I moved out of my aunt’s house after graduation because it was better for us. Our relationship is ten times better than it was when I lived there, and we’ve become much closer. Now she can just be my aunt and not have to act like my mother. But she needs to know about my actual mother, because I don’t know what this means. I shoot her a quick text as I grab my order notebook and head back out to the front of the restaurant to take some tables.
My mom called me. She’s still alive. She sounded clean. She was clean enough to find my number and track me down. What does she want? This is a good thing, right? My mind can’t stop racing. Even when I’m smiling at people and rattling off the specials, making sure they have enough water and french fries, I’m not focusing because Mom called. She called.
The practical part of me is a little wary, but the kid who got dumped and shipped off to live with relatives is excited. All I’ve ever wanted is for her to be okay, and for us to be a family again. Maybe that can finally happen? I don’t know. But I’m watching the clock move like the slowest thing in history as it counts down the time left on my shift. I’m going to call her as soon as I get home. I’ve already decided that. I can’t not.
Even though there’s a text from my aunt saying that this is probably a bad idea. I never had closure, and I need it. If I don’t do this, I’m going to hate myself because I’m going to wonder what would have happened if I just called her. When my shift ends, I get out of the restaurant as fast as humanly possible and drive home way too fast. I’m lucky that I don’t get pulled over.
I don’t even take off my coat before I’m dialing the number. And it’s ringing. It’s ringing… and nothing. No answer. No voicemail. Just dead silence.
Shit.
I knew that this was too good to be true. I got my hopes up just like I used to when we lived in Virginia. I push away the sudden feeling of crushing loneliness that begins to seep in, and toss my phone onto the couch and take off my coat,. There’s a small sound, and I turn to see my phone lit up, vibrating. I hate the way hope races up through my body, but I grab the phone and it’s the same number.
“Hello?”
“Peter?”
My eyes get watery. “Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetie!” She sounds so happy. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“You too.” I can’t keep the emotion out of my voice, so I don’t say anything else.
She sighs. “I know things weren’t great when everything happened, but it’s better now. I’d really like to come see you, if that’s okay?”
“I’d love to see you,” I say, and it’s true. It’s one of the only things I’ve thought about since I moved up here, and even more since Amber left.
“When are you free?” she asks. “I’m in between jobs right now and it’s the perfect time. I really want to make this work for you.”
I do quick mental math before answering. “Next week? I’ll still have to work, but I can take a couple days off. Maybe you can see Aunt Lily too.”
“That would be nice,” she says, though it’s not as enthusiastic as the rest.
I honestly don’t know what to say right now. There’s a ton of stuff that I know I need to say, but I’m not sure that I’m ready, or that I should say any of it over the phone. “How are you going to come up here? Are you still in Virginia?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I thought I’d take the train. The train seems nice.”
“Okay. You’ll let me know when you’re going to get in and stuff?”
I feel like I can hear her smile through the phone. “I absolutely will, sweetie. I’ll text you when I have my ticket. Talk to you soon?”
“Yeah.”
“Bye!” she chirps happily before hanging up.
I slump back on the couch, my mind spinning just as much, if not more. This is a lot. Going from having no idea if your mother is alive to making plans to see her in less than four hours is more of a ride than any rollercoaster out there. I’m going to see my mom. My mom. Joy bubbles up in my chest, and I want to call Amber and tell her about it.
I barely catch myself before a slice of new pain rips through my chest. It’s been a year. More than that, and nothing has changed. Every bit of news or development in my life, I want to share with her. I wanted—want—to share everything with her. She knew how much I wanted to see my mom again, and I like to think that she’d be happy for me. I like to think that her eyes would light up like they would whenever she was excited, and that she’d throw her arms around me and kiss me until both of our excitement turned into something else.