I cringed a little, nodding. And recognition touched my mother’s eyes as soon as she saw my reaction.
I didn’t have to say a word for her to know who I was referring to.
“Alright, mwen chouchou,” she said, grabbing her smoothie from the bedside table. “Start talking.”
It was after midnight by the time I finished telling my mom everything that had happened, and we’d both experienced every emotion on the scale of human capacity. All the muscles in my body ached from the tension, the tears, the admissions, the revelations.
I walked her through every aching second of that last night at Bramlock, even though I knew I was adding a scar to her heart that would never heal.
No one wanted to imagine their baby girl getting raped.
But she held my hand through every painful detail, holding me when I was crying too hard to speak, giving me space when I needed to get up and pace just to finish a thought. And when I was done, when I’d caught her up on that night, I just kept right on, flowing into the depression of the months that followed, the hollowness, the lack of joy in my life even when I sat down at the piano.
And I told her about Reese.
I told her about our lessons, about the way he pushed me to dig deep, to face my demons, to take my pain and turn it into music. I told her about all that he’d been through, how he’d brought me hope in a time when I thought it would never exist for me again. I told her about the kiss, about how I ran away, and then how we somehow found our way back together.
Only so I could walk out again.
I was a mess, a complete disaster, and I’d just dumped all my shit on my mom’s lap and asked her to help me sort through it.
Tissues littered the bed around us by the time I’d finished, and Mom sat back against the wall again with an exhausted sigh.
“This is a lot,” she finally confessed, glancing at me with as much of a smile as she could muster.
“I know.”
We were both silent a long moment.
“What do you think?”
She sighed again at that, reaching for one of the bottles of water Aunt Betty had brought us when we’d skipped out on dinner. “I think I wish I still drank alcohol right now.”
I chuckled.
Mom watched me, her eyes skating over every part of me like she was seeing me for the first time. I guessed in that moment, she sort of was.
“We have to go after him, baby girl,” she said. “We can’t let Wolfgang get away with what he did to you, what he could still be doing to other girls at that university. We have to stand up, and we have to fight — even if we’re destined to lose. Do you hear me?” She sat up straight, crossing her legs again. “I know the odds are against us, and that it will be a hard fight, a long fight, but we will suit up for battle, nonetheless.”
I didn’t have any tears left to cry, but my throat constricted with the weight of her words. She wanted me to take Wolfgang to court, to press charges, to tell the whole world my story and let them judge it for themselves.
And I knew she was right.
He could still be there, right now, at this very moment, torturing someone else.
I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to stop it.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I confessed.
“I’ll figure that out,” she assured me, sitting back against the wall again. “But, we can talk about that later. Right now, I want to talk about the first person you felt comfortable telling all this to, the one who brought back your happiness. Because I think that’s the most important thing to discuss in this moment.”
I nodded.
“Now, I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about all of this. Reese is much older than you, and even though I know the connection you have with him is real, it does bother me that he was your teacher and allowed you two to get this close.”
I swallowed, tucking my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I felt like I was ten years old again, being scolded and grounded for skipping homework to play piano.
Mom eyed me sternly before taking a breath. “But,” she continued. “That being said, I also know that sometimes — most times — love doesn’t play by the rules we have set for it in society. And if anyone knows what it’s like to fight for a love with more than just mountains to climb, it’s your Manman.”
I smiled, reaching out for her hand to squeeze it, because I knew in that moment she was thinking about my dad, about their love, about their journey. Their interracial relationship in the deep south when my father had been in the political circuit had tested both of them. They’d had bricks thrown through the windows of their first home, had their shoes spit on by people passing them on the street, heard the most vicious threats from the mouths of absolute demons.
And still, they’d fought together — for their love, for their life.
I wished he were still here to live it with her.
“Let me ask you this,” she said, placing her other hand over where mine held hers. “Do you really believe what that woman told you about Reese, what your head is trying to convince you of? Do you believe he wanted something from you before he called his friend in New York, that he would use you like that?”
I dropped my gaze to my lap. “I don’t know how to not believe that… not after what happened.”
“No,” Mom said, squeezing my hand until I looked at her again. “I want you to really stop for a moment, listen to your heart, and tell me — do you believe Reese would ever do anything to hurt you?”
The tears I thought had dried up flooded my eyes instantly, because I’d known long before she’d asked, long before I told her everything, long before I’d even walked out his door that night we fought.
I knew Reese would never hurt me, but I still ran away.
“He would never hurt me,” I whispered, sniffing against the urge to cry again. “Never. Well, intentionally, anyway. But, even though he didn’t mean to, he still did, Mom. He still hurt me.”
Mom patted my hand again. “I know he did. And sometimes, when you love someone, you can’t see straight. Sometimes we hurt each other when we think we’re doing what is best.” She paused, considering her next words. “I think you’re right, though — I don’t think he would hurt you in any malicious way. Want to know what else I think?”
I nodded.
“I think you’re scared to fully trust him, and to let him into your life, because of what happened to you. And that is okay, Sarah.” She lowered her gaze, searching my eyes with her own. “Do you hear me? It. Is. Okay.”
I didn’t realize I felt it, that I was ashamed of my own feelings, of the way I reacted, of the way I pushed Reese away until my mom said those words. And when she did, I shook my head against them, face twisting with the emotion they left behind.
I had no one else to blame but myself for the position I was in with Reese.
And I couldn’t even fully explain why I’d put myself here.
“It’s okay that you ran away from him,” she continued. “That perhaps your reasons in his eyes or mine or anyone else’s don’t seem to make sense. It’s okay that your anxiety spoke louder than reality in that moment of time when he was trying to express his care and love, but it came out in a form that pushed all your soft spots. And it’s okay that your emotions won against logic — trust me, it happens to the best of us.” Mom pressed her lips together in a soft smile. “Honey, you do not have to always be okay. And if anyone will understand the war you had going on in your head, the war that may always go on for you, it’s Reese. You just have to tell him. You have to trust him. And you have to let him in. And if you can’t do that?” She shrugged. “Well, then he isn’t the right one.”