As I take a seat, my gaze keeps cutting to the man sitting next to her. I haven’t seen her in years and she brought her boyfriend? You’ve got to be kidding me. This is strange. Even for her.
“I’m so happy to see you, Blue,” she says and reaches across the table to squeeze my hands. Her long, bony fingers wrapping around mine feel cold and dry. The gesture is unfamiliar. Her smile brittle. I know she’s nervous too, but it’s not my job to make her feel better.
The awkwardness is palpable and she immediately retracts her hands. This whole thing is awkward with a capital A. “Isn’t my daughter beautiful, Matthias?”
Matthias, whoever the fuck he may be, is quite obviously younger than my fifty-two-year-old mother. I’d say closer to forty-two. I don’t know why this bugs me but it does. I sure hope young Matthias knows who he’s gotten himself involved with.
Matthias throws a long, slender arm around her shoulders and smiles. “Beautiful just like you.”
I can taste the bile surging up my throat.
A waiter approaches to take our order and I’m suddenly not hungry. “Just water for me,” I tell him. The two lovers order lunch salads and the table falls silent once again.
“So… You wanted to see me,” I say, kickstarting the conversation. Why drag this discomfort out longer than necessary. “Why am I here?”
The good manners my father taught me would require that I include the boyfriend in our conversation. I just can’t. For now, I’m going to pretend Matthias doesn’t exist and operate that way for the rest of this very short lunch.
My mother takes a sip of water. “Matthias and I––”
“I’m sorry, who is he?” I turn my attention to the man with his arm around my mother and break my own rule less than a second later. “Who are you?”
“My fiancé,”––her smile crumbles–– “soon to be my husband.”
I’m speechless. For the first time ever, I am at a complete loss for words. My brain tries to process what she said, but something in my psyche won’t allow me to accept it.
“Matthias works for the UN,” she continues. “We met in Haiti––”
I wave a hand to stop her because I really don’t want to hear anymore. “I thought you actually wanted to see me, but instead you coerced me here under false pretenses to… introduce me to the man you’ll run out on in a few years?”
Cheap shot, I know. But I’m wavering between being once again devastated by her callousness and spitting mad for letting my issues with her cloud my judgement. They say doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is the very definition of insanity. I’m think I’m there.
“Blue,” my mother’s young lover starts in. “I know I have no right to––”
“Has my mother told you that she left us the day after my sixth birthday and didn’t even bother to tell me she wasn’t coming back?”
He rightfully looks apologetic on her behalf. “She did––”
“Did she tell you how she promised to make it to my elementary school graduation and never showed up?”
Matthias glances at my mother, whose increasing uneasiness is written on her face, with pity.
“Blue,” she says, jumping in, “this is why I wanted to see you. I’m trying to make amends. I want to apologize for all the broken promises––”
“Why?”
It’s pointless to ask how she intends to make amends because I can’t even fathom how one would go about making amends for deserting a child. Did she bring a time machine with her?
“Why do I want to make amends?” she asks in a confused, almost childlike voice. She licks her lips, her gaze darting to Matthias for moral support.
“Why now?”
“Because it’s been weighing on me…” Their eyes lock and he squeezes her shoulder like she’s a damsel in distress instead of a narcissistic escape artist. “Matthias and I feel like we can’t make a clean start until I make amends to you and Alan––and I want to. I’ve wanted it for such a long time, I just didn’t know how to go about it.”
“Dad said you asked him for a divorce. Now I know why.” Here’s looking at you Matthias. “So let’s recap. You came to L.A. not to see me, but to get a quick divorce from Dad and to give me the head’s up that you’re getting married. Did I get it all?”
Her shoulders fall. “You make it sound so terrible––”
“The truth sometimes is terrible.”
Her face then does this weird thing. Her mouth shapes into a forced smile that makes her look insane. “You’re gaining a sister,” she continues. “Don’t you want to know about Callie?”
Lord help me. And I thought this couldn’t get any worse.
“Matthias has a thirteen-year-old daughter that he’s been raising by himself…” Matthias once again gives her a reassuring squeeze “…until we met.”
“Callie’s dying to meet you,” Matthias says, forcing himself into the conversation. “She goes to a boarding school here in L.A. We told her all about you already.”
So much to unpack here. I blink, incapable of having any other reaction. I don’t know what’s worse: that this poor girl has been manipulated by two people who should be protecting her or that they went to see her first. I know it’s petty, but consider that this is the woman who told me to ask my father to explain tampons because she was at a political rally in Bolivia and the phone call would’ve cost too much.
Sliding out of the booth, I stand and slip my handbag over my shoulder. “The saddest part about all this is that it shouldn’t surprise me. And yet I’m…” The words rising from deep within my chest get stuck. “Congratulations on your impending marriage. For future reference, keep me out of your plans.”
“Blue…” Athena calls after me as I walk away, no temptation to ever look back again. From here on out, I choose to focus on the present.
Chapter 12
At present… I can’t find the blue truck. Where the hell is the blue truck? Frantic, heart thumping a heavy beat, I search row upon row, my feet moving more and more quickly. And still, I don’t see the blue pickup. This shouldn’t be difficult. It’s pretty much the only pickup truck made in the 60s that’s still around. It’s dirty, old, and dented. Who the fuck would want to boost it?
Doubt creeps in. Did I lock it? I thought I locked it. Is Mona covered for theft? Can we afford another big expenditure right now? No. We can’t. And that truck may be a clunker, but it runs really well.
After an hour of being slow roasted, having taken a few laps around the parking lot, my frustration boils over. I sit on a bench and tears crowd my eyes. It’s all too much. I refuse to ugly cry, however, and bite my lip until the pain distracts me from the state of my life.
I dial Mona’s cell number and it goes straight to voicemail.
“Hi. It’s me––” A hiccup breaks free. I’m really not a crier. It’s that Athena has once again managed to reduce me to the lowest common denominator of myself.