My One and Only(80)

“Really? Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’ll come back and check on her if you want.”

“Okay. Thanks, Nick.”

He gave me a little smile. “You ready?”

“Not really,” I said, but I opened the door anyway. My legs felt made of water, and Nick took my hand in his as we walked down the street, toward my past, toward my answers, toward her.

We came to the crosswalk. Right over there, across the street, my mother might be inside. Would she look different? What if she wasn’t scheduled for today? What if she’d quit? I swallowed.

“You sure about this, honey?” Nick asked.

I looked at him. “Yes. Yep. I’m sure.”

And then we crossed the street, and Nick opened the first set of doors into the restaurant foyer. I froze. “I don’t see her,” I said.

“Want to go in anyway?” he asked. I nodded, and he opened the second set of doors. A cash register. Green-and-white décor. A counter with stools. Booths.

There she was.

My mother.

Nick must’ve seen the resemblance, too, because I heard his quick inhalation. His hand found mine once more.

She wore black pants and a lime-green shirt. Her hair, once the same shade as mine, was redder now, and cut in a wedge style. She wore peach lipstick. White Keds. She was fifty-five years old, but she looked younger. She was still beautiful, and it was so strange, looking at her, seeing myself in twenty more years, I felt a flash of gratitude that I’d age well, and then a flood of longing so hard and fast my knees almost buckled and I couldn’t breathe.

“Welcome to Flopsy’s!” cried a voice, causing me to jump. “Can I help you?”

I turned to see a girl of about sixteen or so, her hair French-braided tightly back from her face.

“Table for two,” Nick said.

“Right this way!” she chirped, grabbing two menus.

My heart rolled and flopped in my chest as the girl led us to a table by the windows. She was so close now, but she was turning away, had she seen me, was she leaving?—no!—but it was okay, she wasn’t leaving, she was just talking to the cook.

“Two coffees,” Nick said.

“Your server will be right over,” the teenager said, practically skipping away.

“Harper,” Nick said in a low voice. “Harper, are you okay?” He reached across the table and took both my hands in his. “Honey?”

“I’m really glad you’re here,” I whispered.

And then the kitchen doors swung open, and my mother came over and took out her pad, groped in her apron for a pen. “Hello there,” she said, and her voice! My God, I hadn’t heard that voice in so long! It was still the same, and my heart flooded with love and hope.

“Hi,” I breathed. I drank in every detail…her still perfect makeup, her eyebrows, waxed thinner than they used to be, that mole on her cheek…I’d forgotten that mole! How could I have forgotten that mole?

“Can I get you folks a drink to start? We have the best milkshakes in the Midwest!”

Then she looked at me, right at me, and I waited for it—the shock, the recognition, the tears, the explanation, the utter and complete joy. The same love I felt right now.

“Or maybe just some coffee?” she said.

She was looking at me, but her expression remained the same. Pleasant. Querying. She glanced at Nick and smiled. “Anything to drink, folks?”

“Coffee will be fine,” someone answered. Oh. It was me.

“Coming up!” she said merrily. “We’ve got a tuna melt special today, and save room for some blueberry pie, because it just came out of the oven. Back in a sec!”

And then she was gone.

“Christ,” Nick breathed.

I didn’t say anything. My heart slowed and calmed…and seemed to freeze. Maybe it had stopped completely. But no, it was still pumping away. Right. I was fine. It didn’t matter. Then, realizing I hadn’t blinked in some time, I closed my eyes for a second.

“Oh, honey,” Nick said gently.

“Bye, Carrie, you have a great day, okay?” my mother called to someone. She came back to our table with two mugs, set them down and poured our coffee. “You folks decided what you want?” she asked.

Did she really not recognize me? But I was her baby…her only child. I was her little girl. And damn it to hell, I looked exactly like her.

“I’ll have the tuna melt,” I said, and my voice was normal.

“Same,” Nick said.

“Fries or cole slaw?” she asked. I hated cole slaw. I hated it. Didn’t she remember that?

“Fries for us both,” Nick answered.

“Coming up!” she said, scooping our menus from the table. She strode away, stopped to chat with someone at the counter, then disappeared into the kitchen once more.

“Harper, say something to her,” Nick said. He got out of his seat, slid around to my side and put his arm around me. “Tell her who you are! I can’t believe she doesn’t know.”

My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “No, it’s okay. If she doesn’t want…uh…” My brain was having trouble operating. “I think we should go,” I whispered.

“Honey, you deserve something from that woman,” he said fiercely. “Do you want me to say something? Tell her who you are?”