CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ~ ABBY ~ NOW #2
“It sounds dramatic, but it was one of the worst moments of my life,” I say, my voice shaking.
“As I got older, there was a part of me that almost had compassion for her. She was sixteen when she had me, which means she was barely twenty when she left. She wasn’t capable of being a parent, and if she’d stayed, I likely would have ended up hurt or worse.
But to know she got sober just a few years later and carried on living her life like I didn’t exist?
And then created a brand-new family while I had no one? ”
I shake my head and swipe at the tears trailing down my cheeks.
“I mean, that’s not entirely true. I had you guys, but not having a single blood relative was...
I don’t even know the right word. Terrifying?
Lonely? And then to learn that not only did my mother know where I was, but I had two siblings out there?
It touched on some deep childhood wounds and really fucked me up for a while. ”
“How did you leave things with her?” Graeme asks quietly. “Did you give in to your initial instinct to tell her to go fuck herself?”
This draws a half-hearted laugh out of me.
“She asked if we could meet again. She told me her husband and daughters didn’t know about me, but if I had any desire to have her in my life, she’d tell them everything.
She showed me a picture of my sisters, and they... they look exactly like me at that age.”
When my voice cracks, Graeme shifts in his seat as if he’s going to stand. I can imagine him pulling me to my feet and wrapping his arms around me. Instead, he lowers his head and presses a kiss to the back of my hand. My breath hitches, and I force down another wave of tears.
“As angry as I was, part of me was tempted to agree to meet her again and see where it might go,” I say.
“The idea of essentially stepping into this ready-made family was appealing. But then I wondered how her husband and daughters would feel once they learned she’d kept this huge secret from them for years.
What if they resented me? Or what if they liked me and we made an effort to get to know each other, and then it all went away, and I was left with even deeper wounds?
So I decided to do the one thing my mother never did: I chose myself.
My own sanity, my own peace of mind, and my own emotional safety. ”
“That must have been difficult,” Graeme says.
“It was, but it was the right choice, and I haven’t regretted it.
Weirdly, it was a catalyst for some big changes in my life.
I was unsettled for weeks after that day, and it forced me to take a good, hard look at my life.
I knew I wasn’t content with my job anymore, but I thought I was at least happy in my relationship.
It led to some heavy discussions with my now-ex, and it hit me that my life looked good on paper but didn’t feel good.
In fact, I’d become so numb, I wasn’t feeling much of anything. ”
Graeme tilts his head curiously. “Do you think it was depression?”
“It’s possible, although I think it was more like...
apathy. My doctor had put me on anti-anxiety meds a couple of years before, but it didn’t occur to me to go back to him for this.
I did get on a wait-list to see a therapist, but I was never able to actually talk to anyone.
” I give a helpless little shrug, and Graeme nods in understanding.
“I’d fallen into the life I thought I should have and should want,” I continue. “I’d created the stability I never had as a child: a good job, a nice condo, a loving boyfriend. But when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t picture what I wanted my future to look like.”
That’s not entirely true. There were a few times late at night when I attempted to conjure up images of my future.
Instead of what I expected to see—a job I loved, finally feeling at home with Rodger in our beautiful condo in Toronto, feeling true happiness—I saw shadowy images of this apartment, this city, and the man in front of me.
Graeme’s fingers tighten briefly around mine, and then he releases me to pick up his tea. “What kind of future do you see now?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know,” I say. “Jobs in publishing are limited in Kingston. I’ve been on the hunt for weeks and have applied for various positions, mostly at academic publications and non-profits.
A job is a job, and I’ll take what I can get, but I’m not excited about any of them.
I keep telling myself the trade-off will be living in Kingston again and being close to Drew, Brodie, and Fern. ”
Graeme’s gaze drops to the cookie in his hand. “I think you need to give yourself some grace. Knowing you, you have a bit of money saved, so you don’t strictly need to get a job straight away. You could take this time to figure out what you truly want.”
I nod slowly, taking a sip of my tea. “You’re probably right. I just can’t seem to get past that little voice in my head that tells me I’m a failure. That at thirty-five, I should have my shit together and should have accomplished more.”
“I hear a lot of ‘should’ in there,” Graeme says. “I’m going to tell you something my granny lived by. Are you ready?”
His cheeky smile draws a light laugh from me. “I think so?”
“Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye.”
My brain attempts to compute what he said. The way his accent wrapped thickly around the words makes me wonder if he was speaking Gaelic, but it sounded too much like English.
He chuckles and repeats the phrase more slowly. “Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye. It’s an old Scots saying. Means ‘what’s meant for you won’t pass you by’.”
“Oh. Ohh. Okay, I like that.”
“Thought you might. It’s not too late for you to make a fresh start and do things differently,” he says. “It’s also not too late to change your life completely...if that’s what you want.”
He gives me a pointed look as he salutes me with his mug and then gets to his feet. “Now, how do you feel about helping me make dinner?”
I blink at the abrupt change in topic. I’m reminded of the other night when I accused Fern of dropping a bomb on me and then walking away.
Maybe there’s a part of me that expects my loved ones to have the answers since I don’t seem to have them myself.
As nice as that would be, it’s neither fair nor realistic.
They can help me along the way, but ultimately, I’m the only one who can figure out what I want.
And I can’t help but think what I truly want is staring me right in the face.