The Co-op

Chapter Forty-Four

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

L A RYNN

She’s already waiting for me when I get to the restaurant, staring out the window with a far-off expression on her face, her hands worrying at a napkin. It’s a look she wore so often before, and I always got the sense that she was dreaming up another escape.

But in this moment, when she looks soft and unsure, I also remember the mom from my earlier childhood, the one who painted on the driveway with me and put flowers in my hair.

When she spots me she stands and smiles politely, but her posture hardens, her chin lifting like she’s fortifying herself with every step I take.

She pulls me into a stiff hug. “You look great,” she says when we pull apart, eyeing me from head to toe.

Not hello. Not I’ve missed you. A remark on my appearance.

“Thanks,” I reply darkly.

She huffs out a prim sigh. “What, LaRynn? Did I already say something wrong?”

I sit back in my chair and blink. Apart from my outburst a few months ago, I’d normally have cowed at the reaction. Followed it up with something placating, gaslighting my own emotions in the process. Immediately tried to make myself easier for her. Something like, “I’m sorry, I’ve just had a bad day,” or “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well.”

I’ve never felt like I could be messy, could be less than perfect, or could show my anger to either of my parents and still be loved. I’ve contorted and diminished myself to try to keep them happy. Or just to keep her there. Anytime I inevitably failed and exploded, I was the one with the mess to clean up. The one who was spoiled rotten, dramatic, the one who needed too much attention.

But someone loves me at home. Someone who loves my sharp edges as much as all my softer ones, too, and even the ones I haven’t quite got figured out yet. And I’m no longer afraid. I’m tired of acting fine just to spare her feelings.

“I haven’t seen you in over a year, and we’ve barely spoken in that time. So yes, Mom. I don’t like that the first thing you do when I see you is make a comment about my appearance.” I blow out a breath. “But that’s because when you say that to me, what comes to my mind is that of course you think I look great now. Because the last time I saw you, I’d just gotten out of the hospital the month before. I was weak and too thin and living on my couch. I was paralyzed by grief that I never had time to process because I was too busy trying to figure out how to support myself and live, and I hated myself for struggling with all of it at the same time. I had to sell every piece of furniture I had, had to… had to figure so much shit out on my own. All because I quit school. That’s what comes into my mind.”

She rears back, shaking her head in disbelief. “How was I supposed to know you were in the hospital? You didn’t call me. You didn’t tell me.”

“And that is something I am working on. I own that. But why would I think you’d come?” I heave a big breath, You’ll be so happy you were brave ringing through my brain. “When you’ve so rarely shown up for me before. I’ve felt… Mom I’ve felt abandoned so many times. I’m sorry if there’s something I’m not considering, and I’m sorry if I’m not making this easy, but I have to be honest.”

Her mouth hangs open before she shuts her eyes hard. “I wish you would have told me,” she says. “I would have come. I would have shown up.” She looks back at me. “Because I did come back. I did. I tried and stayed, even when I felt stuck, so that I could be there for you .”

“And you never let me forget it,” I say helplessly.

She sits back and blinks rapidly. Our waiter comes by and fills our waters, tells us about the specials. We make quiet selections while we stare awkwardly at our menus.

When we’re alone again I look back up at her.

She blows out a wobbly breath. “I’m… trying. I want to try to be in your life, and it feels like you won’t let me,” she says.

“Then I think we have to stop trying to skip over the past. You can’t expect someone to forgive you without ever apologizing.” A few tears fall to my napkin. “You act like we have something we never really had, because I think you’d rather just pretend and start over. It feels like now that you’re happy, you want me in your life. But I don’t think this should get to be circumstantial that way, Mom.”

Her brow crumples as she hiccups through a cry, too. “I know.” She gives a broken shrug. “I just don’t know where we start.”

I shrug, because I’m not sure either. “I think maybe here, ” I say, voice fragmented. “Maybe here is where we get to start.”

Just like the house that once felt like it would never be done, like there was more to fix or address around every corner… even in the mess, I think this is still livable, too. There’s something to love here, in this place where our relationship exists. And maybe if we keep working at it, eventually it will be somewhere comfortable—maybe even lovely—too.