Chapter 12
Friday nights are my favorite because in the Roberts home, Friday night is movie night. A tradition long-lived since my childhood. Mom and I stock up on candy, order a cheese pizza, and stream classic movies. Sometimes, we’ll watch a trash movie from the 90s, but not tonight. I get to pick tonight, and I chose ”How to Steal a Million.” Classic Audrey Hepburn. I may have already seen it five or six times, but that isn’t the point. When I get home from my afternoon study block, I crash on the couch. My muscles ache. I chose golf because it seemed like the least taxing sport, boy was I wrong. Apparently, swinging a club over and over and over wears on the muscles. I change into some comfortable clothes and fall onto the couch. Mom was nowhere in sight when I got home, which isn”t unusual. Sometimes it takes her longer to brief the weekend manager. I start to drift to sleep when the door opening and shutting stirs me.
I listen as Mom shuffles across the room to the couch, but my eyes stay closed. I’m too exhausted to attempt opening them. “Time to wake up, sunshine.” Despite her words, Mom’s tone tells me she is annoyed. I sense it immediately. Crap. An upset Elizabeth is never good for anyone. On a normal day, she is the epitome of warmth, but when she is annoyed or even worse, angry, the world burns. Opening my eyes, I see her hovering over me.
“What’s wrong?” I figure there’s no point in delaying it.
She crosses her arms, and the fake sweetness in her voice leaves a knot in my stomach. “Wrong, my little angel, why would you think something is wrong?”
“Because I know you, and you only use pet names when you”re about to attack. You lead your prey into a false sense of hope, then pounce.” I sit up despite my muscles screaming for me not to.
“Well, my love, is there something you think would be upsetting me?” Not off the top of my head. My blank face spurs her to continue. “Talk to any grandfathers lately?” Crap.
“There may have been a letter,” I explain. Her eyebrows raise, “and maybe a phone call or two.” Her stare bores into my soul. Lowering my head I admit “We had lunch.”
“Amelia, why didn’t you tell me?” She’s hurt. I can see the look in her eyes. I messed up. I should’ve told her.
“Mom, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I just didn’t want to upset you.” She slumps down on the couch next to me.
“Mia,” she softens, “I’m not upset you spoke to your grandfather. I’m just upset you felt like you had to hide it.” I take her hand and pull her in for a hug. The look on her face kills me.
“I really am sorry. I just know how hard you fought to leave that world, and that Grandpa and Grandma didn’t support you. I didn’t want you to feel like I betrayed you, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have them, you know, as grandparents.” She pulls back and smooths my hair down.
“No, I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish. I didn’t want that life and wanted to prove I could make it on my own. I didn’t realize I was taking something away from you in the process. I thought I could give you everything you needed here.”
Cutting her off, I say, “I do have everything I need.”
“No, I know, but you deserve more.”
“Mom.”
“It’s okay, I spoke to your grandfather today.” She continues and I sit up straight and stare at her bewildered. To my knowledge, they haven’t spoken since Easter.
“You did?”
“He came by. We had our own special lunch,” the sarcasm in her voice does not go unnoticed. I search her face for signs of hurt or upset, but she seems relieved. “We talked, and I realized that my pride is a large part of the rift. He wants to start over, and I think that’s a good idea.” Joy—is that this feeling? No, joy is too simple. What do you describe when after years of secretly hoping for something, it manifests? Relief doesn’t quite name it either.
“Really?” I question “There has to be more to it than you guys just talked”.
“Yes really, and yes there is more, but none of it paints me in a good light.” She sighs. Then she starts to explain. My grandfather had been trying to reach out for years, attempting to repair the rift between my mom and my grandmother. She wouldn”t go into too much detail about what caused the rift, but she did say she was guilty of letting anger control her actions. She blamed Grandpa for not standing up to Grandma.
After months of dodging his calls, he showed up to the inn every day this week and refused to leave until she had lunch with him. She only agreed today because he mentioned contacting me. That part of her explanation floods me with guilt. I’m the reason she was blindsided. She assured me that it was okay. The lunch went well. Grandpa finally had a chance to apologize. She admitted to being stubborn about the whole thing. After she finishes, it still feels like a dream.
“And to start this new beginning, we are going to have dinner with your grandparents, at their house. Tomorrow night.” Wow, that is soon. I was supposed to sleep over at Sarah Mae’s, but I’m sure she’ll understand. What should I wear? For holidays, it”s always fancy, but then, wait.
“Mom, are you sure about this?” I’m excited, but this can’t be easy for her.
She gives me her signature smile, still I notice it is laced with something. “I’m sure. It’s time. Now what movie did you choose for tonight?” The subject change is noted. I can ask her more questions in the morning. I give her my own mischievous grin. “How to Steal a Million,” she groans, but her heart isn’t fully in it. She loves the movie too. “Again? You know it word for word.”
I just shrug and she relents. “Fine, but I’m picking the candy.”
“Deal.”
The rest of the evening is spent pretending that our earlier conversation didn’t happen. In our own little world, we laugh and talk through the whole movie, imitating the characters and discussing Simon Dermott’s appeal and if he would still be considered handsome today. He would. This is where my happiness truly lies. With Mom in our apartment. Guilt begins to creep up for wanting more, but then it is squashed back down. I think she needs more too.