Shaking my head in a crazed type way – like the freaking crazy woman I was today – I shoved them at him and said, “I can buy my own damn gloves, Griff. Screw needing a man in my life to do shit for me, because that clearly isn’t working out for me.” My eyes dropped to his chest before shifting back to his face. Gesturing at his body, I said, “And for the love of God, would you please put some clothes on? When the hell did it become alright for men to answer doors dressed in towels?”
Without waiting for a reply, I turned and stalked down the stairs, across the street and into my house.
Goddamn, fucking men.
And then I collapsed onto my bed and let the tears stream down my face.
Today was one of those days where it felt like everything and everyone was out to get me. My boss, my sister, my mum, and the man I wanted so damn bad.
But mostly, it was my mum.
I cried the tears that my nine-year-old self had cried when I came home from school to find my mother gone, and in her place, an aunt who didn’t want me.
I cried the tears that my thirteen-year-old self cried when I got my period and didn’t know what the hell to do because my mother hadn’t been there to teach me and hold my hand through the transition into puberty.
I cried the tears that my seventeen-year-old self cried when my heart had been broken by a boy for the very first time.
And I cried the tears
that my twenty-eight year old self had cried last year when I’d made the decision to let my mother go – when I’d finally decided she was never coming back so I was best to move on and find love from other people.
My mother didn’t love me enough to ever want to be in my life so why should I now love her enough to be there for her when she was sick and reaching out to me?
And – oh, God – did it make me a bad person that I didn’t want to go to her?
* * *
I cried myself to sleep and slept for a few hours until someone banging on my front door woke me. Trudging to the door with a heart that felt as heavy as it had before I fell asleep, I hoped it would be someone who had good news for me. I was over the bad for today.
Magan stood on the other side of my door when I opened it. She gave me a small smile and simply said, “I’m sorry.”
I burst into tears again.
She stepped inside and put her arms around me. “I’m such a bitch,” she apologised as she hugged me.
Her touch was just what I needed, and I clung to her for a couple of minutes while the tears fell. When I let her go, I wiped my face and said, “No, you’re not. It’s just a shitty situation, and on top of that, I’ve had other crappy stuff happen today so I’m a blubbering mess. Just ignore me.”
I led us to my kitchen and put the kettle on to make tea. While I made it, she sat at the kitchen counter on one of the stools and watched me.
“How’s Mum?” I asked. God, it felt strange to call her that. In my opinion, the name ‘Mum’ was reserved for someone you knew almost as well as yourself, and I didn’t know this woman at all.
“She did have a heart attack, so they’re keeping her in for more tests. They’re talking about an operation or something to help her. But she also has diabetes that she hasn’t taken care of so they’re helping her with that, too. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be okay, though.” She paused for a second and hesitantly said, “She asked about you. Said she wanted to see you if you were up for it.”
Apprehension ran through me, and my hand moved to my chest as I took a deep breath. “I’m not sure, Magan. I need some more time to work it out in my mind. I’ve spent my life desperately wanting her in it, but last year I got to a place where I accepted she didn’t love or want me. To rework that will take some time. Can you understand that?”
“Sort of, but mostly, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want her in your life. I think about her pretty much every day and am so glad she’s come back.”
I squeezed her hand. “I’m happy for you, but for me, I just don’t trust she’s back to stay, and I don’t think I could take another rejection from her. I think it would break my heart completely.” My voice caught and I swallowed back more tears.
I can’t do it.
I can’t take the chance.
She stared at me for a moment, like she was really processing what I’d said. When she spoke, her words broke my heart. “That, I do understand. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you…you never got to see her again after she left you…at least I have. I saw her twice in my life – once when I was nine, she came to see me on my birthday, and then when I was thirteen, she came to one of my sports days at school.”
The thing that broke my heart the most about her words was that she was so happy to have seen her mother twice in her life – twice. In a world where most children take for granted that they’ll see their mother’s face every morning when they wake up, here was my sister, happy she’d been blessed with two visits. This made me want to visit the woman even less now. I felt my indecision begin to blur into anger and tried to shove it away. Anger never solved anything. In my experience, it only ever seemed to make it worse.
I finished making our tea, and as I passed her a mug, I said, “Can we change the subject for a bit? I’m feeling overwhelmed with this and need to think about something else or I might start crying again.”