Maybe Matt's Miracle(42)

I get up and start to pace. I expect her to point to the chair and tell me how unladylike my tantrum is, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me. And she’s really looking at me like I have never seen her do before. Her ears and eyes are open. Dare I hope her heart is open, too? I shouldn’t. But some little piece of me still reaches for that hopeful feeling.

“I went to college and studied law just like Dad. And I went to social events and joined committees just like you. I attended fundraisers and made a general spectacle of myself, just to make you happy. And all I ever asked in return was for someone to love me. But you were incapable of it.”

She lights another cigarette, and I see a tear roll down her cheek. She doesn’t reach up to rub it away, and she doesn’t hide it.

“Mother, I don’t even know what to say to you. I have been so nice to you my whole life that I can’t even be mean to you now, not with a good conscience.” I sit back down and cross my legs. “Why did you come to the funeral?” My foot starts to twitch and swing, and I half expect her to tell me to be still. But I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

“I wanted to see what I was up against,” she says quietly. “I’ve always wanted to see.” She heaves in a breath. “When Kendra was small, I used to sit outside their apartment and watch him with them. He never knew I was there, but he wouldn’t have cared anyway. I sent him back to her because I was so f*cking miserable that I couldn’t let love in, even when it was staring me in the face.”

The wind blows her loose hair, and she tucks a strand behind her ear. “They’re innocent, just like you were. They deserve love, and for that reason, I’m glad they have you. No one is more capable of love than you, Sky. Don’t ever doubt that. You love and you forgive like no one else I have ever met.”

“I haven’t forgiven you,” I bite out.

She laughs. It startles me, and I grip the arms of the chair so tightly my knuckles turn white. “If you forgave me just after a conversation, I would think that you were weak and tired. And you are neither of those things, Sky. You are strong and brave, and you love without restraint. I wish I could be more like you.” She chuckles. “I’m planning to be more like you. I have some things I need to work through, but I’m getting there.”

“What’s it like being sober?” I blurt out. Yeah, I want to hurt her, but she deserves it.

“Hard,” she says. She takes a drag of her cigarette and stubs it out. “Really hard. Everything hurts. Every memory. Every thought in my head hurts because it’s all full of regret. I have regrets, Sky. I regret everything. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. I know you don’t trust me, and honestly, I don’t trust myself. So, if you want to walk out of here and not look back, I understand.”

She sits quietly, starting into the far recesses of the garden.

“I’d like to meet your kids,” she says.

I start to protest.

She holds up a hand. “Not right now. When I’ve earned the right. I’d like to meet them and get to know them. It’s sad what happened to their mother. She was a good woman.”

“How would you know?” I toss out.

“I met her a few times. We would get together for lunch. One time, I got drunk over a martini or ten at our lunch, and she took me home in her car. I didn’t use my driver because I didn’t want him to tell your father where I was going.”

“What happened?” I whisper.

“She was good and kind. She took me home and held my head over the toilet. Then she cleaned me up. She tucked me into bed, and she apologized for her mother ruining my marriage.” She chuckles. “But what she didn’t know was that her mother didn’t ruin anything. I did. I ruined all of it. I refused to let love in. And I refused to let it because I wasn’t worthy.”

I can’t even speak.

“When I found out she was dying, I went to her. She talked to me about the kids and her fears. She cried. I cried. I went home and told your father what happened, and I told him that he should ask you to help. That you had more love inside you than anyone I’d ever met, and that those kids would be lucky to have you. Then I went and got stinking drunk and almost killed myself on pain pills. Because giving you those kids meant I had to give up my hatred of them. I couldn’t stomach that. Your father helped me through the night. Then I did it again after the funeral. Your dad had to call 9-1-1.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” My foot starts to twitch again.

“Would you have cared?” She stares into my face. “You might have felt a moment of displeasure, but you would have gotten over it quickly. I wasn’t worth more than a passing thought to anyone, and I’d set it up that way myself.” She shrugs.

I sniff back my indignation. “I would have cared.”

She snorts again. “I would have been your mother that died. The woman who gave birth to you and then didn’t do anything else for you your whole life.”

Damn, that hurts to think about. But she’s right.

“Your dad says you have a boyfriend,” she says and smiles.

I nod. “Matthew,” I tell her. She doesn’t deserve the details.

“The one with the tattoos,” she says. “He’s very handsome.”

“He’s good and kind,” I correct. Then I smile, because thinking of him brings it out in me. “And handsome.”