I had always thought it to be weird that my mother hadn’t fallen pregnant again in the years after losing Aaron.
“No. I could barely get him to agree to have you two. Of course, it worked out well, as you are his pride and joy now.”
Was, I was tempted to correct. Surprisingly, I didn’t have any trouble believing my mother about Conrad controlling the number of kids they’d had. It was just another horrific revelation to be added to the chain of evidence mounting against him.
So I guessed we were having this conversation now.
“Forgive my bluntness, Mother, but you didn’t exactly act like you were eager to raise the one child you had left.” I took a sip of my coffee. Noticed my hand was shaking.
My mother put her cup down, snatching my hands across the table. “Look at me, Arya.” I did. Not because I wanted to but because I had to give her the chance to explain herself after all these years. “It was a defense mechanism, okay? Your father would often threaten to take you away. In fact, whenever he and I fought, whenever I wanted to walk away, he would use that card against me. He said he’d have full custody over you, because I was such a bad parent, before I even had the chance to become a bad parent. Then I realized it wasn’t going to matter. He’d have done as he wished with or without my efforts. It was a catch-22. I was conditioned not to become too close to you, because I never knew if he’d let me keep you. And he is a very persuasive and manipulative man, as I’m sure you’re starting to see. I didn’t want to get attached to you. Didn’t want my heart to break even more after Aaron.”
My chest was hurting so bad I was surprised I could still breathe. I felt like my walls were crumbling down brick by brick, and I had no way to stop it. I’d always carefully constructed my reality into a digestible picture. Dad was the saint, Mom the sinner. She was the villain in my story, not the victim, and my reality, the one thing I’d thought I had that was stable and true, no longer made sense.
“I thought you didn’t love me,” I said, my hands limp between her fingers.
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I wanted to hug you every day. Sometimes I physically stopped myself from reaching out and embracing you, because I knew it would make him mad. He’d say that I was trying to manipulate you. That I was making a point. I wanted us to run away together. But there was always a threat hanging over my head. I didn’t want to lose you entirely.”
“You did anyway.”
“I did,” she agreed. “But at least I got to see you every day. And then when you left for college, and after that, I tried convincing myself that I didn’t care.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” I pulled my hands from her grasp. “Out of the blue. What’s changed?”
She shifted in her seat, smoothing her dress over her knees demurely.
“Yesterday,” she started, fumbling with her pearl necklace, “I tried reaching you all day to wish you a happy birthday. You didn’t answer. I wanted to go to your apartment to surprise you and realized I don’t even know where you live. I found out your office address because your father had one of your business cards in his study. I called your office and asked for your address, but Jillian said you weren’t there. That you had . . . a date. It struck me then how little I know about your life. About your hobbies, likes, and dislikes. The things that make your heart sing and your soul weep. I went back home, sick with shame. Your father was in one of his never-ending meetings with Louie and Terrance. I made myself a cup of tea, contemplating how I no longer had a Ruslana to do it for me, because ever since she left, I was too afraid to bring someone else into our house from fear he would sleep with her too. I took my tea to the balcony, overlooking Mount Hebron Memorial, and saw you visiting Aaron. You weren’t alone.”
A pensive smile played on her face. “There was a man with you. You looked . . . close. I saw the way you leaned your head against his shoulder. How you talked. And I thought . . . how I wanted to be that person for you. This rock. Someone you could count on, speak to. Someone to spend your birthday with. Then I thought back to all your birthdays over the years. At five, with nanny number eight. Or your fourteenth one, where we forgot about it until three days later, because Dad was in Geneva. I missed so much. I know that. A simple apology wouldn’t do . . .” She inhaled. “But I think, maybe, seeing as our world is shattering and everything around us is collapsing, we should at least try? What do you say, Arya? Please?”
There were so many things I wanted to say. To ask. But I started with the obvious one, and it had nothing to do with me.
“Why are you letting him stay with you, still?” I frowned. “Conrad. Why not divorce him? It’s a bad look. You standing by him after everything he did.”
“I don’t even go to court with him. He’s asked plenty of times. Apparently, his lawyers think it is good optics.”