“Of course I was going to take you to the concert.”
“And then what? Lean over before the encore and go, ‘Oh, by the way, I gave birth to you’?” Tears streaked his face.
Seeing Kenzie cry unmoored Oona’s own tears. “I just wanted to know you. Be part of your life.”
“You picked a creepy-ass way to do it. And this memory condition bullshit? I mean—you’re nuts. You have to be nuts.” A look to Shivani and Faye to back him up. “She’s nuts, right? That’s why she couldn’t raise me. And the legal thing is some kind of restraining order? Shouldn’t one of you be calling the cops right now?”
“As a matter of fact, we should,” Faye said. “But we’ll give Oona here a chance to leave on her own before we involve the authorities.”
But the thought of leaving now was unbearable. “Please, you don’t have to—”
“Enough.” The word a shaky growl out of Shivani. “You must go now.”
Shivani and Faye blocked her from Kenzie, the three of them gaping at her in unified horror, as if she were holding them hostage, wielding a deadly weapon. Anguish ripped through Oona as she pleaded, “If only we could all just sit down for a few minutes and—”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Kenzie’s high-pitched holler caused Oona to stumble back. “And stay the hell away from me. I have two mothers. I don’t need a third one. You’re a stranger. You’re nobody.”
Another step back and another until she turned and fled the vitriol of his words, the loathing in his eyes.
Oona thought nothing could surpass the humiliation Edward had dealt her, but this indignity before her own son made her feel even smaller, plunged her to a new depth of shame and despair. Astonishing how, no matter how far you fall, there’s always lower to go.
How many blocks did she walk before the streets became foreign to her? She’d left her stained sweater behind. Not that she’d go back to that house. Or High Strung. Or even her Beacon Hill apartment. This was over.
Oona flagged down a taxi. “Logan Airport, please.”
Boston was over.
* * *
It was close to midnight when Oona returned to Brooklyn. Her mother was waiting on her front stoop.
“Can we do this tomorrow, please?” How could Oona have any tears left? So dry inside, so empty. Yet her eyes blurred and a fresh sob threatened at the back of her throat. “I can’t do this right now.”
“You don’t have to do anything, my darling. Come here.” Madeleine put her arms around her daughter. “Shh, shh.” She tried to quiet Oona’s low wailing. “Give me your keys, let’s go inside.”
Slow heavy footsteps to the kitchen. She slumped in a chair as Madeleine put the kettle on.
“I guess Shivani called you.”
“She did. They won’t press any charges but asked me to forgo my annual visit.”
Eyes trained on the counter, Oona asked, “Is there any way for me to fix this?”
“Not until after they die.”
An anguished jolt of her head. “You know about that?”
Madeleine stood with a spoon pointed at the ceiling, chewed on her lower lip. “You never told me how or exactly when, but you let it slip that they die when he’s in college. Kenzie will come back to you then. He’ll need you then.”
“But he won’t, not right away. And he doesn’t need me now. Because he has two other mothers. Who know how to be good parents, which I clearly do not.” The words wooden, trancelike.
“If it’s any consolation, no parent really knows what they’re doing. We’re all faking it to some extent.” A kind smile. “But, my dear, I have no doubt you’ll be a wonderful mother to him when he’s ready to have you in his life.”
“When he’s fully grown. And the years until then—”
“Until then, let him go. Let him be angry with you. Let him get over it. Give him these years with two women who love him like he’s their own flesh and blood. It’s what he needs most right now.” The kettle whistled and Madeleine turned away to prepare the tea, a tremor in her shoulders.
Let him be angry with you.
That’s why he was so tense when she met him in 2003. All that pent-up anger for his mother wasn’t directed at Faye or Shivani. It was Oona. Years from now, after the women who raised him died, he wouldn’t be able to spend more than a few uncomfortable hours with his birth mother before running away to Asia.
“Every time I try to change things for the better, I end up ruining them,” Oona said in a low monotone. “No wonder I stopped warning myself. It’s not like I ever pay attention. I end up doing what I want, anyway. But the way I hurt Kenzie tonight, I—I never want to hurt anyone like that again. Especially not my son.” Bracing herself for another wave of pain, she let out a short breath when it didn’t come. If only she could remain this numb indefinitely. “I never listen. But I’ll listen to you, Mom. If this is what my son needs—if the only thing I can give him right now is … my absence … okay.” A sensation like something precious was torn out of her and scattered to the wind. Like that night in 2003 infinitely magnified. “I’ll stay away. I’ll listen to you.”
How many cups of tea had Madeleine served her, how many times had she consoled her? Whatever the year, whatever Oona’s transgression, her mother was always there to forgive and soothe. The least Oona could do was heed her wisdom once in a while.
The rest of the year stretched out, unpromising, an uneventful blur. Time would be her penance and she’d serve it.
Oona kept her pact to have no contact with her son, with one exception. When his birthday approached that May, she mailed him her platinum ring with the elongated wings. The same one he’d wear in 2003. She included the same short note she’d left herself. Her anger had left her burnt, but his wouldn’t; he would soar.
When New Year’s Eve came, it would be the first time she’d actually wish to leap to a future year in her timeline, to be reunited with Kenzie. And she’d get exactly what she wanted.
Well, maybe not exactly.
PART VIII
Wish You Were Here
2017: 53/25
28
Quiet. Dim lighting. A tightness at her sides. Oona came to in a plush chair, elbows wedged between the armrests as if glued to them. She blinked to get her bearings. Was she home? Yes, in one of the guest rooms.
A thirty-something man leaned over her. He wore a furry green vest over a black turtleneck. Hair like a white bird’s nest, big brown eyes filled with worry.
“Kenzie!” She wrapped her arms around him tightly.
Thank you.
“Whoa, easy, I think I heard a rib crack. Been a while, huh?”
“Yes and no.” She loosened her hold to get a closer look at her son. Lean, but with healthy color in his cheeks, shoulders no longer hunched with adolescent uncertainty or anger, chin tipped up a few degrees, self-assured but not arrogant. “God, I missed you so damn much. I don’t even care if I’m an old lady again, I’m just happy you’re here.” The best thing of all was how his eyes reflected warmth, love.