“He told me.”
“Glad you two are talking,” she says quietly. She’s looking at me, really looking at me, and it makes me a little restless.
“Why did you want to see me?” I ask. I heave a sigh. I feel like all the air has been sucked out of me.
“I’m supposed to make amends to all the people I have wronged,” she says with a shrug. She reaches over and picks up a pack of cigarettes. She shakes one free and lights it. My jaw falls open. I can’t help it.
“When did you start smoking?” I ask.
She smiles and lays her head back in that lazy way again. “You can’t take all my bitterness, betrayal, and hatred, and my alcohol and drugs from me and leave me with nothing,” she says with a laugh. But there’s no mirth in the noise. “I’ll quit. I just need to get through this.”
I nod because she may as well have slapped me.
“Your dad told me that he had a talk with you,” she says. She blows out a long puff of smoke that seems to go on forever. “He told you about our history.”
I nod. “He told me about the baby and Kendra’s mother.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just smokes, letting the cigarette dangle from her lips for a second with one eye closed.
“He said you told him to go to hell, pretty much,” she says. She smiles. It’s cheeky and so beautiful.
A grin tugs at my lips. “I didn’t say that in so many words.”
“You told him that his choices affected the way you look at life. Men, in particular. Or did he get that wrong?”
“He got it right.” I nod.
“Your dad wasn’t alone in that. I am just as much to blame, if not more so.” She shrugs, and a sad smile crosses her lips. “I was a terrible mother, too deeply mired in my own addictions and my own problems to parent you.”
“I don’t need apologies.”
“Too bad,” she bites out. “You’re going to get them.” She leans over and smudges out her cigarette. Then she touches my knee. “I’m sorry I didn’t do better. I always said I would when I could, but I never got to that point. I’m sorry.” Her eyes flit around, and then they land on me. “I kept telling myself that tomorrow I would change. But tomorrow never came.” She blinks back tears. I have never seen emotion on my mom’s face before. She’s usually a vacant shell.
“What do you want me to say?”
She shakes her head. “There’s no right thing or wrong thing to say. You can tell me how you feel. You can tell me to go to hell. Do what’s right for you because I never did.” She points a finger at me. “You’re responsible for your happiness and taking care of your heart. Only you. Other people contribute to your happiness, certainly, but you can’t wait for anyone to make you happy, Sky. Nobody is going to do that for you.”
She leans back again and draws her feet up.
“Now tell me how you feel,” she says. “Don’t hold back.”
I take a deep breath, and I open my mouth to tell her that I would never be so cruel. But what tumbles of my lips is something else entirely.
“I feel like I don’t even have parents,” I say. “You and Dad were never around, and when you were, you weren’t. My nannies took me to dance recitals, and the household staff taught me to drive. And every time I got close enough to one of them to think they might love me, you fired them. It was cruel and harsh punishment.” I lay a hand on my chest because it’s suddenly aching. “I never did anything to either of you, except exist. I was quiet when you had a headache, when you were so hungover that you couldn’t get out of bed. I was a perfect student. I was a drama-less teenager. I did everything just to make you like me. But you never did.”
I get up and start to pace. I expect her to point to the chair and tell me how unladylike my tantrum is, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me. And she’s really looking at me like I have never seen her do before. Her ears and eyes are open. Dare I hope her heart is open, too? I shouldn’t. But some little piece of me still reaches for that hopeful feeling.
“I went to college and studied law just like Dad. And I went to social events and joined committees just like you. I attended fundraisers and made a general spectacle of myself, just to make you happy. And all I ever asked in return was for someone to love me. But you were incapable of it.”
She lights another cigarette, and I see a tear roll down her cheek. She doesn’t reach up to rub it away, and she doesn’t hide it.
“Mother, I don’t even know what to say to you. I have been so nice to you my whole life that I can’t even be mean to you now, not with a good conscience.” I sit back down and cross my legs. “Why did you come to the funeral?” My foot starts to twitch and swing, and I half expect her to tell me to be still. But I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
“I wanted to see what I was up against,” she says quietly. “I’ve always wanted to see.” She heaves in a breath. “When Kendra was small, I used to sit outside their apartment and watch him with them. He never knew I was there, but he wouldn’t have cared anyway. I sent him back to her because I was so f**king miserable that I couldn’t let love in, even when it was staring me in the face.”
The wind blows her loose hair, and she tucks a strand behind her ear. “They’re innocent, just like you were. They deserve love, and for that reason, I’m glad they have you. No one is more capable of love than you, Sky. Don’t ever doubt that. You love and you forgive like no one else I have ever met.”