11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
A narrow, winding path, lined with vibrant purple flowers, leads to the cozy coffee shop on Antigua where Harriet asked me to meet her. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. As I push open the door, the small brass bell hanging above chimes and sets my stomach on edge. My eyes dart around, looking for the woman who gave birth to me. My gaze lands on her, with her hands wrapped around a mug, steam wafting from it. One last calming breath, and I approach her.
She’s sitting in the far corner on a coiled metal chair that doesn’t look all that sturdy. My heart trips in time with each step I take. I’m not sure what her reaction will be to seeing me after all these years. Will it be anger? Contempt? Regret? But I don’t think she is capable of that last one.
As she looks up at me, her face comes into sight, with tears on her cheeks. A familiar weight settles in my gut as I take her in; her hair, as black as mine, is thinner and tinged with grey, and her brown eyes shine with more unshed tears. She is definitely skinnier than the last time I saw her, her face sunken in places that had been filled out. It’s probably on account of her strict diet of cigarettes and coffee.
Sadness bubbles below the surface when I look at her, when I take in this version of Harriet. I feel bad, even when I know I shouldn’t. Before I know what to do, she launches herself into my arms. Her body shudders as she muffles a sob.
“Oh, baby, I missed you.”
I pat her back lightly, remaining stiff in her arms. She must sense my apprehension because she pulls back, her cool hands still lingering on my bare arms, chilling me to the bone. Her eyes give me a once-over, her sudden switch in temperament throwing me off balance.
“My, my, how you’ve grown. It’s like looking into a mirror,” Harriet chides happily.
I want to tell her I haven’t changed that much since she’s last seen me, but I hold my tongue. My face twitches, the compulsion to frown overwhelming. I don’t want to look like her; I don’t want to resemble her in any way, but if you lined us up side by side, we could pass as twins.
“Hi,” I say as I tuck my hair behind my ears, not really knowing what to do with my hands.
“Sit, sit.” She waves her hands at me, motioning for me to take a seat. To add to the awkwardness I feel, the metal chair scrapes along the terracotta tiles, hissing back at me. Before I’m settled, she starts with the questions. “So, are you seeing anyone?”
I cringe. “Am I seeing anyone?”
Who cares about how I’m doing mentally or how my job is going? The most important thing is my dating life. I blow out a breath, overwhelmed with a tiredness I only ever get by being around Harriet.
Her thin brows furrow. “Don’t get hysterical. It was only a question.”
Oh, you’re going to cry now? You’re so emotional.
The memory is so vivid that I can’t help but jolt back, as if it’s happening in real time. Harriet looks at me strangely. I’m lightheaded, and I can’t breathe. I blink rapidly, my vision darkening at the edges, and her face slowly feathers back into view. You’re safe . I repeat it in my head until it sinks in.
I’m not four years old, waiting for Harriet to come back home after leaving me alone for five days straight. I am an adult, and I’m fully in control. She looks away from me, taking another sip of her coffee, oblivious to the chain of events she set in motion for me.
“Well, are you going to answer me?” she asks, clearing her throat.
Her voice sounds muffled, as if it’s coming from a tube. When I look down at my lap, my hands are shaking. I stuff them underneath me, hoping the shaking will stop. I feel like screaming, but my voice is being held hostage.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her. Harriet winces at the loud scraping of the chair. Her eyes are trained on me as I shoot up and almost lose my balance.
She opens her mouth to reply, but I’m gone before she can get a word out.
I have no control over what I’m doing, and I don’t know where my legs are taking me. All I know is that I need to get away from her. Something in me broke when Harriet said those words to me, once again invalidating my feelings and taking me back to a time when she would wield my emotions like a weapon. She acts so cavalier about it when those few words make my lungs feel like they’re burning from the inside out and every drag of breath is painful.
I barge into the single-stall bathroom and close the door. When I turn around, gasping for air, I’m surrounded by darkness. A pathetic whimper leaves me as I slap the wall, feeling for the switch. The lights blind me, and I rush to the sink, collapsing against it. I take in large gulps of air, feeling like I need more than I can get.
This panicky feeling hasn’t been this intense since I was a kid, but the farther away I get from Harriet, the more I can breathe. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. Not when I’m still struggling with nightmares from memories that happened so long ago. Not when I’m crying inside a bathroom and can’t calm myself down. Mascara streaks stare back at me when I look in the mirror.
I wipe my face furiously, angry that I’ve let myself get to this point—that I still let Harriet have control over my emotions.
“You’re okay, Monroe…”
Another flashback paralyzes me, taking me back to a moment I’ve tried so hard to block out. Harriet is furious, near belligerent. This time, she blames me for our eviction from the apartment. Fear grips my throat so tight I can’t breathe. I clap my hands over my ears and shake my head, hoping the screaming will subside, that she’ll go back to pretending I don’t exist. Her breath reeks of nicotine, the same smell that clings to all my clothes and makes the kids at school avoid sitting next to me at lunch.
I gag. My stomach lurches, and I dry heave into the sink. The taste imprints so heavily on my tongue that I strangle the tap and flush my mouth with water until it’s gone. I’m panting by the time I pull back, with wet patches soaking my shirt.
I haven’t had a flashback like that in a long time, but they still happen from time to time. I’ve tried to deal with the memories, or in actuality, ignore them, but that doesn’t seem like it’s working anymore. My chest rises softly, the panic no longer strangling me. I’m trying to calm down, but my brain won’t stop going in circles.
I could just cut ties with Harriet and be done with it, but there’s this annoying part of me that still wants to hang on to whatever’s left of our relationship, even though she’s been neglecting it for years. I know she can’t be there for me the way I want, but I still have hope. And that’s dangerous.
Tugging my sleeves down, I step out of the bathroom. I wrap the material tightly around my fingers, cutting off circulation. I swallow around what feels like sand and sit back down across from her. Despite not looking at her, I can feel her eyes on me. As I expected, she looks at me impatiently, waiting for me to explain myself.
“Sorry.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Could we start over? It’s been a long time. Maybe you could ask me how I’ve been?” Considering you haven’t asked me yet—or at all—over the past three years.
Harriet sighs, and she rubs her temples with the pads of her fingers. My pulse quickens at her signature move, and I wait for the inevitable shut-down, the moment when she’ll dismiss me, tell me I’m asking for too much and leave. But that part never comes. She only sighs again.
“You’re right.” She shakes her head. “Like always. Let’s start over. How have you been, Monroe?”
I find myself speechless for a solid few seconds, surprised that she isn’t offended and that she is willing to move on so easily.
I start small because I don’t know how long this will last. “I’ve been good, I guess. I’ve been getting more responsibilities from my boss at work.”
“That’s nice, baby.” I can tell she doesn’t mean it. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in what’s going on with me.
It’s heartbreaking when I remember how she never cared to know about my life. I didn’t have that when I was a kid, not in the past three years, and not now. It stings, but I’m used to it. Which might be the saddest part.
“How have you been?” I try to extend an olive branch.
Maybe if I give her another chance, she’ll take it. I always expect the worst with Harriet, but what if she really is just here to see me? To catch up?
She avoids my eyes, choosing a dimple on the metal table to focus on. My stomach sinks, and disappointment comes flooding in. “Eddie left me.”
Fuck. There it is, like clockwork.
My veins flow with a pain so visceral that I pinch my arm, trying to distract my mind from the phantom pain. “What happened?”
Harriet rubs at her chest. “That bastard cheated on me with some twenty-year-old skank. I should’ve seen it coming; nobody needs to go to the walk-in every day of the week.” She licks her dry lips. “I hope she gives him something. Then he’ll really have a reason to go to the clinic.”
“How long were you two together?” I ask, really wishing for a strong hit of caffeine to get me through this, but I can’t make myself move, so I just sit.
Harriet’s chin wobbles. “Three weeks.”
“I’m sorry.” But it’s disingenuous, and she can tell.
“You might not think I was serious about him, Monroe, but I loved him. I really did.”
My gut twists. What does she know about love? To her, love is a distraction, fleeting attraction and attachment, something to busy herself with. But then again, my perception of love is just as warped as hers. So, I can’t really cast stones when I have no idea what love even looks like. I think about it harder and realize that I can’t fault her for believing that she had found love.
“You’re right. I have no right to judge. I’m sorry.” I bite my tongue. “And I am sorry about you and Eddie.”
I’ve never been in love, or if I had, I wouldn’t have known it. Until recently, I found myself staying in a relationship because it felt almost addicting to have someone care about me, even when I didn’t really care about them. I stayed with my last boyfriend for half a year because it was more comfortable than being alone. After I noticed I was hurting myself more by staying with him, I broke things off.
Harriet continues, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I’ve already cried enough over that bastard.” She stands. “I’m gonna go for a smoke.”
She leaves the café, the door barely closing behind her before she fumbles with her jacket pocket and gets her pack of cigarettes and lighter out. I see the puff of white smoke billow around her and know I’ll be waiting at least a solid ten minutes before she comes back. I can set my watch to Harriet’s self-mandated smoke breaks. At this point, I am itching for some coffee, some much-needed relief in the turbulent sea that is Harriet.
I walk over to the counter, order an espresso, and down it the moment the barista brings it to my table. The sharp bite of roasted coffee lingers on my tongue as I glance outside, studying Harriet. She is nearly done with her cigarette, and my palms begin to sweat. How long do I have to stay? And if I leave now, will she even care? My mind rattles back and forth, and I’m buzzing with nervous energy. The buzzing continues until I realize that it’s coming from my pocket. It’s my phone.
Laryssa is calling, and I know I probably shouldn’t answer it, but she’s an avid texter, so it must be important enough if she can’t wait around for me to see a message.
I answer it on the third ring. “Hey, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back later?”
Whatever’s happening in the background is so loud I have to focus my hearing on what she’s saying.
“You missed the staff meeting, Mon. Todd was wondering where you were.”
Crap. I knew I had forgotten something. She just got here, and Hurricane Harriet is already distracting me enough to the point where I forget important things.
“ Shit ,” I hiss. “I’m sorry. Can you please tell him that something came up?”
Laryssa shouts at someone, muffling her voice like she’s covering the phone. “Yeah, I will. Anything I can help with?”
I’m thankful I have at least one person in my corner when these moments crop up. I moved multiple states away to ensure that my past never comes back, but sometimes, even when we try our hardest, the things that we avoid find a way of catching up to us. Clearing my throat, I debate whether I should tell Laryssa that my mother is the reason I missed that staff meeting. I know what she’s going to say, but maybe I need to hear it again.
I inhale sharply. “Harriet’s back.” To put it simply.
There’s a long, intentional pause. The silence is loud. Laryssa has always been there for me when it comes to all things Harriet.
She was there the last time Harriet blew into town, taking what remaining pieces of resilience I had with her. I felt rejected for what felt like the thousandth time, and instead of pushing down the hurt like I normally would have, I let it fester until I was so depressed that I didn’t leave my bed for days. But my friends pull me back, time after time.
It doesn’t matter that I’m older now; Harriet’s words still cut deep. Like when she chose a man over her own daughter or when she twisted my emotions and used them against me. It hurt every fucking time. Being reduced to nothing more than an emotional dumping ground rather than her daughter when another relationship didn’t work out sucked. Even as a child, it was clear that she cared about me as much as the revolving door of men she had cared about her.
“What does she want?” I can hear the hatred in her voice.
I sigh. “Take a wild guess.”
“She doesn’t deserve even a second of your time, Monroe. You know that. It will always be the same shit with her unless you change it.”
Her words slam into me. It will always be the same shit with her unless you change it. But that’s the problem. For as much as a part of me hates Harriet, hates how she has treated me my whole life, another part loves her with the same ferocity. It’s a constant push and pull. And a different part of me wins each time. I convince myself to give her endless chances. She’s your mom. She’s trying. This time will be different. Even when it never is.
“I know,” I mumble, feeling a dull ache spread.
I’m weak when it comes to Harriet, and she knows it and takes advantage of it. Whenever I come close to working up the nerve to confront her, I back out at the last second because I don’t want to cause more friction between us. Then it’s right back to listening to her wail about her man of the week, and I find it hard to dig myself out of that place.
“Do you need me? Where are you?”
I look around the coffee shop, knowing it would be so simple to let Laryssa come save me from this never-ending nightmare. But sometimes, you need to fight your own battles. Even if it’s a losing one.
“I’m fine. We’re grabbing a coffee together.” And it’s going exactly how I thought it would , is what I want to say, but I don’t want Laryssa to worry about me, so I go with, “And it’s going great. We’re actually talking.” A bitter smile tugs at my lips.
“That’s… great,” she says, not at all convincing.
Laryssa is fiercely protective of Kevin and me, and that’s what makes her such a loyal and amazing friend. I am incredibly lucky to have her, but I don’t think I want her here. Not when I know she’ll tell Harriet how she doesn’t deserve to be in my life and how she is a terrible excuse for a mother. I can’t stomach the thought.
“Monroe?” Laryssa asks.
“Yeah?”
She sighs heavily. “Take it from someone who has a special relationship with their mother; if the relationship is causing you more pain than it’s worth, maybe it isn’t worth it. You didn’t fail as a daughter. She failed as a mother.”
I spot Harriet making her way over in my peripheral, surprised she hasn’t just left. It would be on par for her.
“I have to go, Lar. I’ll talk to you later.”
Laryssa mumbles a weak okay before I hang up and pocket my phone as Harriet sits down.
“Who was that?” she asks me, not missing how quickly I get off the phone.
“Just a friend.”
Her brows lift. “A friend you’re sleeping with?” Her voice is hopeful.
“No, it was Laryssa.”
Harriet grabs her mug, her yellow-stained fingernails tapping against it. “Oh.” She doesn’t even try to hide her disdain.
Another espresso later and Harriet rambling on about Eddie some more, and we are actually having a conversation. She smiles at me, and it looks genuine. I get worried when she chuckles, the sound echoing from inside her mug.
“What?”
“You have that look on your face.”
“A look?” I blink, confused.
“The same one you got when you were a kid, like you’re holding on to a secret you can’t tell me about.”
I’m surprised. So she paid attention sometimes. I guess she’s right, though. I am secretly holding on to a lot, and I can’t tell her. I can’t find the courage to say it.
“I’ve changed a lot since I was a kid, Harriet. Sometimes, my face is just my face.” She flinches at my use of her name, but Mom seems like a stretch.
“I don’t even get Mom anymore, huh?”
I bite my tongue, intent on not adding more fuel to this raging fire, but I was never good at holding back, especially when I’m hurting. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”
“I don’t need to earn anything, Monroe. I’m your mother.” She raises her voice, the end of her sentence clipped with annoyance.
I look around and notice a few people staring at us. I sink a little lower in my chair, but I can’t even be mad, not when I expect nothing less from her. To be fair, making a scene in a coffee shop is about the tamest thing she’s ever done in public.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, really.” I try to find the words to get myself out of this. “You’re my mother; I’m not denying that.” My voice shakes. “But you’ve never been a mom to me.”
Harriet’s face pales and pinches in anger. “I don’t even know what that means.” She looks as surprised as I feel.
Anger and copious amounts of caffeine brew inside me, and my usual course of action, to take the high road, crumbles as Laryssa’s words linger. I’ve never told Harriet off before, but this is a step in the right direction. She pushes her chair back and jams her hands into her pockets.
Harriet’s eyes skim over me the same way she always does, with disinterest and apathy. A touch of ire peeks through. “I’ve changed, Monroe. And I won’t tolerate this kind of attitude from you anymore.” My attitude?
“If you can change, why can’t I?”
Her fists clench at her sides. But she doesn’t bother answering me. Instead, she turns her back and walks away. She never did fight fair. All my life, Harriet would storm off or start crying when we fought. And I’d end up being the mature one, even when I shouldn’t have been, and comfort and apologize to her when I did nothing more than tell her she was being a bad mother.
Before she’s out of earshot, she turns back. “When you’ve calmed down, come find me. I’m staying at Motel 8 up the road.”
Harriet leaves the café without glancing back, deftly manoeuvring between two tables on her way out. That’s what I get for trying to stand up to her. I’m only ever left with a sour taste in my mouth. Her backhanded way of telling me I’m too much for her to handle is something I’m used to hearing, and sometimes, I believe it.
Somehow, unconsciously, I catch myself changing parts of myself for those around me. Harriet, a boyfriend I don’t care about at all. To make them want to stay or to prove that I am worth something. It’s just another attempt to keep someone from leaving me. When they do eventually go, I don’t even recognize myself.
Trying to juggle Harriet’s emotions and keep mine in check is like trying to walk through fire, and I’ll be the one to get burned every time.