Bent not Broken (282 page)

“Yes?” I asked.

Inhaling a deep breath, she took a step forward, still keeping her distance. “Are you Mia Sullivan?”

“Yes, how may I help you?” It occurred to me that she was probably seeking information for any vacant apartments.

Slowly she made her way over to me, playing with her fingers the entire time. When we were only a few feet away her eyes met mine, and she gasped. Lifting her hand to her mouth, her eyes began to water. “Oh my God, you’re beautiful.” She choked as tears dripped down her face.

Alarmed by her reaction, I turned to look at Marcus. Apparently he turned his head at the same time. We both stared at each other with the same awkward expression. I gave him a questioning look, wondering if he knew who she was or what she wanted, but he lightly shrugged in response.

Fixing my gaze back at her, I asked, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Closing her fingers into a tight fist against her lips, she lightly shook her head. She tightened her eyes closed then opened them again. They were the biggest, most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen. The color was very similar to mine: a hue of emerald green. “I’m Sara Sullivan. I’m your mother.”

Taking in what she just said, my mind began to fog, everything closed in, my heart dropped, and my head felt light. Then her face turned into a blurry vision, and before I could speak, everything went black.

“Maybe you should go.” Marcus’ voice was distant and faded.

“I know. I just wanted to make sure she’s okay,” a woman’s voice responded.
Shit
! It wasn’t a dream. Flashing my eyes open, I looked around frantically. Marcus was instantly at my side, dabbing a warm damp cloth around my forehead and face.

“Baby, how you feeling? You fainted.”

Jerking up, I looked around, and after a second glance around the room, I spotted her. She was sitting on the edge of the couch across from me. Pulling my legs off the couch, I scooted to the edge to get a better look at her. She was biting her thumbnail. Her eyebrows were pulled in, and her knee was bouncing nervously. Cocking my head to the side, I examined her features: perfectly arched eyebrows, long, golden brown, wavy hair, heart-shaped face, small, round, button nose, and long lashes which accentuated her stunning green eyes.

Gasping for air, I raised my hand to my mouth in disbelief. I was unable to control my emotions, and tears streamed down my face. I was the
spitting
image of her. All my life, I wondered who I looked like. My father had light brown eyes and sandy brown hair; my brother took after his features. In pictures we were a family, but it looked as if I didn’t belong. I’d never seen pictures of my mother. My father never described her to me or even mentioned her. All I knew was that she was the woman that ran out on our family.

“W-what are you …?” Unable to speak, I cleared my throat; it felt hoarse and raspy. “What are you doing here?” I asked with my fingers still spread along my lips.

Her legs stopped shaking. Lowering her head, she placed her hands to her lap, fidgeting with a gold ring around her index finger. After several seconds, her head slightly lifted, meeting my gaze. Biting down on her lip, tears began to swell her eyes. “I’ve been trying to find you for a couple months now. I wanted to see you, talk to you. I understand if you want nothing to do with me. I just want to explain everything to you, but if you don’t want to talk with me, that will be fine—well not fine, but I’d understand.” She had a high-pitched tone to her voice. She stood from her chair, and she grabbed the purse lying beside her seat.

“No, um, just give me a minute.” Not exactly sure what I was doing, it was the first thing that blurted out of my mouth. Nodding, she sat back down. I quickly stood and rushed to the bathroom.

Once behind the closed door, I leaned against it. I exhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling, trying to find answers. What does she want? Why is she even here? Oh God! I let out another deep breath. I managed to move my shaky legs to the sink. I rinsed my face a few times, and the cool water helped soothe my heated skin.

I looked in the mirror, not able to stop staring at my features. The reflection I saw was a younger version of the woman sitting on my couch, proclaiming to be my mother.

A soft knock on the door startled me, but I didn’t turn to see who it was. I could smell Marcus’ scent. His light footsteps made their way to me, and then I felt his strong, warm hand against the middle of my back.

“Mia, you don’t have to do this right now.” His voice screamed with concern.

Turning to face him, I buried my face into his chest. His strong arms wrapped around me, and I felt safe. “Marcus, what am I supposed to do? She’s here. She found me. I don’t know anything about that woman. What am I supposed to say to her?”

Marcus sank down to meet me at eye level. Cupping my face, he lightly turned my head, demanding that I look at him. Through my lashes, I managed to view him past my blurry tears. “You do not have to speak with her. If you want me to, I can ask her to leave a number, and you can contact her when
you’re
ready. Is that something you want to do?”

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. It felt overwhelming. Never in a million years would I have thought that I would be standing before my mother: a woman who decided to leave her newborn daughter, ten-year-old son, and loving husband behind for reasons I never knew. I never asked questions growing up, well, maybe once. But after getting the runaround from my brother and father, I knew not to ask again.

I’d never felt anger towards her, yet at that moment I felt enraged. After twenty-four years she walks into my life now? After everything I’d been through, when I needed her the most, she wasn’t there, and now she stumbles in front of my door wanting to talk. Suddenly, I wanted answers: I wanted to know where she’d been, what she’d done with her life, the reason for leaving, and
most
importantly, the reason she was back.

Chapter Twenty

Sucking my bottom lip, I inhaled, and I placed my hands on top of Marcus’. Gently I gave him the best “it’s okay” smile I could. Wiping my face to hide the evidence of my tears, I strolled out of the bathroom with my chin up and my shoulders relaxed. Well at least I hoped they seemed relaxed. Marcus, of course, hurried behind me. When I entered the living room, she must’ve sensed my presence. She jumped to her feet with her purse clenched to her side and chewed her thumbnail nervously.

“Would you like some tea, water?” I asked in the best casual way I could.

Dropping her hand to her side, she masked a tiny smile. “Tea, please.” Following me into the kitchen, Marcus set her at the table and arranged two chairs side by side to sit across from her. Taking my time, I thought of a million ways to start our conversation. The room was silent: the only noise was the steam emanating from the teapot.

Cutting the stove off, I prepared tea for three. Marcus likes his tea with lemon and sugar. I like mine with cream and sugar, but I didn’t know how she would like hers. Uncertain, I placed her mug in front of her along with lemon, cream, sugar, and a spoon, allowing her make her own.

Marcus wrapped his arm securely around my shoulder when I took my seat beside him. Taking small sips, I peeked through my lashes and watched as she prepared her cup: two scoops of sugar and a splash of cream. I should remember that, shouldn’t I? She stirred and lightly tapped the side of the spoon on top of the mug before gently laying it on the table. Biting her lip, she stared at her tea for a moment, not taking a sip, and not saying a word. She just focused on her mug as if something would magically appear.

The unbearable silence was broken when Marcus cleared his throat and shifted impatiently in his chair. My “mother” shot her eyes up at us and moved her shoulders, so she could sit straight up. I looked into her eyes and saw an older reflection of myself. “I’m sorry that this is unexpected and a shock. I don’t know where to start.” Her shoulders gently lifted into a slight shrug.

“How about what you’re doing here?” Marcus blurted. Irritated by his response, I shot him an annoyed look. I knew he was there to support me, but this was hard on me and most definitely hard on her as well. I didn’t need him adding to the tension and awkwardness in the room. He noticed my annoyance and nodded in a way of saying “sorry.” Fixing my gaze back on her, I noticed that she had the softest, sweetest smile I had ever seen. She was clearly not affected by his rudeness.

“I’ve contemplated different ways to approach you. After finally finding you, it took me weeks and several scribbled letters before I worked up the nerve to meet you face-to-face. See at first I was going to leave you alone because Michael refused to let me see you—”

I cut her off at the mention of my brother’s name. “
Wait
? Did you say Michael didn’t want you to see me?” I didn’t know my brother had contact with her.

“Yes, when I found out your father passed away, I went to the funeral. Michael refused to let me in. He said I didn’t deserve to see him or you. I wanted to help him with you. I wanted to be a part of your lives. I apologized to him a million times, but he said he was going to take care of you and leave Philly. I begged and pleaded, but I didn’t want to make a scene. So I left. A year after your father passed, I found out that he moved to Boston. I mailed several letters to the both of you, but he returned all of them unopened. After a few years of trying, I gave up. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

I was in a daze from everything she was saying. I couldn’t believe Michael kept this from me! Was he trying to protect me from her, afraid that she would leave again? Or was he afraid that I would choose her over him? I knew the second part wouldn’t have crossed his mind, but I had heard him time and time again wishing I had a mother figure to teach and lecture me about things that he couldn’t. I know he gave up his youth to raise me, and for that I would always be grateful, though I wonder if he ever regretted his decision.

I allowed her to continue without interruption. “I hated myself for the woman I was—the one I allowed myself to become, and I cried almost every night since I left your father and my two children. He was the one and only love of my life. I’m not sure if he ever told you the story of how we met?”

I shook my head, and she proceeded. “I was young, very young. He was six years older than me, and now it may not seem that old, but at that time my parents hated it, hated him. I was fifteen, and he was twenty-one. Your father was a rebel: a young handsome man. One day I was walking home after school. I began to walk along a crosswalk when a motorcycle flew by. Frightened about getting hit, I jumped back, lost my balance, and fell to the ground. He was immediately by my side, making sure I was okay, and he repeated numerous times that he didn’t see me.

“The moment I laid eyes on him, I was mesmerized by his perfection. I thought I was dreaming. How could this beautiful man possibly be staring back at me with the same awe-struck expression? We instantly made a connection. He offered me a lift home. Every day after that, he would wait at the crosswalk with his motorcycle parked as he leaned against it, greeting me with a huge smile. He didn’t even ask me out; he would simply walk me home, leaving his cycle behind, asking me numerous questions.

“After a month, he finally asked me on a date. He didn’t know my age at first. He thought I was older than I was. I was afraid if I told him I was only fifteen, he would run away. I lied to my parents and told them I was studying at a friend’s house.” She smiled at her memory.

“After months of lying and sneaking around, I turned up pregnant.” She looked down at her mug and took a small sip. I knew she was young when she had Michael, but I didn’t know she was fifteen. I could only imagine what she’d been through: the fear of being a mother at such a young age.

Finally placing her mug down, she continued. “I tried to hide it from my parents. I was afraid of them. They were very religious and strict. After your father found out about the pregnancy, he demanded that I tell them. I finally worked up the courage, and they kicked me out. Well it was either abort, put my child up for adoption, or get kicked out of the house. When they found out I was pregnant by your father, there wasn’t even an option. It was simply ‘get the hell out.’ Your father took care of me from the start, though. He signed up for the police academy. Once he was in, we got a tiny apartment, and he took care of me.

“It was hard, very hard at first, but eventually we got through it together. Though I felt like I was missing a part of me, I couldn’t explain it. I had dropped out of school. I didn’t work. I just stayed home: a housewife and a mother. I felt like, was this all? Is this what my life was supposed to be? When I had you, I loved you so much, but I wanted more. I know that sounds selfish and cruel, but I felt trapped. My whole life I felt trapped. My parents finally came to their senses and agreed to take me back, and I could help run the family business if I left your father.

“I was going to bring you kids with me, but you meant the world to your father. I couldn’t break his heart that way. I knew leaving would be bad enough, and if I tried to take you kids as well, he would have never allowed it. He would have fought tooth and nail for you kids. So one night, I packed my bags, wrote a note for him, and left—never looking back, and never calling to check up on you guys.” Sara, my mother, I didn’t know what to call her, broke into quiet sobs.

I wish I could’ve blamed my tears on the hormones, but I knew I couldn’t. She had said so much; I learned more about the whole reasoning behind her leaving. Now that I knew, I wasn’t sure if I should be angry, content, happy, or relieved. Where do we go from here? How do you begin to build a relationship with someone after so many years of wanting and needing her, knowing that she
chose
to be selfish? Does she even want to build a relationship, or is this a way to help ease her guilty conscious?

Sara wiped her tears with the back of her hands and looked back at me. We stared at each other for a moment. Her eyes pleaded for forgiveness, and mine screamed with pain and understanding. So many things were going through my mind: more questions, wanting her to explain more of herself.