“Despite the fact that you left me with social services?” I say.
Her eyes fill with emotion. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I could swear I see remorse.
“Was our house like this?” I ask her as she gestures me to take a seat.
I move aside a pile of coats and sit down gingerly on the edge of the couch.
“No, you never lived here,” she answers, misunderstanding my question.
“No. I know that. I meant, was our house messy like this?”
“Oh.” She thinks for a second. “I guess. I’ve always been a bit of a saver. Don’t like to throw stuff out.”
Really? You seemed to have no trouble getting rid of me.
My mother awkwardly takes a seat in the armchair across from me. She crosses her legs slowly and then begins to shake her foot in the air. Over and over again.
“So,” she begins. “How have you been?”
I can’t take my eyes off her shaking foot.
“I’ve been okay. Working at an ad firm in L.A.”
“Oh, nice.” She nods. “And are you married?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, me neither.” She takes a deep breath. “Look, Jasalie, this is rather awkward for me.”
For you? What do you think it’s like for me? I’m the one putting myself out there. I’m the one who has to worry about being rejected.
“I just don’t interact with people real well,” she says. “You know that.”
“No, Mom, I don’t know that. How would I?”
“Well, we did know each other once. It was a long time ago, but…”
“Mom, I was four!” I stare at her. “Seriously, what do you think I remember? Other than the fact that you abandoned me?”
“I did not abandon you, Jasalie.” She says it firmly like a therapist helped her reach this decision. “I gave you up for a better life.”
“You sent me to social services with hundreds of other kids. I became part of the system.” I didn’t realize I was still so angry about it, but my shaking voice gives me away. “It’s not like you helped to hand-pick a family for me.”
“I did the best I could. I even moved us away from Tucson and out to L.A. for what I thought would be a better job. Turned out to be a hoax. And after that…I didn’t have a choice. I really didn’t.”
I stand up. “You always have a choice, Mom. Always.”
“Jasalie.” Her voice shakes. “I’m sorry. I loved you. I still do.”
“You don’t let go of people that you love. Not unless they ask you to. And I didn’t ask.”
“I couldn’t be a mother,” she says. “I tried. I’m just no good.”
“That’s not even why I came here,” I say, searching for that place of calm I had on the drive. I reach into my purse and pull out the envelope with her name written across it. “Here.” I hand it to her. “This is for you. I hope it will help you to keep your home. Before I met you again, I thought…” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I thought. That we could heal each other. And I appreciate you wanting to leave this house to me. I think it’s a beautiful space. But it’s yours, and what’s in that envelope has nothing to do with me. I just wanted you to be happy and to feel safe. Because I know far too well what it’s like to feel the opposite of safe and secure, and I thought maybe giving this to you would help break the cycle.”
Once I’m done speaking, I’m not sure what to do next. Now that I’ve met her in the flesh, I can’t imagine what helping my mother could do for me at this point.
“I hope you feel better,” I say as I turn to go.
