Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 95

When we get back to L.A, I go to see my mother.

Missy had sent me the address when I had asked, albeit a little hesitantly, and I, now by some miraculous feat of the greatest courage am gloriously standing in front of the door with my hand raised to knock. Frozen.

Vividly, I remember stalking out into the cold and dark with my socks in my hands and half wearing my shoes crying the second I stepped out of the house. My hand drops to my side deflated and I sigh a little.

Maybe, this is too much.

"...when do I ever forget your banana milk, Prince?" I hear someone laugh and the lock turns before I can run away

She stands in front of me with her phone in one hand and blue eyes sliding up from my worn out sneakers to an equally worn out face. Her hand slackens and the phone slides a little down from her ear and I can hear a hysterical male voice on the other line.

"Sweetheart," she mumbles absently, "I'll call you later, okay?"

I shift, tuck a piece of hair behind my ear; pull down on my sleeves—

"Lyra," she says first

And I don't want to look at her eyes. Don't want to register the expression. Don't want to reciprocate. So I look into the curve of space between her ear and her shoulder.

"Can we talk?"

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Placing my hands on my kneecaps, I bend forward to squint at the photos on the mantelpiece. Aiden looked like he was thirteen and being the fucking giant ass beanpole in making, he is already inching towards being tall as her and she looks a good five foot seven. His hair is longer, white strands touching his neck and his head is titled to rest upon hers. His hand is covering his face but not the obvious smiling creeping into sight through his fingers betraying him. There is an arm wrapped around her and she is saying something to the person taking the photo.

I hear the soft clatter of a tray being set down on the table.

"That was at the Grand Canyon," she murmurs and I turn around watching her as her gaze follows mine to the picture, "He hates smiling for photos,"

And still he smiles for you, I wanted to say but instead—

"He loves you,"

Her eyes snap back to me and the gaze softens like she needed me to remind her that Aiden is still loves her. But before she can open her mouth, I continue hurriedly—

"And I don't hate you,"

"Oh."

And I just roll with it. "I'm sick of hating people. It hurts my head and there is no point. I can't punish you into going back in time to change everything. I can't force you into making me not have any times when I was all alone. I don't hate you, but I can't forgive you."

She doesn't say anything. But she joins me on the sofa where I had sat on when she had returned and looks down at her hands. She is wearing a baby blue dress, her hair neatly plaited slung over her shoulder, and she looks like everything I dreamt she would be. So, so beautiful.

Maybe then, I inherited the recessive alleles for ugly.

"One time," her voice cracks and she swallows before continuing, "Last year. On your birthday. I was sitting in the dark, in the kitchen, crying. Holding the ring and one of your baby photos I stole from your father before I left,"

I don't hold her gaze. I can't.

"Aiden had come downstairs for something. And he saw me. Holding this tiny box to my chest and shaking." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her gaze drift towards the photo, "He didn't say anything, and it was like he knew. He just—knew. He knelt and turned his back to me asking me to climb onto his shoulders."