Imagine: Baby Mama Drama (The Conclusion)

Part 20: Mother of the Year

"I'm an orphan," you said sadly, staring at the sip of scotch that was left in your glass.
"A fucking orphan...like, the sun'll come out tomorrow, orphan."

"Oh Y/N, I'm so sorry," Celia nearly sobbed. She'd been a mess since you arrived in New York. You didn't know if it was postpartum shit or guilt or what, but she couldn't seem to look at you without welling with tears. Funny thing is, you hadn't cried at all.

You'd been there for three days. The service was tomorrow and the forecast called for showers...of course. It was probably Ma's last fuck you to the world. That woman always had to have the last word.

Tom managed to text or call twice a day, sometimes more. You knew he was busy and felt like shit for not being with you, but a part of you welcomed a distraction from wedding talk. Although, is a funeral really all that different? There's flowers to order and speeches to be made. Everyone eats a shit ton and drinks all the booze and there's some random cousin who tells you you're pretty and wishes you weren't related so you can date while he ogles your tits. Gotta love family!

"Cel, you've been so helpful during this," you sighed, pouring yourself some more scotch, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She squeezed your hand and teared up again, "You'll always have me as your family, Y/N, and Rico and the kids. I just can't imagine what you're going through." And why would she? Celia comes from a huge family, all nestled in every corner of all five burroughs, save for the few still in Puerto Rico. They've always been tight. You envied that about her. Your family was small and scattered. For years it really was just you and Ma. Aunt Doris made appearances every now and then, but work kept her primarily in Boston. You supposed this would be her last appearance for, well, ever. So, Celia was a huge help, because really there's no one else.

A wave of sadness threatened to wash over you as the realization set in. There's no one else. Ma was all you had left. You stifled that sadness with another sip of scotch. A faint bitterness settled in your mouth, but you didn't think it came from the drink. That stubborn cloud of guilt still hovered over your head. The one that reminded you constantly of how bad things had gotten between you and Ma in the last few weeks of her life. You ignored her calls, dismissed her texts. What if she was calling to apologize? What if she knew she was sick and wanted to say good-bye? The regret you felt was crippling. Maybe she wasn't the best mother, but you sure as hell were a shitty daughter.

Your thoughts suddenly turned to Liv. Would she be sitting in this spot one day, wondering all the ways she could have handled things differently?Wanting so badly to rewind time so she could say all the things that needed to be said? Maybe. And here you were doing the same thing with her weren't you - ignoring calls, dismissing texts. Mother of the year, Y/N.

"Y/N?" Celia asked softly. You blinked away your somber thoughts and looked up at her.

"She loved you very much," she said emphatically, "being a mother...it doesn't come with instructions. We just figure it out as we go along and sometimes the road is bumpy, and sometimes it's smooth as glass. But it's a venture worth taking, Y/N, because there's nothing else on earth like it."

You listened silently, knots of tangled emotions swimming in your stomach, your heart. Celia the sage always had a way of wording things that struck you right to your core.

"Call her," she said.

You frowned and cocked your head confused.
"I don't think my cell service is strong enough to reach the afterlife, Cel," you chuckled, "I can barely get good reception in Jersey."

Celia shook her head, with a slight smile and roll of her eyes.

"Call Liv."