Page 123 of The Design of Goodbye
I walked into the restaurant feeling like strings were attached to my arms, pulling me in two directions. Part of me wanted to go home—the fear of seeing my mom soon too overwhelming. She’d left me. She probably didn’t want to see me. It would be so much easier to go back home. But the other part of me knew I couldn’t move on until I had answers. And there was a tiny bit of hope, too. That my mom would see me, realize how much she’d missed me, and come back to me.
I saw my mom before she saw me. She was sitting at a booth near the entrance, staring at her phone, oblivious. I took a moment to take her in. She’d always been strikingly beautiful, with her prominent cheekbones, hazel eyes, and full lips. But now? It was like her time away from me had awakened her. Her new jet-black hair contrasted amazingly against her skin, and her lips shined a vibrant red. I hated how perfect she looked. How alive. I’d wanted to find her broken.
Like me.
I walked over.
“Hi, Mom.” My voice lacked the confidence I’d hoped for.
She looked up. Her eyes widened.
I slid into the booth across from her.
Her initial shock was already gone, and she stared at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “How could you do this to me?”
“Do what?” I asked with fake sweetness, but when she gave me the look I’d been cowering away from since I was little, my mouth clamped shut.
She slammed the sketchbook she’d had in front of her closed. “You didn’t read my letter.”
“I read it.” Hundreds of times.
“Then, why”—she gestured at me like I was a fly she wanted to swat away—“are you here?”
My hope immediately vanished.
“I wanted to talk,” I admitted.
She sighed like I was the biggest waste of time she’d ever had. “I said goodbye.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I turned away to gather my thoughts. Near me was a family of four: a mom, dad, and two young brothers. The boys were throwing ice from their waters at each other and giggling. Their mom scolded them, but she couldn’t hide the laughter in her eyes. Or the love for her kids when she ruffled their hair and smiled at them.
My mom had never been like that. And she never would.
Those strings from earlier wrapped around my neck and chest, suffocating me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, turned back to face my mom, and muttered, “Not all goodbyes have to be forever.”
“I wanted mine to be,” she said dismissively.
She was inspecting her nails. They were incredibly long and matched the color of her lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them. How many times had she told me she’d never have long nails because they affected how she sewed?
“Why?” I choked out. Tears were threatening to spill, but I blinked them away.
She sat perfectly poised, like this was still the business meeting she’d expected it to be. “I told you why.”
I didn’t understand how she could be so unemotional when she hadn’t seen me—her daughter—in half a year.
“You didn’t,” I said. “You didn’t tell me what made you leave.”
“I thought that was obvious.” She stared right at me. “Because of you.”
Each word had been a shard of glass to my heart, even though I’d known it all along. “What did I do?”
She tapped those nails on the table. The sound grated my ears. “This meeting is incredibly inconvenient for me.”
I wanted to leave. To show her I needed nothing from her. But the truth was, I did.
She glanced down at her sketchbook, then back at me, almost like she was comparing us. Then she said, “Did you know I interned with Ruby June?”
