Right now, it’s empty, but with how close we’re getting, the village organizers have already told us to expect a heavy crowd tonight. People always leave things to the last moment, plus, lots of people are on vacation now and using the time to shop.
“Yeah,” I agree, laying out the tissue paper we’ll use to wrap up the purchases. “It’s wild.”
Last year, Sienna started gaining real traction after years of working on her beauty product business, and after getting some success online, she’d applied for this spot on a whim, mostly not thinking she would have ever won a spot of the other many, many small businesses in Chicago.
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sienna says, giving me a quick side-hug.
“Is that your physical affection quota for the day?” I ask, and she sticks her tongue out at me.
I’m just about to launch a full-on hug attack at her when my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. Stomach flipping, thinking—hoping, hating that—it might be Russell, I reach in and pull it out, only to find an automatic caller I.D. I’ve never seen before.
ALBANY REHAB CENTER.
“Who is that?” Sienna asks, looking over my shoulder. “Not Russell?”
“No,” I say, as I put the pieces together. I know plenty of people in New York, but none of them well enough to warrant a call from a rehab center.
Except for two.
“Hello?” I try, nervously.
“Juliette, baby,” my mother says, before bursting into an intense round of crying. I stand, paralyzed in my spot, my entire body flushing with confusion and flashes of the past.
“Mom?” I try, gently, instincts warring inside me. One presents all the time she’s hurt me and tells me to get off the phone, to let her deal with her own shit and block her like Russell suggested when he saw the texts.
The other part of me is just a little girl, seeing her mother cry, wanting to make everything better. Desperately wanting the relationship, she sees with other girls and their mothers.
“Juliette,” she says again, after seeming to gather herself. Someone else is murmuring on the other side of the line, comforting her. “Hi, I’m—I’m so glad you picked up.”
“Uh,” I say, because I have no words. Sienna stands at my side, her hand on my elbow, her eyes fixed on me with alarm.
“I’ve been sober for nearing three weeks now,” my mother says, letting out a breath. “Normally, I wouldn’t quite be in this step of the process, but…the last few texts I sent to you have been weighing heavy on my heart.”
I hold my breath, like any sudden movement might break the illusion of what’s happening right now.
“I’m learning to live life without alcohol,” she says, clearing her throat. “And I’ve—I have left your father. I know it’s not reallypossible, but I’m calling to make my amends.” Her voice is choked, nothing like the regal, collected tone I’ve come to associate with her. “I haven’t been a good mother to you, Juliette. Through reflection, I can see that now. We—I—always placed so much pressure on you to be someone you didn’t want to be. I placed your father’s career above everything, including my own health and your childhood.”
This has to be some sort of hallucination.
As a girl, I’d always dreamed that my mother would come to her senses. That she would stop drinking and realize how dad’s role affected our family.
Now, I can’t stop the feeling that it might be too late.
“I’m not asking for your forgiveness, only taking accountability for what I’ve done. It’s fairly vague to mention your entire childhood, I know, but is there anything specific you’d like me to take responsibility for? Starting now, I’m on the path to make things right. And I want to do that for both of us.”
When she finishes her speech, I stand completely still and silent, and Sienna squeezes my arm.
“Juliette, are you there? Sorry, I know this is a lot.”
“…I don’t know what to say,” I finally get out, blinking fast as hot tears push up against the backs of my eyes. “This is—I mean, this is unexpected.”
To my surprise, my mother laughs on the other end of the line, throaty and choked, caught somewhere between amusement and sadness. “It issogood to hear your voice.”
Once again, silence. Then, “I can’t even begin to ask for your forgiveness. But…if I call you again, would you consider picking up?”
Slowly, bringing both my hands up to my cell like it’s an old phone I can cradle against my ear, I nod, close my eyes, and say through a thick throat, “Yeah. I can do that, Mom.”
With that, we say a quick goodbye, and I rush back into my body, remembering where I am. Standing in the booth with Sienna at the market, getting ready for opening.
