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

the horse track. He seemed smaller in person, less powerful. Being a Parker or a Boone meant a ribbon of aristocracy was tied to whatever you did, but Bruce appeared normal, even boring. The type of dorky father you would want raising your child.

“May I help you?”

Our meetings were so brief he didn’t recognize me at first. I’d already shrunk back to my pre-baby weight. The most notable change in my appearance were the dark bags beneath my eyes, badges of too little sleep.

Then, his face changed. He remembered.

“I’m sorry. Are you—”

“Sarah. I’m Sarah. I should have called.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I, um, it’s nice to see you again.” He started a handshake but pulled me in for a hug instead. I think he was embarrassed at not recognizing me immediately. “My God, what am I thinking? Would you like to come inside?”

As you would expect, their home was beautiful. I was seized with fear I might break something; everything looked too delicate to touch. The far wall was made entirely of glass, overlooking the backyard pool. I was too afraid to speak at first, but Bruce kept looking at me, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m just making a late afternoon snack,” he said, walking into the kitchen. I followed him. The room was bigger than my entire studio apartment. There was a large island in the center complete with a second sink. He pulled out a chopping block and started slicing small rectangles of cheese.

“Amelia might have told you,” I began. “I’m leaving town soon.”

“She did. Starting school, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

I sat at one of the barstools pulled up to the island. It felt awkward, being alone with this man I knew nothing about. Amelia was an old friend by now, but Bruce was something different. Neither of us was sure what to do in her absence.

“Any idea what you’d like to study?”

“I was thinking about being a teacher. Younger kids. You know, like preschool age.”

“I worked in education for years myself, but my students were older.” He unfolded his arms now, getting more comfortable in his seat. “I taught at Phillips Academy.”

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t figure why. Suddenly, I was thinking about Cliff, about all those stories he used to tell about the kids passing through his neighborhood. Khaki pant pricks, he’d called them. As with most memories of Cliff, part of me wanted to laugh, while another part wanted to cry. I still hadn’t accepted his loss, and I was resentful he never got the opportunity to meet you, to hold you in his arms.

“I’m leaving town today,” I said. “Everything is packed and ready, but… I don’t know.” I started to lose my confidence, afraid, for some reason, that Bruce would deny my request to see you one more time. “It doesn’t feel right leaving her like this. I’ve not even held her since she was born. I’d like to see her just one more time, if that’s okay.”

Bruce stopped what he was doing, crossing his arms. “Have you talked to Amelia?”

“I tried calling, but the center said she no longer works there. I guess I assumed she’d return after Caroline was born. I decided to come here instead.”

“I’m glad you did. Caroline should be up from her nap soon.”

“I can wait.”

I leaned back, finally at ease. I’d get to hold you one more time, and then I would be off to start my life, and you would stay here to continue yours. I’m not sure why I was nervous, hung up on the idea they wouldn’t let me see you. We had an amicable relationship, always putting your best interests ahead of anything else. For the rest of time, you would be theirs.

He walked to the other counter and retrieved a bundle of fruit. He pulled the twigs apart, dropping the dried stems into a separate bowl. After several seconds of silence, he rolled up his sleeves, folding them just below the elbow. On his left forearm, there was a long gash, now smooth and silver. It looked out of place compared to the rest of his neat look.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at his arm. “Looks like that was a bad cut back in the day.”

He stopped, looked down at his arm, then up at me.

“A reminder of my misspent youth.”

I forced a laugh.

“No, really,” he said, looking away. He arranged the food on the wooden slab. “Just a bad cut I got when I went on this camping trip with my brothers. I hope Caroline will be into that sort of thing.”

I hoped so, too. I hoped you would have all the experiences I couldn’t give you.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll take some wat—”

“I know,” he said, cutting me off and raising his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked out of the kitchen, disappearing down a hallway. It sounded like he was going downstairs.

I wandered into the living room, daring myself to look around. I thought back to all the times I’d watched Amelia, analyzing my life through her lens. Now my analysis was different. This wasn’t Amelia’s home, but yours. The place where you would grow up, take your first steps, never go without a need or want. Walking around the room, envisioning what your future might be, I knew I’d made the right choice.

My eyes stopped on a bookcase. There were six shelves, reaching from the floor to just a few inches below the ceiling. The top and bottom rows held books. More books than I’d ever read. Most people don’t read all the books they have on display, but I’d bet anything Bruce and Amelia had read them all. They were reliable in that way. They didn’t pretend to be perfect; they just were.

The two middle rows held a collection of vases and frames. I reached out and touched the speckled glass, wondering if it was Venetian. Amelia had told me all about their honeymoon there, how they toured Murano and