Like Gold

31.

31.

MY MOTHER was decidedly not in a good mood the next morning.

I mean, when was she ever? But today she especially wasn't. I knew because she'd slept in instead of running errands or going out for brunch, which meant I had to face her sooner than planned.

In a way, it was good, because then I wouldn't chicken out like I had a million times before.

Except now I was standing at the top of the staircase, still in my pyjamas, with my heart thundering in my chest, and I wasn't sure if I could do this. She was in the kitchen. I could hear her – her slippers shuffling on tiles, dishes clashing noisily onto granite countertops and into the sink.

Oh yeah, she was mad.

But I had to do this. I couldn't keep running away. Not again. Not for another year.

So, I straightened my back and sucked in a deep breath through my nose.

I could do this.

I could do this.

I made my way down the staircase, wincing when the floorboards creaked under my weight. The sound in the kitchen fell quiet.

No going back now.

My fingers tightened into fists and I willed myself forward until I was standing at the threshold of the kitchen. My mother stood there, her back to me, her tight curls cascading down her back and over her shoulders. She refused to face me.

I wondered if she had been crying.

My chest pinched. This would hurt. This would be painful for the both of us – but we couldn't leave these words unsaid forever.

We had to speak.

"Mom."

She didn't move.

I cleared my throat.

"Mama," I said louder. "I want to talk to you."

She was silent for a moment. Then, without turning, she said, "I'm listening."

It was fine. If anything, it was easier this way – not seeing her reactions, her expressions. Not seeing the disappointment on her face.

I sucked in a tight breath and spoke all at once, not pausing until I was finished.

"Look, I just wanted to say, I know I'm not the daughter you want. I know you miss the old me – the me before the accident. And I've been trying so hard to be that again. I've been going to work, and school, and trying to smile more, and be happy – and I know you make Piper spy on me. I know she tells you whenever I seem a little off. When I seem like I haven't moved on, or I'm about to relapse.

"But it's impossible, Ma. I can't – I can't just pretend it never happened. That Amber never existed. That I don't think about her all the time. And I know that worries you, but you have to understand. I'm getting better. It takes time, and it'll probably take a lot more time, but I'm getting there. And I don't think pretending... I don't want to pretend anymore. I'm sorry."

When I finished, I held my breath, waiting for her to react. Blood rushed in my ears. A lump had formed in my throat and I was half under the impression that it was vomit, threatening to spill over.

My mom made no sign that she'd even heard my words. Until she turned.

She turned to face me, and I saw the redness of her eyes, bloodshot from tears, probably reflecting my own. I saw the shadows beneath them and the wrinkles on her forehead, and more than ever, I felt guilty. I had done this to her.