UNRAVELING AMAYA.

7

Wedding planning with Cordelia and Ximena had kept me busy for the following two weeks. Amidst fittings, cake tastings, and more dress shopping, I found solace in the whirlwind of preparations, a welcome distraction from the uncertainties lingering in my personal life.

Rhonda seemed to sense my need for diversion, throwing herself into work with even more fervor than usual. Her demands were relentless, but I threw myself into each task with determination, grateful for the chance to bury myself in something other than my own thoughts.

As the days passed, the encounter with Ryan faded into the background, replaced by the flurry of activity surrounding the upcoming nuptials. Cordelia's excitement was infectious, her enthusiasm serving as a constant reminder of the joyous occasion that lay ahead.

But beneath the surface, a nagging sense of unease persisted. Despite my best efforts to bury it, the memory of Ryan's confession lingered, casting a shadow over my newfound sense of purpose.

One evening, as I was preparing to leave the office, Rhonda called me into her office. I braced myself for another round of last-minute demands, but to my surprise, her demeanor was unusually somber.

"Amaya, I know I can be tough on you sometimes," she began, her tone surprisingly gentle. "But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you do for me. You're a valuable member of this team, and I don't say that lightly."

Her unexpected praise caught me off guard, and I struggled to find the right words to respond. "Thank you, Rhonda. Th-That means a lot."

She nodded, her expression softening slightly. "I know I can be a bit...intense. But it's only because I see so much potential in you. I want you to succeed. And I'm here to support you every step of the way."

Her words struck a chord within me, reminding me of my own aspirations and goals. Despite the challenges I faced, I was determined to carve out a path for myself, one that would lead me to a future filled with fulfillment and purpose.

As I left the office that evening, Rhonda's words echoed in my mind, filling me with a renewed sense of determination. But even as I focused on my professional aspirations, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, a void that no amount of success could fill.

Arriving home, I was surprised to find Adrian waiting for me outside of my apartment. He greeted me with a sheepish smile, holding out a familiar DVD and a takeout bag.

"Hey, My-My," he said, his tone apologetic. "

I couldn't help but smile at his gesture, touched by his effort to mend our strained relationship. "Come on."

As we settled in for the evening, watching Shrek and indulging in Church's chicken, Adrian filled me in on his recent phone call with our mother. The conversation had been brief but surprisingly cordial, a stark contrast to our strained relationship in recent years.

"She asked about you," He said, his voice tinged with sadness. "She misses you."

I felt a pang of guilt at the mention of our mother, realizing how much time had passed since I last spoke to her. Despite our differences, she was still my mother, and the thought of her reaching out to me stirred conflicting emotions within me.

"I miss her too," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Adrian nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I know I can't tell you what to do but I think you should just call...or text her back at least."

His words struck a chord within me, reminding me of the importance of forgiveness and reconciliation. As we continued to watch the movie, I made a silent promise to myself to reach out to our mother.

The next day at work, Rhonda noticed the change in my demeanor, offering me a nod of approval as I tackled each assignment with confidence.

But even as I immersed myself in my work, thoughts of my mother lingered in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of the unfinished business that awaited me. As the day wore on, I found myself growing increasingly restless, the need to reach out to her becoming more urgent with each passing moment.

It didn't take long for her to answer when I called. "Amaya," she said softly, as if testing the waters of our fractured relationship. "It's so good to hear from you, sweetheart. How have you been?"

I hesitated, my mind racing as I searched for the right words. "I've been... okay," I finally managed to choke out, my voice betraying the turmoil raging within me.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if my mother was grappling with her own conflicted feelings. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with uncertainty, a stark contrast to the confident woman I remembered from my childhood.

"That's good to hear," she said, her tone careful and measured. "Your brother mentioned that you might be calling."

I felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Adrian, knowing that he had been the one to reach out and try to mend the rift between us.

I replied, my voice guarded. "He thought it might be good for us to talk."

There was a pregnant pause, as if my mother was waiting for me to fill the silence with more words. But I remained silent, unwilling to open myself up to further hurt and disappointment.

"I'm glad you called, Amaya," she said finally, her voice tinged with sadness. "I've missed you."

Her words caught me off guard. Part of me longed to believe her, to let go of years of hurt and resentment and embrace the possibility of reconciliation. But another part—the part that had been hurt too many times before—remained skeptical, unwilling to let my guard down so easily.

"I... I should go," I stammered, my voice trembling with emotion. "I have things to do."

There was a note of disappointment in my mother's voice as she responded, as if she had been hoping for more. "Of course, sweetheart. Take care of yourself."

I muttered a quick goodbye and hung up the phone, my heart heavy with the weight of our conversation. I couldn't help but wonder if things would ever be different between us, if we would ever be able to bridge the gap that had grown so wide over the years. But for now, all I could do was hold onto the hope.

That evening, as I returned home, I found Adrian waiting for me once again, a knowing smile on his face. Without a word, he handed me another DVD, this time it was How To Be A Player and our comfort meal for the night was Chipotle.

"Looks like it's movie night again," he said, his tone teasing.

I laughed, grateful for his presence.