In the split second the door was open; I locked eyes with the
thin woman, her hair wrapped helmet-like in a scarf. Even with dark circles around her sunken eyes, the tube in her nose leading to a white box hanging off her shoulder, and the ridiculous-looking floral housecoat-type dress, I recognized Mary Jane Edwards instantly.
“Tina, come on, open up.” She pounded with more strength than I thought possible. “Is this any way to treat your mother?”
“Go away. You’re good at that. Just go away,” I said under my breath and leaned on my side of the door. The battle line was drawn. I refused to let the woman who abandoned me when I was nine years old walk into my life like no time had passed.
“Tina, I’m not leaving until we talk,” Mary Jane said as she wiggled the door handle.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Stretching and loosening my jaw, I backed away from her insistence. What on earth could she want from me after all this time? I stared at the door, shaking my head as if the action itself would send the woman away.
“Come on, Christina, we need to talk,” she said with a crack in her voice as she wiggled the door handle and tried to force the door open.
With deep breaths in through my nose and then eased out through my mouth, I slowed my hammering heart, a technique I’d learned through years of therapy. But the long-buried memory of being dropped off at Aunt Liddy’s house for an hour, only for it to turn into forever, ached all over again. “You haven’t had a word to say in over twenty years, and I certainly have nothing to say to you… and don’t break my frickin’ doorknob.” I yanked open the door.
Holding on to the doorframe, Mary Jane took a step forward. “Thank you.”
Squeezing my eyes to expel visions from the last time I saw her, I allowed one word to exit my mouth. “Speak.”
“I’m not going to talk to you in this hallway.” She gripped the hanging white box as if using it for balance. “May I come in? Please?”
Still, the nine-year-old in me refused to budge.
Mary Jane took a breath. With her attempt at more words, she wheezed, which led to chesty coughing.
I winced as this woman, who was practically a stranger, dug a tissue from the purse hanging off her arm. She hiked up the strap on her shoulder, swung the white box to the front of her hip and adjusted a knob. After several deep inhales, she relaxed.
Aunt Liddy would have been horrified had she seen me treat anyone like this, let alone my own mother. Truth be told, my behavior was appalling, even embarrassing, but what was I to do? With my aunt’s loving parenting, strategies from a knowledgeable therapist, and emotional support from my bestie, Nissa, I had painstakingly put in place a life that honored my late father, blocked out my estranged mother, and propelled me into an existence all my own, one I thoroughly enjoyed. I owed it to all of us not to go down this rabbit hole.
But I had already stepped on the trigger. The steel jaws had snapped, trapping me between head and heart. With thoughts of hashing things out and never having to see her again, I resigned myself. “Just this once.” I lowered my shoulders and prayed I wouldn’t regret letting her into my home. L’Air du Temps, the scent of my youth, passed by ever so slightly as Mary Jane entered.
With my forehead pressed against the closed door, I took two deep breaths and got ready for battle. I pulled a rubber band off my wrist, piled my long brunette curls into a bun on the top of my head, and reminded myself that my difficult childhood had very little to do with me and a lot to do with the woman sitting on my couch. I peeked at the clock: 9:30 a.m. Was it too early to open a bottle of wine? Whipping around, ready to face my past, a loose curl fell down the side of my face. So much for being Miss Tough Guy.
Mary Jane seemed out of place, sitting slumped and focused on her breathing in my living room, which reflected the mid- century home my father had built for her where she always dressed picture-perfect, behaving like royalty. Seeing her now, in her unbecoming pink floral housedress in contrast to my sleek, custom-built, 1920s-inspired, fluted-back, Art Deco couch bewildered me. Who was this woman interrupting the ethos of my condo?
Even with a mildly warming heart, I couldn’t let go of my veil of protection. “Talk.”
She began. “I know it’s been a long time, and we have a few things to work out.”
“A few? Jesus, Mother, you’re unbelievable. You. Left. Me. Remember?”
“Will you sit? Please? I need to explain a few things I thought Liddy had told you long ago. I’m surprised she never...” Mary Jane’s cough snuck up on her again, but I still refused to sit.
Aunt Liddy? I paced, waiting for Mary Jane to get her cough under control. She had no business bringing Aunt Liddy into this. Liddy was like a mother to me. She had raised me from the age of nine. Liddy took me to buy my first bra. She listened when I lost my first crush and cheered me on when I graduated from high school and college, then moved into my own apartment as I attempted to enter adulthood.
“Aunt Liddy?” I questioned once Mary Jane’s cough subsided. “You, Mom. Let’s talk about you. I saw you last year at Liddy’s funeral. You didn’t stick around long enough to talk to me.” I paced, unclasped my tense hands, and glued my arms to my sides to keep them from flailing in anger. “You know what? This isn’t going to go anywhere. You need to leave. I can’t do this. I don’t need you to tell me we have to talk because I know there’s nothing to say.” I marched to the door and yanked it open.
“Tina, I know showing up like this is a shock, but I don’t know how much time I have left to straighten things out with you. I have lung cancer. I’ve quit my job and would like to be with you during the experimental treatment I’ve signed up for.”
I froze. Oh, no. No way. No way will my mother do this to me. Mary Jane could not come into my home and drop a bomb of this caliber. The walls of my carefully assembled life began to crumble.
“Shut the door, Tina. We really need to talk.” She pulled a large folded manilla envelope out of her purse and laid it on the coffee table.
