And now,” I asked gently, “now I realize I might have thrown away the most important relationship in my life for the sake of a Persian rug and social appearances.” Her voice was small, defeated. “I want to fix this, Mom. I need to fix this.” I sat back down across from her. “What you need and what you want might be two different things, sweetheart. What do you mean? You want to fix this because you’ve seen what I mean to Tommy and you’ve realized there might be benefits to having me in your life. But do you actually want me, Kalia?
Do you want your mother with all my flaws and limitations and embarrassing history? Or do you want access to what my relationship with Tommy might provide? She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. The silence stretched between us, filled with the weight of a lifetime of complicated emotions. I don’t know how to answer that, she finally admitted. At least that’s honest. What I do know, she continued, is that I love you. I’ve always loved you, even when I was ashamed of our circumstances. And I know that losing you would destroy me. I reached over and took her hand.
You haven’t lost me, sweetheart. But the relationship we had before, the one where I gave and gave and you took it for granted, that relationship is gone. It burned up with my farmhouse. Then what’s left? I don’t know yet. Maybe nothing. Maybe something better than what we had before. But that’s up to you to decide. She squeezed my hand. How do I decide? You start by going home to Louis and thinking about what kind of daughter you want to be going forward.
Not what kind of daughter you think I want or what kind will get you the most benefit, but what kind feels right to you and you? What will you be doing while I’m figuring that out? I looked around the beautiful library, thought about Tommy’s upcoming visit, about the peaceful life I was building in this place where I was valued simply for being myself. I’ll be living my life, Kalia. For the first time in decades, I’ll be living just for me. After she left, I sat alone in the library for a long time, processing everything she’d said.
The truth was painful, but it was also freeing. At least now I knew where I stood with my daughter. At least now I could stop hoping for something that had never really existed. My phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Tommy. Hope you’re having a good evening. Elena mentioned she’s making your favorite pot roast tomorrow. Can’t wait to join you for dinner. I smiled, feeling the knot in my chest loosen slightly. Some family is chosen, not born. And sometimes the family that chooses you loves you better than the family that shares your blood ever could.
Calia would have to decide what kind of daughter she wanted to be. But I already knew what kind of son Tommy was. The kind who flew 3,000 m to rescue the woman who’d rescued him first. 6 months later, I was sitting on my front porch watching the sunrise paint the mountains pink and gold when my phone rang. The caller ID showed Kayia’s number. Her fifth attempt to reach me this week. I let it go to voicemail. It wasn’t that I was angry with her anymore. Anger required too much energy, and I’d found better uses for mine.
I was learning to paint watercolors with an instructor Tommy had found for me. I was volunteering at the regional animal shelter, something I’d always wanted to do, but never had time for. I was taking a literature class at the community college, reading books I’d always meant to get to during those 40 years of working three jobs and raising ungrateful children. Most importantly, I was learning what it felt like to be someone’s priority instead of someone’s obligation. Tommy visited every week, sometimes twice a week when his schedule allowed.
He’d bring his laptop and work from my kitchen table while I cooked, just like when he was a teenager. Sometimes he brought colleagues to introduce to me. Brilliant, accomplished people who treated me with the respect due to someone who’d shaped their boss’s character. This is Ada, he’d tell them. She taught me everything that matters about integrity and loyalty. Everything good about who I am started at her kitchen table. Last month, he’d surprised me by having that kitchen table shipped from the old farmhouse ruins. Somehow, his people had found it intact in the debris, barely damaged.
Now it sat in my new kitchen, scarred and familiar, a bridge between my old life and my new one. The voicemail notification chimed against my better judgment. I played Kalia’s message. Mom, it’s me again. I know you’re probably tired of hearing from me, but I really need to talk to you. Things have gotten complicated, and I Her voice broke. I need your advice. Please call me back. I deleted the message without a second thought. Some lessons can only be learned through consequences, and Kalia was still learning hers. Through mutual acquaintances, I’d heard about those consequences.
Lewis had been passed over for a promotion at his firm after word spread about how he’d treated me. Apparently, his boss was a woman who didn’t appreciate men who called their mothers-in-law homeless. Their social standing in Milbrook had plummeted once the story got out. And in a small town, stories like that always get out. More significantly, Lewis’s business had started losing clients. Several of his wealthiest customers had mentioned they were uncomfortable working with someone who showed such disrespect to family. In their circle, reputation was everything, and Louis’s reputation was now toxic. The financial pressure was mounting.