“I’m here, now, Neev. I should have been there for you more before.” She swallows, purses her lips, and lets her tears flow, too. “I’m sorry.”
I was right. An apology does feel better than an excuse. The healing property of those two simple words salves my heart, broken and dented by the ones who should have loved me enough.
“It’s not all on you, Mama,” I say, squeezing her hand, squeezing my heart. “I could have done more. I’m sorry, too.”
And the power of those words, said from her to me, said from me to her, pulls us out of the rocking chairs and up and into each other’s arms. Not a hug in passing, but a tight one that grips and heals. We can’t repair everything in one night, in one conversation, but these words and Mama’s arms around me go a long way—go the right way. We are on our way back to each other. This new beginning with my mother is the greatest gift. It’s restoration, or at least the start of one. I don’t know how or when it will happen with Terry.
Or if it ever will.
Mama sniffs, pulling back to smile as I swipe at my wet cheeks, too.
“I think we have a lot to catch up on,” she says, sitting back in her chair, setting it to a rocking rhythm. “How ’bout you start by telling me everything.”
I tell her about the lean years during and after college when I needed so much, but didn’t know how to ask for it. When I couldn’t swallow my pride to call her because I resented how she was there for Terry, but in my eyes, wasn’t there for me.
“That night on Broadway, I thought of you. You were the only thing missing,” I whisper, “That was just one moment in a million I wanted to share with you. When I needed you.”
“Neevah,” Mama says, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I thought you didn’t want nothing to do with us. And I understood. After what Terry and Brandon did . . . well, I understood, but it did feel like I lost you, too. And now I know you felt like you lost me.”
I hesitate over the next words, but decide I should say them. “Mama, I found out I have discoid lupus.”
Mama’s eyes go round and she reaches for my hand, holding it in both of hers. “Lupus? Like your Aunt Marian?”
“Not that kind of lupus. The kind she had was systemic and what I have is discoid. I have the rashes and some hair loss, but it’s not life-threatening. When we were still figuring it all out, though,” I say, blinking at fresh tears. “I wanted you. I wanted to ask about it, and even then just decided to try and figure it out on my own.”
“Well, your Aunt Marian and I were never that close,” Mama says, twisting her lips. “Nobody was good enough for her baby brother, but it was a long time before she even got her diagnosis. Things were different then. They didn’t know as much.”
She scans my face, and I make sure she’ll find nothing to worry about in my expression.
“You sure you alright?”
“I’m sure, Mama. I just wanted you to know.” I smile and squeeze her hand, wanting to shift to more exciting parts of my life. “Now, don’t you want to hear about the movie I’m in?”
“Oh, yeah. Spill it all! And that director, that Canon Holt. He as fine up close as they say he is?” She leans over conspiratorially, her smile and her wink wicked. “You can tell your mama.”
And for the first time in a long time, I do.