Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

“So it’s my fault they aren’t here.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Isn’t that what everyone thinks?”

“This was never easy for any of us, Neevah.”

“Oh, yeah. It was so hard for Brandon to sleep with Terry and get her pregnant when he was engaged to me. And poor Terry, having to cheat with my fiancé.”

“It was hard for you, Neevah, I know that, but they were young. Terry was pregnant. They didn’t have no money and—”

“They had you, Mama. What did I have? Who did I have?”

“Neevah, you were always self-sufficient. I knew you—”

“I was eighteen years old and had rarely left Clearview, much less moved by myself to another state. Living on my own for the first time.”

“You could have come home. I tried to be there for both of you, but sometimes it felt like you didn’t want anything to do with us anymore.”

“You think I wanted to see her pregnant and them married and with a baby? To be reminded how they cheated and lied to me? I was angry. I was hurt, and yeah. I didn’t want to be around them for years, but I wanted to be around you. It felt like you chose her over me.”

“The body sends help to the part that needs it most. She had a rough pregnancy. She couldn’t work for a while. They had no money. She was living here. I guess I thought you were happy chasing your dreams and Terry needed me more.”

“I needed you, too.” I sniff at the tears, now uncorked, slipping freely down my cheeks. “I still need you, Mama.”

Mama reaches across to take my hand, bridging not only the space between these old chairs, but the space that has separated me from her for years.

“I’m here, now, Neev. I should have been there for you more before.” She swallows, purses her lips, and lets her tears flow, too. “I’m sorry.”

I was right. An apology does feel better than an excuse. The healing property of those two simple words salves my heart, broken and dented by the ones who should have loved me enough.

“It’s not all on you, Mama,” I say, squeezing her hand, squeezing my heart. “I could have done more. I’m sorry, too.”

And the power of those words, said from her to me, said from me to her, pulls us out of the rocking chairs and up and into each other’s arms. Not a hug in passing, but a tight one that grips and heals. We can’t repair everything in one night, in one conversation, but these words and Mama’s arms around me go a long way—go the right way. We are on our way back to each other. This new beginning with my mother is the greatest gift. It’s restoration, or at least the start of one. I don’t know how or when it will happen with Terry.

Or if it ever will.

Mama sniffs, pulling back to smile as I swipe at my wet cheeks, too.

“I think we have a lot to catch up on,” she says, sitting back in her chair, setting it to a rocking rhythm. “How ’bout you start by telling me everything.”

I tell her about the lean years during and after college when I needed so much, but didn’t know how to ask for it. When I couldn’t swallow my pride to call her because I resented how she was there for Terry, but in my eyes, wasn’t there for me.

“That night on Broadway, I thought of you. You were the only thing missing,” I whisper, “That was just one moment in a million I wanted to share with you. When I needed you.”

“Neevah,” Mama says, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I thought you didn’t want nothing to do with us. And I understood. After what Terry and Brandon did . . . well, I understood, but it did feel like I lost you, too. And now I know you felt like you lost me.”

I hesitate over the next words, but decide I should say them. “Mama, I found out I have discoid lupus.”

Mama’s eyes go round and she reaches for my hand, holding it in both of hers. “Lupus? Like your Aunt Marian?”

“Not that kind of lupus. The kind she had was systemic and what I have is discoid. I have the rashes and some hair loss, but it’s not life-threatening. When we were still figuring it all out, though,” I say, blinking at fresh tears. “I wanted you. I wanted to ask about it, and even then just decided to try and figure it out on my own.”

“Well, your Aunt Marian and I were never that close,” Mama says, twisting her lips. “Nobody was good enough for her baby brother, but it was a long time before she even got her diagnosis. Things were different then. They didn’t know as much.”