by Aja Cole
I was tired of being this person, but I didn’t know how to be anyone else.
I knew how shitty it was that I could see things so differently after the fact. After it was all over. Being removed from the situation and my fear in the moment provided more clarity but I had no idea what to do with that. What Greyson didn’t deserve was me going back and apologizing, only for it to happen again and again.
I didn’t even know what I wanted. I was scared to figure it out. What if I was never in a good enough space to have a functional relationship? Why wasn’t I capable of having one now? I was so frustrated because I had no idea what to do that I didn’t even want to face it. It felt like I was looking at all this possibility through a glass wall. I could see it and I could imagine it, but I couldn’t reach it. I couldn’t grab it.
And it’d kept me up the past few nights.
So I tell Jackson the full story, blurring over the sexual parts and the specific details that were a little too intimate for me to say out loud to a man who’d helped raise me for a little bit. When I finish, I drain my glass, getting up to lean against the white wood railing.
I trace the scratches from my shoes, leftover from when I’d started to write in earnest. I’d write with my feet up on the wood, not even thinking about my boot heels scuffing when it was colder.
“I think it’s time to tell her, Jackson.” I hadn’t noticed my aunt standing in the door, and hearing her low voice behind me startles me.
“Tell me what?” I frown, feeling my heart start to thud.
You ever have a feeling that a moment is about to change your life for good? That it’s so important that everything slows down and is in hyper focus? That’s how I felt.
“Once you open this box, Naomi…there’s no going back.” His voice is grave and he takes my aunt’s hand as she walks around the swing and sits down, patting the space between them for me to sit back down. I obey.
She takes a deep breath, gripping my hands between hers as she turns to me.
“First, I want to apologize to you. Because of my actions, you’re dealing with all of this baggage from your childhood,” I start to object, but she raises a stern dark eyebrow and I close my mouth. “You’re old enough now to maybe understand my reasoning, but I need you to know that I don’t expect you to forgive me right now. Maybe one day. But that’s up to you.” She looks away, before spearing me with darkened eyes again. “I’m your mother, Daya. Your biological mother.”
It felt like my world dropped out from under me.
There was roaring in my ears and all I can do is blink, wondering what type of twilight zone I’ve stepped into. The pit in my stomach from earlier only grows larger.
“What do you mean?” I croak out, looking between she and Jackson.
“Your father is still your father, unfortunately,” her slim jaw clenches. “When I was 16, I met a boy. Or a man, rather, since he was 20 at the time. I fancied myself in love. And I was devastated when I walked in on him and Natasha after we’d been together for a year. He told me that it was your mother that he loved, but in his country, we could all live together because he cared about me too.”
Sounded like my father to a tee.
“You know me well enough to know sharing isn’t my style. I made a deal with my father to cash out on some of my trust fund, and I left home. I’d been around tech my entire life, with Papa being in cyber security, so I followed in his footsteps and took a job he set me up with in New Mexico. Soon after I moved out there, I found out I was pregnant. I never saw myself having kids. I wasn’t cut out to be a mother by myself at 17. When I gave birth, your father and Natasha came to the hospital and offered to raise you. At the time, it was the only option I saw. I’d gotten a promotion when I turned 18 to a position that would have me traveling frequently, 6-7 months out of the year. It wasn’t a life for a new baby. They took you and promised me that you’d be taken care of.”
I sat there, absorbing every word and barely believing it. On one hand, I felt relief. I’d always felt more connected to Naomi than my own mother and now I knew the possible reason. Another part of me was hurt and angry. That while I’d been dealing with drama at home, she’d been working and traveling the world, living it up without the burden of a new child. But even in my anger, I couldn’t find a shred of hate because now…now I had a reason for them to feel like my real family.
“I can’t believe you didn’t think you could be a mom, you’re bossy as hell.” I smile through the tears I didn’t even know were on my face. My father is still my father, but the one woman I’d always felt I could turn to and count on when I did get to be with her – she was mine. She was my mom.
She chokes out a laugh, crying for the first time that I’ve ever seen and pulls me into a tight hug. I feel Jackson’s arms come around us too.
“Nothing like family, no?” he kisses Naomi’s forehead and then kisses mine before pulling back.
“Are you mad at me? I wanted to tell you so many times. When I came for visits and saw you sometimes, sitting alone away from everyone else and reading your books – my heart hurt so badly. Do you know how many books and articles I’ve read on how to tell a child about a biological parent? When you called me and asked to live with me, I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted more. I always read that children needed stability and I thought I was giving that to you by letting you live with your father. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”
How could I be mad at her? She thought she was doing the best thing for me. And she was so young. I doubt she knew my father’s intentions of leaving and reappearing whenever he pleased. He was always home when she visited. I wondered if she even knew about the other wives, if she had any contact with my parents since she’d taken me in.
“I’m not mad…I’m a little sad because I missed so many years with you. But I’m sure you feel the same way. Did you…do you know that Father has more wives?”
She narrows her eyes, pulling back from me. “The bastard actually did it? He married multiple women? How?”
“He would go back to South Africa and marry them. At some point, they’d come here and live somewhere nearby. Sometimes they came with their children from the past, and sometimes he had a new baby on the way. I was only old enough to understand what was happening for a few years before I came to you, but…he didn’t leave for months at a time and pop back up because of simple business trips.”
She gets up from the swing, crossing her arms and pacing on the porch. “I didn’t know dammit. I had no idea! I thought you were at least stable and happy. Even when I visited, he was there, and I thought you had some normalcy.” Her body heaves with a sob, “I did this to you. I made a stupid decision because I was terrified and now you have this notion of relationships that I can’t erase. That I can’t ever take back. I ruined it for you.”
I just feel panic at my strong Aunt Naomi being vulnerable like this, crying like this, over me. I go to her, hugging her and crying with her and her tears wet my shoulder.
Where the hell would we go from here?
And what would I do now, knowing what I knew?
I felt a little lighter, the connection that I had with Naomi being confirmed. I had a true family here. There was an opportunity to create even more memories to make up for lost time. A mother that I loved and related to instead of one I resented and didn’t understand for the way she allowed my Father to treat her.
Was this the first step in figuring out how to trust myself and a relationship?
27
Greyson
“Greyson Cole Mathieson, you’re lucky I’m not in Washington right now,” my mom hisses over the line, and I wince.
I’d known the call was coming as soon as I got back to my hotel room.
It was the fourth game of the season, and Alex had gotten smoked from behind and gone head-first into the glass. All I saw was red.
The score was 3-3 and we were in the third, playing a team that always gave us hell. Alex had been carted off to the h
ospital, and I didn’t know what the fuck had been wrong until after the game. I knew the risk of a fight, getting thrown into the penalty box and sitting on the sidelines while my team fought to win without me and one of our best players was already out.
They didn’t need that.
But what would we be saying as a team if we let a dirty hit against a damn good player go? And what would I be saying with him being my best friend?
I wasn’t the enforcer, but the team knew how much Alex’s hit shook me and they respected it. I needed to get my revenge.
I’d gone after the guy, dropping my gloves and getting a few chirps in to boil his blood. We both knew what the fight was about, so we went at it until I floored him and the refs stepped in.
Then we’d finished playing and my brothers and I won the game.
There were no hard feelings on either side.
Alex would be fine, but he’d suffered a minor compression fracture and would be out for at least two months for recovery.
I’d be lying if I said the adrenaline from the fight hadn’t fueled me for the remainder of the game.
As soon as I’d stepped off the ice, I’d called Tasha for an update and she reassured me that Alex would be fine and gently scolded me for fighting. But I knew she understood it. Alex would’ve done the same for me, and our enforcer did the same for every one of us.
“Ma —,” I start, but she’s not having any of it.
“Do you know how stressful it is for me watching you fight in a different city?? You have never picked a fight in a game before, what the hell has gotten into you? I know Alex got hurt but you’re not going to fool me into thinking that’s the only reason you pummeled Ranier.” She finishes her small rant, and I sigh and lean back against the bed. Alex is usually my roommate, but he’s of course, not here.
“It was about making a statement and I was the best one to make it.” I want a drink right now, but not drinking in season is so ingrained in me after years that I don’t even let myself have a quick glass of anything. It wouldn’t do a damn thing but make me want more.
“You’ve never fought on the ice before, Greyson. This isn’t the first time Alex has taken a hit. You play harder but you never swing. Don’t you lie to me, young man. Heather told me that Daya is visiting home and you mysteriously were gone the same morning she was. What happened?” Mentally, I swore.
Shit, the Moms talked about everything.
“You were right. She has too much baggage. We decided to stop communicating. That’s it.”
“But Faith said she hasn’t been back home in years, and she’s worried there’s more to things. She told me how you tw—.”
I cut her off, frustrated by what she’s bringing up that I’ve managed to avoid thinking about too much. “You know what, Ma? If you know the story already, then you don’t need me to tell it to you. I’ve gotta go, Coach wants to see me.” I clicked off the phone, only feeling the tiniest bit of guilt for hanging up and taking my frustration out on her.
Mom was like a dog with a bone when she wanted information, and honestly – I didn’t have any to give. I hadn’t let myself dwell too much on that particular situation since I walked away that night.
It was news to me that she’d gone to Georgia.
I barely knew a damn thing about her anyway, and I can’t believe I thought my feelings were anything more than a little infatuation. How could they have been anything more? You needed to know someone to fall for them and she’d barely shared a damn thing.
Obviously, I was nothing more than a little experiment for her to come to the conclusion that she wanted to keep her life as it was.
And that shit stung more than I wanted it to.
We’d be playing games without one of our star defensemen.
I didn’t have any extra energy to spare, let alone any to perform the mental tricks I’d need to try to understand how things had turned so quickly.
So I’d continue to act like it hadn’t happened.
Because thinking about it, thinking about her…could only end in more anger and confusion.
And she’d given me enough of that to last me a lifetime.
I wondered what Alex would say now, about me being the savior type.
This time, I wasn’t going to put myself in the way to figure out anyone else’s problems.
I wasn’t going to wait around like some lovesick idiot.
Picking up my cell phone again, I shoot a quick text to a sports writer who I’d gone out for drinks with once last year. She understood the game. She understood the time commitment.
I wasn’t confused at all about where she stood.
I didn’t need the stress.
Alex was wrong about me.
My phone buzzes and I glance at the message.
“Greyson! Nice to hear from you. I’d love to get dinner when you’re back from the road.”
I text back, and then go jump in the shower.
I spend most of it trying to push back memories of Daya and I.
28
Daya
“Daya?”
I freeze with my hand on a silk and lace pajama set. Part of me doesn’t even want to turn around.
“You didn’t tell us you were home!” they rush at me for a hug but I step slightly back, and they quickly stop short.
“Natasha.” I nod, not feeling much for the woman I watched let my father walk away multiple times only to come back with something new to play with. In my eyes, she was as much of the problem as he was.
Not to mention she’d helped him cheat on my real mother.
It was week two of being back, and I’d managed to convince the therapist I was seeing that I would eventually get around to talking with my father.
At some point before I left.
Maybe the last day.
Or the last hour.
Five minutes before my flight boarded?
I hadn’t been fond of the idea of talking to anyone about everything going on.
It was only at the request of Naomi, that I’d considered it. We’d gone to the first three sessions together, but there wasn’t a lot for me to work out with her.
I didn’t hold her decisions against her.
Whether it was right or wrong, she wasn’t the one I had a problem with.
It was my father. His lifestyle. His decisions.
Obviously, I did have daddy issues. No surprise there. Denial isn’t just a river.
I just didn’t like the connotation. Whenever I’d heard it in college, it was only a good thing when guys talked about sex. Everyone loved to get with a girl with daddy issues, because they said she was more likely to be freaky in bed. How fucked up was that?
I didn’t want to tie myself to that. To him being a reason for something. Especially something I enjoyed and that was so intimate. Among other things, I just didn’t want to accept that he had any lasting effect on the person I am today.
It’s hard when you think you’re so self-sufficient, so much your own person, and realize that you’ve been lying to yourself for years to avoid facing pain.
When I’d walked my therapist through my childhood in the past two sessions, I’d tried my best to not cry. But it’d happened anyway.
Apparently, I was soft as hell. All those feelings I tried to avoid? Yeah. No luck.
She and Naomi had helped me understand that nothing good came from avoiding your past or lying to yourself.
That’s how you fucked up…like I’d done with Greyson.
I missed him. Badly. I could admit that now.
I still had a lot of work to do.
My therapist recommended me to a colleague of hers back in New York that I would continue seeing when I got back.
I wasn’t ready to speak to Greyson just yet. I didn’t even know what I would say besides apologizing profusely. What was an apology without the action to back it up?
I couldn’t open that door again until I’d worked through everything that was left.
And here was
an opportunity to speak to the woman I’d called mom for years.
But Agent Provocateur probably wasn’t the best place to do it.
“I didn’t realize we were on a first name basis that way,” she smiles good-naturedly, like I haven’t been out of contact with her for 9 years. “I’m still your mom, you know.”
“Actually, I know the truth about that now. So you don’t have to keep up the charade.”
Her face darkens and her body goes rigid, the familiar tight-lipped smile making an appearance. It’s the one she always wore when Father left on another trip. The one that said she’d rather stand there complacently than speak her mind.
I’d hated it before I ever understood what was going on.
“Well then,” she fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist, “I assume you’d like to discuss it?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like your father to be present? I’ll have to check with him about his schedule. Someone has to make that money he sends you.”
Wow. Now that…I hadn’t been expecting. I’d been too young for passive aggressive comments when I left. Guess that wasn’t a problem now.
I wanted very, very badly to tell her no.
No, my father didn’t need to be present.
But talking about everything that’d happened with Greyson, the crazy circumstances…it’d actually made me start thinking that some things happened for a reason.
This was my sink or swim.
Was I going to run from it again, or was I going to face it and continue to find my own healing?
I wanted to learn how to be someone better.
So…I had to confront the worst.
“Yes. Here’s my number,” I scratch it down on a random business card I find in my purse and hand it to her.
“Alright. I will let you know.” She nods at me and turns on a Manolo Blahnick heel, leaving the store.
I keep browsing for a little bit, even though the only person who would be seeing clothing like that for a while would be me.
Everything about her was the same. Not a single hint of grey in her long, dark hair. Even now, I had no idea if it was growing from her head or extensions. Same slight chilly air, even when she was being pleasant and “motherly.” I’d just never felt the attachment I imagined one would feel for the woman who was supposed to have carried them for 9 months. And I think she knew it, even then.