She smiles broadly and I’m struck by how flawless her skin still looks for her age. Despite everything, she looks like she’s decades younger. I hope those Japanese genes have been passed down to me.
“That is wonderful. Oh Kayla, that makes me so happy for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes. Look at you. You’re practically glowing. I was wondering if you would find that passion again.”
I purse my lips. I’ve always thought of myself as a very lively, passionate person. Had I really been lacking it that much?
“Well,” I say, trying to downplay it, “I mean it all depends on how well I write it. They don’t usually run articles by people who aren’t staff writers…or writers. You know, in general.”
“Yes, but when you were younger, I remember the stories you would write for the school paper.”
“Yeah, but those stories were, like, movie reviews and what band was in town that weekend.”
She shakes her head, still smiling elegantly, and goes back to her knitting. “It does not matter, sweetheart. I read every article, and I knew you had a talent. I knew you would go back to it.”
“Even though I’m old now.”
Her face falls slightly. “You are not old, Kayla. I am old.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry…I don’t mean that. It’s just, I felt like at this age I would have had my shi…my stuff sorted out. My life on track.”
“Your life is on the track it is meant to be on. This is not a contest or a race. Don’t compare yourself to others, only to the person you were yesterday.”
Yeah, but how do I explain that sometimes I feel worse than the person I was yesterday? Like I’m spinning my wheels before going backward. Losing character instead of gaining it?
But I don’t want to trouble my mother with that. I try not to trouble myself with those kinds of thoughts either, it’s just that they sneak up on you sometimes.
“I know,” I tell her. “I guess it’s never too late.”
“No, it’s not,” she says. “Just remember to keep an open mind. To take chances.”
I manage a smile. “Oh, believe me, I do.”
She studies me for a moment, seeing something inside me. I’m not sure what it is.
“I loved your father very much,” she says, her needles clacking against each other. The statement seems to come out of left field. “Very, very much.”
“I know you did. And he loved you.”
“He still does.” She gives me the sweetest, saddest smile. “Even though he’s changed his residency to heaven, I still hear from him from time to time. I know he’s okay. I know he’s waiting for me.”
My eyes begin to water. We don’t talk about my dad too much, maybe because every time he’s mentioned, the tears start to flow. My mother doesn’t cry though. She takes it all so gracefully, even though I know how sad she is, how half of her soul is missing.
“Don’t cry, sweetie,” she says gently and leans over, putting her hand on mine. “It’s okay, really. I’m just telling you because I don’t want you to be afraid of love.”
“I’m not afraid of love,” I say defensively, wiping a tear away with the palm of my hand.
She gives me a thin smile. “It’s been a few years since Kyle.”
Freaking Kyle. Why is she bringing him up? Kyle is my ex. Ex-fiancé. We started dating in college and stayed together for a long time after that. But things just weren’t working between us. There wasn’t anything wrong with Kyle, it was just that…I don’t know, I guess I got cold feet. But it wasn’t because I was afraid of love. He just wasn’t what I wanted from life.
“I’m happy, Mom,” I reassure her. “I loved Kyle, too. He just wasn’t the one.”
“Oh, I know he wasn’t. I know that. You did the right thing. But when you do meet the right one, I just don’t want you to run away. I don’t want you to be scared. Love is something you have to fight for.”
I roll my eyes. “Once again, Mom, I’m not afraid of love. I love love!”