Hidden Within

39 | prayers

"Come in."

I listen to the sound of my door knob being twisted open as I sit on the other side of my room, watching the door creak open out of the corner of my eye. I'm surprised to see my mother appear in the doorway, unable to recall the last time she bothered to knock before barging into my room. In all honesty, it's been a while since she's tried entering my room.

I don't give my mother the satisfaction of witnessing my shock brought on by her presence. I merely go about my business, getting myself ready for the dance I'll be attending in a matter of hours.

My mom lingers in the doorway, offering no explanation as to why she has appeared. I ignore her, continuing to do my makeup, frowning at the result of my reflection in the mirror.

"You look beautiful," Mom says out of the blue. Her statement surprises me, partly because I had forgotten she was in the room, though also because it's startling to hear my mother say anything nice to me.

Mom must be able to sense the stupor her words have put me under, as she takes a small step closer and clarifies, "The dress suits you perfectly. Brings out those pretty eyes of yours."

I meet her gaze in the mirror, staring into the blue eyes she gave me. My expression softens beyond my control. I hadn't expected the compliment—any kind words from my mother are unexpected these days—though the comment is pleasant. I sense no malice behind her words.

My lips curl into the faintest of smiles. "Thank you," I say softly.

Mom enters the room slowly, wandering closer to me whilst keeping her distance. It's as if there is a glass wall placed between us; a wall transparent enough to see through, yet still blocks either of us from getting too close.

"I used to pray for a daughter," Mom mumbles. Her eyes are trained on mine in the mirror. "When I first found out I was pregnant, your father and I would argue about the gender our first baby would be. He was convinced our first would be a boy. But I just knew you were going to be the answer to my prayers. And you were, Hadley. When you were younger, you used to love going through my closet and would beg me to do your makeup. Do you remember that?"

I nod absentmindedly, my mother's words pushing me into a daze. I fixate on her reflection as she speaks, hanging on to her every word without meaning to.

"I couldn't wait for moments like these," she continues. "Helping get you ready for school dances. Sending you off to prom. I was so excited to have a daughter who would hopefully turn into my friend with time and age. I still can't wait to see you in your wedding dress for the first time. I think of all the things mothers dream about while they look down at their baby and realize how fast time flew by. When I look at you, you're still this big in my eyes." To emphasize her point, Mom holds a hand out by her knee, suggesting she still sees me as about three feet tall.

"Yet I know that you're all grown up now." Mom sounds choked up as she goes on. "Old enough to make your own decisions and to not need me anymore."

I'm unsure as to why my eyes have started to burn, stinging with oncoming tears. My bottom lip trembles slightly, my emotions stirring as my mother talks to me in a way she never quite has before. It's nice, in the strangest way. For the first time in a long time, I can genuinely tell my mother loves me.

"That's the thing teenagers don't understand," Mom mutters with a humorless laugh, gazing at me with sad eyes. "You grow up and don't need your Mom so much anymore . . . at least not in the way you did when you were young. But us moms need you. If you ever become a mother someday, you'll understand. It's hard to watch your child grow up. It's even harder to let go of them and set them off into the world on their own. As a parent, you know you need to—that raising your child for life is the point of being a mother—but part of you just wants to keep them home with you, where they're safe. All I've ever wanted to do for you and your sister was to keep both of you safe. To make you feel comforted and loved . . . it's so hard to look at you, Hadley, and feel like I failed you."

A wave of emotion crashes over me. The tears pricking at my vision well in my eyes, creating storm clouds threatening rain. Then the raindrops break loose, falling onto my cheeks and leaving behind jagged streams on my flesh.

"Mom," I start, though my voice cracks and breaks before I can get another word out.

"I miss my daughter," Mom says, shrugging as tears of her own gleam brightly against her skin. "I know I messed up. Guilt eats at me every day. But I can't keep going like this, baby. You were my first daughter . . . you made me a mother. You were the best gift I could ever ask for. And I'm sorry."

My relationship with my mother has been on the rocks for months, incredibly bumpy and uncertain. Though I know we both regret the way things have turned out between us and miss what once was, I also know that there will be no moment where the two of us rekindle and embrace. My mother and I have not yet reached that point of comfort with each other once again. If our relationship will ever be what it once was, I don't know.

But I do know that I miss my mother. I long to be able to speak to her; I ache for any sense of normality between us. I hold the power to try to make things right, or instead decide to continue heading down the distant path we've been heading down.

Wearing the hint of a smile, I look up at my mother and ask, "Do you want to help me with my hair?"

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a/n: this conversation between Hadley and her mom makes me tear up ngl sjsjsjsj