Magnolia
Friday morning I awoke with a pit of dread in my gut.
When I’d called my mother back, I’d agreed to meet with her in spite of my misgivings.
Today was the day. My office was the place. I’d intentionally insisted on meeting in my “territory” but away from my apartment. I didn’t need her knowing where I lived.
In the days since, I’d waffled between drowning in decades-old anger at her and blocking the entire situation from my mind.
If she had contacted me sooner, like years sooner, I’d hold a lot more hope that we might be able to come to some sort of peace. Instead I harbored about ninety-six percent anger and four percent hope that anything good could come of this.
I had no idea why she wanted to meet or why now. Part of me had wanted to refuse her and tell her where to stick it, but I had enough questions that I’d agreed. I’d find out what she wanted, ask my questions, get her out of here, and go on with my life.
I’d made our appointment time toward the end of the workday in case it was emotionally taxing. I was certain it would be.
Now it was nearly time for her to show up. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I eyed the bottles of wine and champagne in my drink cooler. I needed to keep my walls strong though, and even a small amount of alcohol could potentially weaken me. I chose a bottle of water instead.
I was sitting at my desk, trying to focus on the bar mitzvah celebration I’d booked yesterday, when the outside door opened exactly on time. My body tensed as I turned my attention to the outer room.
“Hello?” came the chillingly familiar voice from my past.
My stomach roiled as I stood and went to the open doorway. “Hello, Mother,” I said through a tight jaw.
“Magnolia,” she gushed, smiling nervously. “Look at you. You’ve grown up.”
“That’ll happen over the course of eighteen years.” I didn’t have it in me to fake pleasantness. The wounds were too deep. “Come in.”
Her grin disappeared, and she averted her gaze as she entered my office, giving me the opportunity to really look at her.
She was dressed impeccably as she always had been, in a silky blouse, tailored slacks, and high-dollar medium heels. Her jewelry was minimal but dripped with dollar signs as well. She looked almost the same, her face barely aged in nearly two decades—except for her eyes. Her eyes had a life-weary expression that went deeper than a poor night of sleep. I suspected she’d had work done to stay so youthful, because her eyes didn’t match the rest of her.
“Have a seat,” I said as if she were a potential client visiting for the first time—but with less warmth.
She sat, shooting me a cross between a nervous smile and a grimace. I merely watched her, not making any move to offer comfort or hospitality.
“Well,” she said, “I imagine you’re very busy and wondering why I’ve contacted you, so I’ll get straight to the point. I owe you two big, major apologies that I know will never be sufficient, but I hope you’ll hear me out.”
With a shrug, I said, “Go for it,” as indifferently as I could.
She inhaled, her insecurity oozing out of her like a bad stench from a dumpster, wiping her hands on her thighs as if they were sweating. “First…” Shaking her head, she looked off to the side. “I’m so very sorry I left you, Magnolia. I know an apology will never take that away, never fix your childhood, but I am genuinely sorry I had to do that. I won’t offer you any excuses other than…” She paused, seemingly searching for words, then shook her head again. “I can’t easily describe my state of mind then, other than I was beyond miserable, trapped in a terrible marriage, and desperate to get out of your father’s grasp.”
I frowned at the question that instantly popped into my mind. “Did he hit you?”
“That man’s abuse isn’t physical. It’s much more twisted and diabolical than that.”
I nodded, all too familiar with his manipulations and control games. “He was always like that. You left me with him, Mother. I was seventeen years old, and you left me with that.”
So much for keeping a lid on my emotions.
“I know,” she said in a rush. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’ve regretted that every second since.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe you. If you felt so bad, I would think you’d reach out sooner.”
Her face was pale, her eyes even more hollow than when she’d walked in. “I…couldn’t.” She blew out a shaky breath. “There are things you don’t know, Magnolia…things I’m not proud of. Reasons I’ve had to keep quiet.”
I waited her out, wondering if she was going to spill or if this would end up being just more BS from Bianca Lansford James.
“My marriage was an arranged marriage,” she said quietly, “dictated by my father for the sake of his business. Felix would not have been my choice. I know that sounds archaic, but believe me.”
