Broken Submission

Mother

"This is Sophia Walker. How may I help you?"

Amelia smashed her thumb on the disconnect button, dropping the phone in her lap. Her heart throbbed in her chest, and it pulsed in time to the headache behind her eyes. 

What was she thinking?

Her hand pressed to her stomach. She was thinking that she needed her mother. Amelia needed the woman who had carried her in her womb, who could make sense of this foreign presence in her belly. During her first pregnancy, Amelia had been so in tune with her body. She'd devoted herself to the life growing inside her. Though she had never even felt her child's first kick, Amelia had known him. 

But now... there was no connection. Amelia felt herself flip between disbelief that there was new life inside her and nausea at the thought that there was. She swallowed, hand gripping her belly harder. And she made a decision.

***

Amelia stared at the pink townhouse through the windshield of her car. She was in a historical district on the southern coast, the scent of salt mingling with a touch of fish and sewage. The road was made of cobblestone, and the postage stamp lawn of the townhouse was occupied with a bird feeder and a sign promoting a real estate agent who looked like an airbrushed version of the woman who had given birth to her.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she stared at the white door. 

This was a bad idea.

The door opened, and Amelia jerked, heartbeat spiking. Wide eyed, Amelia watched the middle-aged woman in white skinny jeans, pumps, and a silky floral shirt maneuver herself through the door without dropping the massive wicker purse draped over her arm.

She could still make a run for it.

The woman turned, having locked the door, and she paused, staring at the car in her driveway.

"Hello?" Amelia could just barely hear her voice through the car door. "Do you have an appointment?" The woman teetered down the brick steps. 

On autopilot, Amelia turned off the car. Her hand gripped the door handle and pushed, stepping out of the vehicle. She stood, coming face to face with the older blonde.

"Hi mom."

***

The woman froze, drawn-on eyebrows rising above the lenses of her enormous rhinestone sunglasses. Her lips parted.

"I'm sorry," Amelia said, head ducking. "I--I should have called--"

"Amy?" Her mother's arm was limp at her side, purse dangerously close to slipping to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

Amelia blinked back the moisture in her eyes. "I needed to see you. There's been--a lot."

"You haven't visited in almost five years." Sophia was regaining her composure, hiking her purse back up her arm. "A sight for sore eyes too--what a way to treat the woman who taught you how to maintain a proper image."

A familiar sense of shame kindled in her stomach. "I'm sorry, mom. I just didn't know where to go."

"Well, I suppose you can join me for lunch." Sophia started walking toward her car. "Mary-Lynn canceled, so there's an empty seat on the reservation."

"Is it going to be a whole group of your friends?" 

Her mother sniffed. "We did brunch just yesterday, so I should think not."

Amelia nodded, arms crossed over her belly. "Okay."

Awkward silence filled the car. Sophia insisted they take hers to save gas, so Amelia curled in the passenger seat, watching the street vendors and vacationers. They pulled up to an upscale restaurant overlooking the ocean. Neither of them made conversation as they walked into the restaurant and were seated.

"So am I supposed to guess at what you've been doing for the last half of a decade?" her mother asked as she scanned the menu.

"I'm just been working," Amelia said, not acknowledging the snippety tone. 

"And running away from marriages," Sophia mused.

That hit a nerve. "Don't talk about my marriage."

Sophia raised an eyebrow, and now that her sunglasses were off, Amelia could see the age on her face, hair parted as always to try and conceal the strawberry mark on her right cheek. "No need to snap at me. You're the one caught with her pants down, metaphorically and otherwise, so I hear."

Amelia paled and blushed at once, leaving her face splotchy. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"Unlike you," her mother sniffed, "my son-in-law actually kept in touch with me."

Amelia froze. 

Oh god. She doesn't know.

"This was a bad idea." Amelia fumbled to stand. "I should go--"

"Run away like you always do?" Anger flashed in her mother's face. "Sit down and have a conversation like an adult!"

Her mother's voice characteristically lacked strength, and as she grew angry, her pitch rose rather than her volume.

Amelia ignored her, anger and nausea making a volatile cocktail in her stomach.

"Amelia Xavier, you will sit and have lunch with your mother--"

"That is not my name!" Amelia spun, uncaring of the stares from the other patrons. "Don't you ever call me--"

"Call you what?" her mother said. "The name you took when you married? You run around half-cocked, flying off at the handle about nothing--"

"Garret is dead," Amelia shouted. "He's dead, and I came here because I needed your support! But I should never have expected it. It's not like you ever gave it before! So enjoy your lunch," she spat. "Maybe I'll see you in another few years." Amelia ignored the shocked woman as she stormed toward the door. 

But a quiet sob, stopped her in her tracks. It was muffled, smothered to avoid notice. But when Amelia looked to the woman behind her, something broke loose in her chest at the sight of her mother hunched over the table, one arm around her middle, the other hand clamped over her mouth. 

"Mom." Tears welled, and with quick steps, she retraced her steps. "Mom, I'm sorry." Amelia slid into the booth beside the older woman, arm going around her as she squeezed. "I'm sorry. I'm here."