Chapter Twenty-Two

The long, gray stone driveway looked like it never been touched as she glided her car to a stop. Moments like these were when I wished I knew how to drive. Save myself the painfully silent ride.

My phone buzzed when I got out.

Wren: Don't let her piss you off. Call me as soon as you're done. I'll take you home.

Thank God. I'd rather walk home than have her take me. An unseasonably cold breeze made me shiver. Emilia's eyes dropped to my phone. She stepped forward like she wanted to see, but hesitated. Turning on her heels, she walked up the steps, and I followed behind.

Her home was huge. With large windows decorated by ruby shutters, you could take a peek inside. I could see the fireplace and white and black theme.

The outside greenery balanced the front of the house and framed the walkway. Two flower beds laid on each side of the steps. The stone steps matched the driveway and led to the front door. My heel sunk into one of the cracks as she looked down at me. Quickly finding my balance, I rushed up the stairs. I could see all her thoughts through her eyes. How I was gangling, disheveled, and in over my head. I offered her a look back, hoping it read: I think you're fugly.

She ushered me inside, and my stomach growled again. It smelled like my mother's meatloaf and instantly brought back memories of my childhood. I wish she was here with me. She would handle this so much better than me. She could rise above anything, but even on my best day, I didn't possess that superpower. Especially when I was pissed.

Emilia kicked her shoes off in the middle of the floor and scurried around the corner into the kitchen.

"I trust you haven't eaten yet," she called from the stove. "I made supper. It'll be ready in a few."

Suspicious. She completely changed. Now, she wanted to be hospitable and treat me like a guest. Why? What was her angle?

As dishes clattered from the kitchen, I took a mini tour. She had an open floor plan. Her glass sliding door overlooked the lawn. It was official. She loved gardening.

Her kitchen had black and white checkered tiles and monochrome marble counters. The breakfast bar was the only seating available. No dining room, but numerous nooks for reading or day drinking. She kept an overwhelming wine collection at the top of her kitchen cabinets.

On the right, a small personal chair sat in the middle of a gray area rug. A forgotten glass of white wine laid on the coffee table. Not to mention the seventy-five-inch television and fireplace to keep her company. I figured Wren didn't visit but did her daughters?

She was alone, it seemed, all the time.

Just above the television was a huge family photo. Oddly placed, but probably perfect for her. Wren's three sisters stood side by side, shortest to tallest. One sporting a missing tooth, another with an iPod attached to her arm, and the eldest, smiling with all her heart.

Behind them, Emilia stood with her voluminous brown curls and in a silk white dress. She laughed. Eyes closed, head back, and beaming smile. I could almost hear it. And by her side was her husband. He had shaggy, blonde hair. He wore a cut-off sleeved shirt and ripped jeans. And up in the air was Wren. Just a toddler. He looked down at his father with the biggest smile. His dad held out his hands, ready to catch him before he fell.

I'd imagined Emilia probably sat and looked at that picture more than she watched television.

"Not what you were expecting?" She looked from the breakfast bar with her hair tied back in a bun. Two meals and giant cups of lemonade sat side by side.

"No, not at all, actually. I was expecting fire, gore, love potions, recipes on how to make children taste delicious."

She laughed and ushered to the plates. "Shall we?"

I thought Wren lived differently than this. But she was just like any other mother. Their home was big, but not enormous. I wondered what it was like to grow up here. He made it sound like hell, but maybe because he didn't know what hell was actually like.

I shared a bathroom with five other people until I was ten, and we lived in a two-bedroom apartment until I was fourteen. I started working for my dad that summer and never stopped until now.

I couldn't understand Wren. As much as I tried, I couldn't.

She cooked sirloin steak, fried potatoes, and green beans. I could tell she wasn't used to cooking for more than one person, because the portions were huge. There was no way I could eat all of it, but I was so hungry, I would try.

The sirloin was pinker than I wanted and the potatoes kept getting caught in my throat. It was like swallowing sandpaper. "You know, you could have waited until my mother got out of the hospital. I'm sure she would have wanted to come."

She hesitated, and I noticed how quiet it was up here. Away from the rest of the world. When you looked outside, all you saw was grass. No people, no lives being led. I couldn't even hear birds chirping. Only the wind. There was nothing. It did feel like hell.

"How is she?" she asked.

"Good," I said, but it didn't seem to fit the state of my mother. "Better." But that would only comfort her. "Alive." I settled. "No thanks to you."

She hunched forward. "I know you must hate me."

I felt like she was putting on a show. She was only telling me what she thought I wanted to hear. Maybe if I fell for it and accepted her apology, she'd be absolved of her prejudice and neglect. If she truly felt any guilt, she wouldn't be talking to me. She'd be with my mother, apologizing to her. What she owed me, paled in comparison to how indebted she was to my mother.

"I am truly sorry for what happened. If there's—"

"Is that why you retired?" I wanted her to be damned. I wanted her to tell me she retired because of us. She did it out of fear and couldn't live with herself. I wanted to know that day haunted her every night before bed. She'd put herself in this big house away from the world because of her own guilt. I wanted her to suffer just as much as I had.

"No," she admitted. She didn't even have the decency to lie. "I...was getting older and thought it would be better to take a step back?"

She said the words like she was still deciding if she believed them. She was lying, just not the way I wanted. "Right. With all your misjudgment and negligence, you probably were overwhelmed," I feigned. "What? They force you out?"

She twisted in her seat, finally looking me in the eyes. "I called you here to apologize and to give you this." She slid a thick envelope across the table. "It should cover the hospital bills and your mother's aftercare."

I figured she'd offer money. It wasn't because she felt bad, it was to keep me quiet. My family wasn't going to sue. They had too much faith she'd changed. They missed my mother's symptoms too. Ultimately, it was my mother's decision. I don't think any of us wanted to take another thing from her again. "Am I supposed to thank you?"

"You know, I've never met someone so difficult. I'm trying to show how sorry I am for what happened and offer you compensation."

"You don't even care—"

"How can you say that?" She turned to me fully. Her eyes burned with a fire I could practically feel.

Finally, I felt like I got a genuine reaction from her. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do this.

"Why didn't you believe me? Why didn't you run tests to make sure she was okay? Why did you push us out without even trying?"

"We were busy!" Her voice echoed with frustration. "We had more patients than doctors. I didn't have time to listen to a daughter's concerns about her mother, who didn't even want to be there. She even said, herself, she was fine."

"So, every time a patient says they're fine, you just believe them?"

Gripping the edge of the table, she tried to keep her composure. When her brows knitted together, I saw her give in to her own anger. "If you didn't like my diagnosis, why didn't you get a second opinion? You could have taken her to another doctor. You could have gotten her to slow down and to listen to her body."

"What fucking diagnosis?! You didn't even try. And she didn't want to go to another doctor after you acted like an ass. You were determined not to believe her. And I want you to tell me why. Saying you were busy isn't enough. "

"You said she was stressed. I can only do so much for that. She needed to seek therapy, maybe a holistic doctor would've been better. She showed no signs of a brain tumor."

I slammed my fist into the table. It was her job to help her. She could've done more. And she had to see that. There was no way she couldn't. "You were supposed to check, anyway. You could've stopped it. And you didn't."

"I did what I had to based on the information given. I'm not talking about this anymore." She pushed herself from the table and shoved the envelope in my hands.

"You didn't help her because she wasn't important to you. Maybe if we had money and weren't black, we would've been worthy of your time."

She whirled around like I'd called out her name. Her lips quivered and I swear to God if she cried, I really was going to punch her.

"Yo-you're calling me racist and classist? I've saved many lives. I think about the patient first. Always. I have never put their race before their life. That's not how I do my job." She was full-on shouting at this point. We both were.

"Yeah, because you're a doctor and know how to do your job, but you can still have unconscious biases. If you want to call it racism, then sure." If any of her kids brought in her husband with the same concerns, she would've dropped everything, and that was the problem. I shouldn't have to compare my situation to a loved one for her to get it. It was her job to apply the same care to everyone who walked into her office.

"I can't believe—" She launched to the door. "You need to leave. And stay away from Felix."

A bell chimed in my head. The food. The friendly welcome. Even the apology. It was all for him. "That's why you brought me here. You don't even care about my mother."

She stomped her feet."Stop saying that. Do not put words in my mouth. I do care. I do!"

"You just care about your son more."

The confirmation settled on her face the moment she opened her mouth to deny it. She couldn't think about me or my mother. All she thought about was Wren and how he was with me. Like how all I could think about was how he was her son.

"That's not fair," she whispered.

"Why do you want me to stay away from him?"

"Because he's been through a lot, and I don't want him to get hurt."

"Who said I was going to hurt him?"

"Not you, but being with you will be way too hard on him. I know he's charming. He probably treats you like a princess and you feel special around him, but think about him. Because of you, he'll experience mistreatment and pain he isn't equipped to handle. He already has such a hard time in life already, you will just make it worse."

I had never felt so low, but I couldn't deny her fears. They were real, and I hated it. She coddled him to the point of suffocation and even made me feel guilty. I haven't done anything wrong. "I see what you're trying to do, and it's not working."

The moment a tear fell from my eyes, she propelled from the door and gripped my hand. "Felix will always choose the difficult route to anything, that's why I need you to end it."

I was the difficult route. She probably had a two paged list of girls she'd rather him be with. Ones that offered him an easy life. Not someone like me, who was used to pain and suffering, but she didn't know that he was too.

"Nora, please," she begged. I thought she was going to get on her knees at one point. "I can't lose my baby boy too. Those men took my husband. I can't let you take my son too. Don't use him to get back at me. I've been in hell."

Ah. So that's it. She was afraid of me because when she saw me, she saw them. But it wasn't fair. I just wanted to be with the boy who taught me how to follow my dreams.

"I love him." It was a meek reply, but one I hoped meant something.

"Then love him enough to leave him."

She was relentless. I'd leave feeling worse than I came. I don't know how Wren lasted so long with her.

Ripping from her hold, I pushed myself out the door. "I see why he hates you."

I knew I hurt her. I wanted to, but when Wren called, I felt guilty. And I hated it. After five calls with no luck, he texted instead.

Wren: Please. Don't shut me out.

He didn't understand. I was exhausted. For months, I blamed his mother. She caused my family so much pain, and she didn't even care. It made me question everything.

Should I be upset? Is this my fault? I have been more vocal. More resilient. More unavoidable. Something about me was easy to overlook.

I hated her. I hated her for what she didn't do. She would never feel guilty or internalize her failures. Her life didn't change because of that day but ours would never be the same.

I couldn't do anything else. All I could do was hate her, blame her, and promise to have nothing to do with her. But she went from being the wicked doctor who ripped my family apart, to being the mother of the boy I loved. If I went back to Wren, it felt like forgiving her, and I couldn't do that. Not forgiving her was all I had left.

So, I sent one last text and hoped he got the message.

Me: I need time.

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