect your heart.”
I sit up straight, and tears flood my eyes. “Oh. That’s what you’ve been doing.”
She picks up her spoon and starts tapping the end of it on the table, shaking her head. “No, I wish I could say it was something like that. Sure sounds more eloquent. The ugly truth of it is that the day I opened the door to that police officer, my heart shattered into a million little pieces.”
I nod. I have a hard time finding my voice. “Of course it did. Mine did too.”
She continues to tap the spoon, her attention riveted on the action. She looks angry or disgusted.
“Mom?”
Her nose twitches, and finally, she looks up to meet my gaze, and the sorrow I see takes my breath away.
“But I didn’t work to put the pieces back together, did I?” she asks. A single tear rolls down her cheek, and she brushes it away angrily. “I left that to you. My teenage daughter. I checked out of reality, waiting for “normal” to miraculously return, and left you to fend for yourself.”
She slams the spoon onto the table. I flinch, staring down at the inert utensil, but seeing flashes of the last -almost- year, unsure what to say.
I can’t tell her it’s okay, because it truly wasn’t.
But there is one truth in all of this. I look at her and let myself relax.
“We’ve made it through. We’ll continue to make it through. ”
“Chandra assures me you don’t hate me, but I don’t know how you can’t.”
I look around. Who now? Did I just transport into an alternate universe? “Ch..Chandra? Miracle?”
Mom nods as she stares at the table. “She’s been very kind.”
“She has? You know her?”
“At first, she reached out through cards, in the mail. But she always included her phone number and insisted she was there to help in any way she could.” Mom’s breath stutters. “One day, I felt the weight of it all crushing me. My grief, my guilt…it all felt like too much and urgent. You know?”
She glances at me, so I nod, though I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“I thought about calling someone from back home, but it felt more desperate than that. Like I needed someone in person.”
“You could have asked me for help,” I whisper.
“You were part of my guilt. I couldn’t dump more on you than I already have. So, I called Chandra and she was at our front door, holding me in her arms within half an hour.”
I gape. “My Chandra,” I say for clarification.
Mom nods. “She’s been so wonderful.” Her gaze meets mine in panic. “You’ve been more wonderful, don’t get me wrong. I just couldn’t lay more on you.”
“Wow. That’s amazing, Mom. I’m glad for you. I truly am. You’ve made so much progress, and now I see why.”
“I’ve made progress because of you. For you. You are my world, baby girl. I need to get to a point where you know that again.”
“I know it.”
She shakes her head. “There’s no way you could know it with the way I’ve been. But you will. Can you ever forgive me?”
I physically jerk back. “I’m not mad at you, Mom. I understand.” I take a shuddering breath and stare up at the flapping canopy overhead while I blink away tears. “I understand.”
Mom still looks sad, but now there’s love in her expression. “You’ve been amazing through all of this. You’ve been strong and you’ve made such big decisions and handled so many difficult things.”
My chuckle comes out shaky and uncertain as I try to find my way back to a safer topic. “If I never drive a trailer cross-country again, it will be too soon.”
A tinge of hysteria warps Mom’s chuckle, but she nods enthusiastically. “You have been forced to grow up fast, and you’ve done it with grace and strength. I love you so much, but I admire you too. I’m going to try to be more like you.”
I slap my hand to my mouth. That feels like the ultimate compliment to come from my own mother. I nod, and when I can finally speak, I whisper, “Thank you, Mom.”
After we dry our tears, our conversation is lighthearted.
She asks so many questions about what it’s like to be on set.
All the questions I wanted her to ask originally.
I have way too much fun sharing stories and making her laugh.
I tell her about the hot photoshoot and show her the two pictures I have saved on my phone.
We talk about dating, and she clearly defines all the times it is okay to say and mean, “No.”
As soon as we finish eating, I make the excuse that I have an early call time and rush to leave.
I can see that her energy is flagging, and I don’t want her to feel like she’s the one who brought this fabulous outing to an end.
On the way back to the car, I wrap my arm around her waist and tuck my head on her shoulder.
“Happy birthday, Arabelle.”
“Thank you, Mom.”