I can’t do this. I can’t face them right now… Screw Joan, I don’t care if she leaves! I’m out of here!
I stepped backwards very slowly, praying that none of them would randomly look up in my direction. Just as I was about to move into the front hallway, I lost my balance and tripped over something fuzzy—Tina.
She let out an ear-piercing screech and scratched me before angrily dashing away.
I tried to gather myself as quickly as I could, to bolt out of the house before my family could look to see where that agonizing squeal had come from, but it was no use.
The room had already become silent and everyone in my family was scowling at me.
“Um… Sorry about that… Hello everyone,” I barely managed. “It’s good to see you all…”
Silence.
My oldest cousin Kate stood up. “Well, look what the cat coughed up! It’s Selena Ross! I don’t think I feel like having fun anymore.”
She walked past me, purposely bumping my shoulder, and slammed the door on her way out.
The rest of my family stood up one by one and walked outside to join her, purposely slamming the door after each exit.
Only my mother stayed.
She looked the same way she did four years ago. Her wavy black hair was in a messy bun atop her head, her stone gray eyes still possessed their see-through-your-soul powers, and she still looked hurt.
She stared at me a long time before saying, “Why are you here Selena? Did New York get dull all of sudden? Or are you hiding from that man’s wife?”
So she knows…
“I’m…I’m here to reconnect with you,” I held back tears. “I decided I needed to come back home for a while…”
“Right…” she walked into the living room and sat on the couch.
I followed and sat in the chair across from her. “I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while… I—”
“In four years?” she glared at me. “You haven’t called me in four years!”
“I’m–”
“You didn’t even think to send me an invitation to your wedding! I had to read about it! I had to watch it weeks later on TV!” she screamed.
“Ma, I’m—”
“And I was thrilled to see that actress portraying me on E True Hollywood Story! Brilliant, Selena! Brilliant! And since when is your last name Ross? Beauregard wasn’t good enough?”
“It’s not that. It was—”
“I called you every day for a year! A year!” her voice was wavering, but it was getting louder and louder. “And you didn’t return one phone call! Not a one! You didn’t even think to call me on your own!”
“I—”
“Why couldn’t you call me once? Just once! My birthday? Mother’s Day? Hell, I would’ve settled for St. Patrick’s Day!”
“I wanted to call you, I swear…I was just so angry...I was tired of you putting Sweet Seasons ahead of me and—”
“There’s no justification for not talking to me for four years Selena! I’m your goddamn mother!”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I cried. Then I bawled.
I felt her arms folding around me but I couldn’t stop sobbing.
She sighed. “Your father took out a loan against the bakery before he passed, a loan I didn’t even know about. That’s why I had to keep working and missed a lot of your performances…It wasn’t because I didn’t want to be there for you. I did, I really did…but if I missed one payment, we wouldn’t have had anything because they would’ve taken the shop away. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry; I wanted you to focus on your own dreams… If I had known that you were going to treat me so horribly once you left…”
She buried her head in my shoulder and cried. “Why did you treat me like that Selena? How could you do that to me?”
A reel of memories flashed before my eyes: I was on stage in a custom Marchesa gown, winning my first Emmy, deliberately thanking everyone except my mother. I was receiving an Academy Award nomination—for my very first film, wanting to call and share it with her, but getting excessively drunk with my costars instead. I was holding secret actress auditions for women to play her in interviews and specials, not caring whether she would be hurt by it or not.
I was making sure her calls went unanswered and unreturned, but I was secretly listening to her voicemails at night; finding a surreal sense of comfort from the sound of her voice. I was purposely vacationing on her birthday and Mother’s Day—to get my mind off of her, to hurt her if she should happen to come across the photos. But I was crying each time I did that, each time I thought of a new way to get her back for not “being there” for me.
I immediately realized that all the years I’d spent trying to hurt my mother by cutting her off, I’d hurt myself even more.
“I’m sorry Mom. I’m so sorry,” I uttered through broken sobs. “I wanted to prove I could make it without you…that I didn’t need you…but I do, I really do…I’m so sorry...”