Not My Mother by Miranda Smith (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📕

a folder, taking out a series of brochures. “You’re in this situation now, whether you like it or not. Only you are capable of deciding where to go from here.”

I liked that phrasing. Even though it seemed everything had been taken from me, I might have some control left.

Amelia would show me the way.

21 MarionNow

Two Moms.

The woman who is always there for me, and the woman who keeps me in the dark. I want to see the best in her, but how can I do that when she continues to lie?

It’s bad enough she committed these unspeakable acts years ago, ripping me away from my birth family and any opportunity I had at a better life. Even now, after all the years we’ve spent together, she’s continuing her deception. She didn’t tell me she had cancer. Worse, she enlisted the two people I trust most, Des and Carmen, to help hide it from me. With each passing day, the life I’ve known unravels, threads loosening around what once kept me together.

I try to focus only on Ava, on her needs and desires. The days are long but the years are short, they say. These days have been some of the longest, but I’m not going to let that ruin my time with my daughter. I don’t want her to ever feel I put my own needs before hers. All she understands of this world is what I show her. I can choose to let her see me as an emotional mess, or I can let her see me smiling, enjoying the day.

I put my phone on Do Not Disturb mode for the rest of the evening. I don’t anticipate hearing from the hospital until at least tomorrow and I have no desire to speak with Carmen or Des. I make sandwiches and stroll Ava down to the beach in front of our apartment. I wait until it’s almost sunset, to be sure there are as few people around as possible.

At night, once Ava is tucked away in her crib, the despair returns. Like a heavy blanket covering me, wrapping around tighter, restricting my ability to breathe. I feel the anger toward Mom fighting against the hope I have that she’ll pull through. I feel the sorrow Amelia must have carried all these years, living in a world without her daughter.

I find myself checking the baby monitor more often than I normally would. I squint at the tiny screen, confirming Ava is safe and asleep. I watch her chest rise and fall. The relief I have watching her is fleeting. More than ever, I’m aware of how dangerous and unfair this world can be. There are real monsters out there, some closer than you would prefer to admit.

It feels like I’ve only slept a half hour when I hear my phone ringing. I’m inclined to ignore it, but everything going on with Mom makes that impossible. I pull the comforter away, the brightness paining my eyes. It’s been daylight for hours. Des’ name is on the screen.

“You coming by the restaurant?” she asks.

“No,” I croak. I reach for my bedside water but see it’s not there. And I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday.

“We’re opening at eleven if you change your mind.”

“Didn’t you think I should have a say in when we reopen?”

“This is the best thing for the business, and for your mom. We’re not going to let a little gossip tank the restaurant.”

Except it’s more than a little gossip. There’s evidence Mom killed a man. She even admitted she’s used a fake name all these years. I don’t see how Des can continue with this blind faith. Surely, she feels equally deceived? She’s trying to pretend we can move our lives back to where they were. But it’s not that simple for me. Des is able to sweep the floors and polish the tables, act as though nothing happened, but Mom’s actions wrecked my whole life.

“How long have you known about the cancer?”

I hear Des exhale on the other end of the line. I’m sure Carmen called her after I stormed out last night. “I was there when she received the diagnosis.”

Sounds about right. Mom and Des have been best friends for decades. It’s completely natural she would turn to her in a time of crisis, like she did when we moved here all those years ago. And yet, me—her adult daughter—deserves no explanation?

“Why didn’t she tell me, Des? Why am I finding out all these things about my mother’s life from strangers?”

“I told her to tell you about the cancer, if it makes any difference,” she says, and I know she’s being truthful. Des doesn’t lie. “I can’t speak for her on any of the other stuff. Hard to tell what’s true, what’s not.”

This much is clear: Mom’s actions all those years ago ruined lives, and the repercussions are now ruining mine. I’d like to think some of what they say isn’t true. That she’s not a murderer, not a kidnapper, but the more time passes, the more it becomes clear there aren’t enough excuses in the world to justify what has been done.

“I need to go,” I tell Des, ending the call. It’s bad enough I’m worrying about Mom, but I no longer feel I can even count on Des and Carmen. With each passing day, it becomes harder to trust the people I love.

I wander into Ava’s nursery. She’s not yet awake, but she’s rolling from side to side. Normally she’d already have been up a couple of hours by now. We’re getting off schedule, a ritual that seemed of the utmost importance only a week ago. Breakfast by eight, a stroll along the sidewalk by nine. Taking Ava with me to the restaurant and preparing for the day. Attending Mommy and Me in the afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Bedtime at eight thirty on the dot. None of that seems to matter anymore. Both our sleep schedules are disrupted, and I’m not sure I