Chapter 8
I was fourteen when my father proposed to Sarah.
He did it in the backyard, under the old oak tree. He made her a wooden ring box in his shop. Carved her initials into it.
She said yes.
I was there. I took pictures. I cried happy tears.
The wedding was small. Just family and close friends. Grandma was there. Sarah's sister and her family. A few people from the shop.
My father wore a suit. He looked nervous but happy.
Sarah wore a simple white dress. She looked beautiful.
I was the maid of honor.
It was a perfect day.
They didn't ask me to call Sarah "Mom." They never would. She was Sarah. And that was more than enough.
But on the wedding night, after everyone had left, Sarah sat down next to me on the couch.
"I want you to know something," she said, her voice soft. "I love you, Lily. Like you were my own. And I'll always be here for you. No matter what."
I hugged her.
"I love you too, Sarah," I said.
And I meant it.
Life was good. Really good.
But then, six months after the wedding, I got a phone call from my mother.
It was the first time she'd ever called me. We'd only written letters before.
I was in my room doing homework when my cell phone rang. An unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
"Lily?"
I knew that voice instantly. Even after all these years.
"Mom?"
She sounded different. Older. Tired. But calm.
"I'm sorry to call out of the blue," she said. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."
"No," I said. "I'm just doing homework. Is everything okay?"
There was a pause.
"I'm coming to town," she said. "Just for a few days. I have some business to take care of. And I was wondering... if you'd want to meet me. For coffee. Or something. Just to talk. No pressure. If you don't want to, I completely understand."
I thought about it.
We'd been writing for two years. I felt like I knew the new her. The one who was sober. The one who went to therapy. The one who took responsibility for her mistakes.
But I'd never seen her in person. Not since the hospital.
"I'd like that," I said.
"Really?" she said, surprised.
"Really," I said. "But... can my dad know? And Sarah? I don't want secrets."
"Of course," she said. "Whatever you're comfortable with. They can even come if they want. Though I understand if they don't."
I told my father that night.
He was worried. I could see it. But he trusted me.
"If you want to go, go," he said. "But be careful. Take it slow. And if at any point you feel uncomfortable, you call me. I'll come get you immediately."
Sarah agreed.
"Your father and I will be ten minutes away," she said. "Just in case."
The day of the meeting, I was nervous.
My stomach was in knots. What if she wasn't the person in the letters? What if it was all an act? What if she tried to take me away?
My father drove me to the coffee shop. Sarah came with him. They sat in the car, a few spaces away, where I could see them.
I walked in alone.
My mother was already there. Sitting at a table by the window.
She looked different. Her hair was longer. Grayer. She wore simple clothes. No makeup. She looked peaceful.
She stood up when she saw me. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Lily," she said.
I walked over. We hesitated. Then we hugged.
It was awkward at first. But it was also nice.
We sat down. Ordered coffee. Talked.
She told me about her life. About her job at a bookstore. About her apartment. About her therapy. About how hard she'd worked to become someone she could be proud of.
I told her about school. About soccer. About art. About Sarah and my father's wedding.
She listened. She asked questions. She didn't judge. She didn't try to make me choose. She just... listened.
"You look happy," she said, after a while.
"I am," I said.
"Good," she said, smiling through tears. "That's all I ever wanted. For you to be happy. Even if it's not with me."
We talked for an hour. Maybe more.
When it was time to go, she walked me to the door.
"Thank you," she said. "For giving me a chance. For meeting me."
"Thank you for writing," I said. "For being honest."
She hesitated.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Sure."
"Do you think... maybe someday... we could be friends?"
I thought about it.
"I think we already are," I said.
She cried then. Real, happy tears.
I walked out to the car. My father and Sarah were waiting.
"Are you okay?" my father asked.
I smiled.
"I'm great," I said.
As we drove away, I looked back. My mother was standing in the window of the coffee shop, waving.
May you like
I waved back.
And for the first time in my life, I felt whole.
