When in Rome(88)

“Mom,” I say, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. “Why aren’t we close anymore?”

I hear my mom release a sigh, and I think it’s one of relief. “I wish I knew. I’ve wanted to bring it up for a while now, but didn’t know how. Is it me? Did I do something? Because I want to know and make it right if I did.”

I might have thought it was mostly her fault a few days ago, but now, I don’t think she’s the only one to blame. I should have spoken up long ago. Questioned my mom about the tabloid stuff instead of just blindly accepting everything Susan has ever told me. I wish I had fought for my relationship with my mom instead of quietly stepping back from it. I’m finding my voice now, though. “I think we have a lot to talk about and sort through, but I can’t get into it all right now. I just need you to know, I miss you a lot. And…” My voice hitches. “I love you. I want to get back to the sort of relationship we used to have.”

She breathes in deeply and then sniffles. “I want that, too. Yes, call me back when you can. Or we can FaceTime. Or I’ll fly to wherever you are. You name it! I’m just…” She’s crying—I can hear it in her voice. “I’m happy you brought it up. Things have been so weird between us, and sometimes, I’ve wanted to call you and catch up, but…I’ve chickened out because I’ve gotten the impression that you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“That’s because I thought you were selling stories about me to tabloids.” As well as the constant money requests and mooching, but I don’t feel like now is the time to mention that. Not sure I’m even ready to admit my feelings about it to her yet.

“No—hon. Please believe me. I have never once contacted anyone from the media and tipped them off to anything about you. I love you too much to do something like that.”

“I believe you,” I tell my mom because I really do. I can hear the earnestness in her voice. Plus, too many other puzzle pieces are falling into place. “But, Mom…is there anyone—even a friend you might have told that I’m in Rome, Kentucky, right now? Your boyfriend, maybe?”

“No, I haven’t even told him.” She pauses a moment. “But…actually. I did tell someone.”

“Who?”

“Susan,” she says, and it makes my pulse jump. “When I called her to help me set up the flight, she told me how worried she was about you and afraid something terrible had happened since you hadn’t checked in. She asked if I’d heard anything and so I told her what town you were in because she sounded really freaked out. Was that wrong? You normally tell Susan everything.” She sounds so concerned. History suggests that she’s only showing this worry because she’s afraid I’m going to cut her off financially. But in light of everything I’m learning today, I wonder if that’s not true. I wonder if some of the wedge between my mom and me only exists because of the woman I’ve given too much power over my life.

There’s no time to answer her question. I have a few more that need answers first. “Mom, a few years ago, for your forty-fifth birthday, did Susan ever send a car to pick you up for the surprise weekend away I planned for you?”

“What?” She breathes out. “No. I had no idea you did that. In fact, I thought you forgot about my birthday that year.”

I see red. Susan’s fingerprints are all over my relationship with my mom—and although it’s my fault for delegating so much to that woman, I thought she was a safe place. Turns out, she sabotaged my relationship with my mother. How could Susan do that to me?

“I actually had planned a fun getaway for us, and Susan told me when I sent a car for you that you declined, saying you already had plans with your friends.”

“Oh, Amelia. You must have been so hurt.”

I laugh but it’s not in amusement. “You must have been, too.”

“Well…” She lets it dangle.

My mom and I still have so much to talk through, and I need her to understand that only contacting me when she needs something has been hurtful. But first, I want to hear her side. Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture after all. Maybe she has been reaching out and Susan has been getting in the way—making a point to tell me when my mom asks her for something so she’ll look worse.

“Susan also told me you declined my invitation to join me for the first few U.S. dates of the tour. Was that true?”

“Absolutely not. I would love to come to those concerts—she never called me.”

I feel like I could punch through a wall right now. A Susan-shaped wall.

“Mom, I’m so sorry. I think…ugh, I think this is my fault. I’ve let Susan have too much power in my life, and…I’m pretty sure she’s been purposely getting between us.”

Now I think back to all the times Susan encouraged me to not confront my mom, but to just cut off communication with her, and I want to scream. How could I not see it? How could I let so many years go by like this without my mom? I had completely gone to sleep on my own life. Not anymore.

“Oh, hon—it’s not all your fault. I should have questioned things, too. Reached out to you even when it was hard. I’m so sorry, Amelia.”

“It’s okay, Mom. We’ll figure it out. I’ve got to go, right now. But I’ll call you tomorrow and we can talk through some more of this. Oh, and you’re absolutely invited to those concerts, okay? I want you there—I love you.”