Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Wait till she hears the rest.
Just as I’m swallowing down that thought, my mother sweeps in through the door of the coffee shop, pushing sunglasses onto the top of her head and patting at her hair. Her gaze runs the length of the room until she finds me, and the look of relief on her face brings me absolute shame immediately. With a loosely hanging floral sweater that nearly gets caught on a chair, she rushes through the maze of tables with her purse held tight to her side.
She barrels straight past the empty seat with the hot chocolate and leans down over me. “My baby girl,” she whispers and her voice cracks. I stand up into the hug, keeping my left hand behind her back. Mom squeezes me tight, then tighter, shaking slightly.
It all adds to the guilt, but still, I hold her back just as tightly.
“Mama. Hi.”
“Braelynn.” Her voice is low and stressed. She pushes me back to get a good look at me, her hands gripping my shoulders, then lets out a breath. “Braelynn, where—”
“Here, sit down. I got you some cocoa.”
“Cocoa? Thank you, but—” My mom lets me guide her into the seat across from me. She hooks her purse onto the chair and blinks down at the cocoa like she’s never heard of it before. I take my seat and slide my hand under the table. Mom’s eyes snap back to mine. “Where have you been? Ignoring all my calls and messages. Braelynn, you worried me sick, neña.”
“I’m okay,” I tell her simply and she leans across from me, silently looking over my expression.
She puts one hand on the table. “Where have you been? I thought I lost you. You don’t have children, so you can’t understand what that’s like.” I take a deep breath and try my best to keep my expression calm. I don’t want to smile too widely and I don’t want to cry just from being here with her finally, because that would worry her more. So I focus on holding myself together.
“This isn’t like you. I’ve been up nights. I can hardly sleep. I worry about you, and I thought—”
“Mom, I have to tell you something.”
Her questions stop and her eyes search mine. My mother waves me on, impatient. “Tell me, then. Explain this.”
“Do you want to drink some cocoa first?”
She shakes her head, bewildered. “I can’t. Tell me what you need to say.”
“I’ve been lying to you.”
Her brow furrows. She looks like she doesn’t know whether to be angry or relieved or suspicious. “Lying about what?” she asks, her hands finally wrapping around that mug. Her eyes flash with worry and I wish I could skip over this part and just hug her again.
“I went away with a man.” I start and my voice chokes up.
Mama startles backward, her hand going to her chest. Questions flicker through her eyes. She must be choosing between a hundred of them. Guilt weighs me down, pushing me back into the chair, when she asks, “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I whisper and the memories in my head betray the calm I wish to portray. There’s a long silence. She clearly doesn’t believe me so I distract her. “He made me fall in love with him, though.”
My mom sags forward, looking at me with pure skepticism in her eyes. “Mi neña.” A smile falters on her face. She’s trying to make light of this, and I don’t think she can. “So a man kept you from me?”
“Mama, I need you to listen to me.”
“Neña, I’m worried for you. You lied about where you work. Now you lied about this man. That bar isn’t safe. You have to know what you’re getting yourself into and now look. This man can’t be—”
She keeps talking, not even pausing to take a breath. Regrets pile up on one another as tears brim in her eyes.
I regret telling her I was a waitress, but what else was I supposed to say? I had to tell her something to avoid this situation. Except I didn’t avoid it in the end. I’m still sitting here in the coffee shop while my mom’s cheeks redden and her voice rises a little more with every sentence.
I just need to get this out. I need her to know so we can move on from here. All the rest—the waitressing job, even being out of contact for so long that it kept her up at night—is already done. She won’t ever get an explanation if she won’t let me say the words. I spent hours wishing I could tell her everything.
That’s what love makes people do, I think. It makes them worry and say far too much and forget that a conversation is supposed to be a two-way street.
“Mama!” I slap my hand down on the table. One of the coffee shop waiters stops mid-step on his way to us and turns around. He was probably going to ask us if we wanted to order anything to eat, but that would be a waste of time, because neither of us has taken a single sip of our cocoa and I imagine, like me, there isn’t an appetite in sight.