Chapter 8 - MY MOTHER AT THE DOOR
Mom came to my house eleven months after the attorney’s letter.
She rang the bell.
Did not use the emergency key we had never asked her to keep.
Progress.
Ethan opened the door.
She looked at him.
“May I speak with Natalie?”
He turned toward me.
My choice.
Always.
I nodded.
We sat on the porch.
Mom held an envelope.
“I’m sorry.”
I waited.
“For what?”
Her face tightened.
Good.
Specific apologies require work.
“For missing graduation.”
Pause.
“For calling Ethan unsuitable.”
Pause.
“For backing Claire when I knew parts of her story were false.”
Pause.
“For telling people you were unstable.”
There.
“And?”
She looked down.
“For letting your father use that story later.”
I stared.
“You knew?”
“I knew he was collecting statements.”
My chest went cold.
“I told myself it was only protection in case you became vindictive.”
“Was I vindictive?”
“No.”
“Was I unstable?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
She cried.
“Because your father was terrified of losing Blackridge.”
“And losing me?”
She covered her face.
That was answer enough.
Not that she wanted to lose me.
That she believed I would remain available.
Again.
Natalie understands.
Natalie survives.
Natalie comes back.
I said:
“I’m not ready to have you back in my life.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying.”
Good.
Then she handed me the envelope.
Four photographs.
My graduation.
Taken by the university photographer.
Me crossing the stage.
Me holding my diploma.
Me standing beside Ethan.
Mom had purchased them afterward.
“I know this is stupid.”
“No.”
She cried.
“I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
We sat quietly.
When she left, I kept the photographs.
Not the relationship.
Not yet.
The photographs.
May you like
Small steps.
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