“There’s no justification for not talking to me for four years Selena! I’m your goddamn mother!”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I cried. Then I bawled.
I felt her arms folding around me but I couldn’t stop sobbing.
She sighed. “Your father took out a loan against the bakery before he passed, a loan I didn’t even know about. That’s why I had to keep working and missed a lot of your performances…It wasn’t because I didn’t want to be there for you. I did, I really did…but if I missed one payment, we wouldn’t have had anything because they would’ve taken the shop away. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry; I wanted you to focus on your own dreams… If I had known that you were going to treat me so horribly once you left…”
She buried her head in my shoulder and cried. “Why did you treat me like that Selena? How could you do that to me?”
A reel of memories flashed before my eyes: I was on stage in a custom Marchesa gown, winning my first Emmy, deliberately thanking everyone except my mother. I was receiving an Academy Award nomination—for my very first film, wanting to call and share it with her, but getting excessively drunk with my costars instead. I was holding secret actress auditions for women to play her in interviews and specials, not caring whether she would be hurt by it or not.
I was making sure her calls went unanswered and unreturned, but I was secretly listening to her voicemails at night; finding a surreal sense of comfort from the sound of her voice. I was purposely vacationing on her birthday and Mother’s Day—to get my mind off of her, to hurt her if she should happen to come across the photos. But I was crying each time I did that, each time I thought of a new way to get her back for not “being there” for me.
I immediately realized that all the years I’d spent trying to hurt my mother by cutting her off, I’d hurt myself even more.
“I’m sorry Mom. I’m so sorry,” I uttered through broken sobs. “I wanted to prove I could make it without you…that I didn’t need you…but I do, I really do…I’m so sorry...”
She kept her arms around me and pulled me close. She was silent a long time, occasionally wiping her face then mine.
She wiped away another stream of tears and whispered, “I am very very angry with you and I’m extremely hurt by what you did, extremely hurt…But I forgive you and I’ll always love you, Selena Anne Beauregard…You know, I probably would’ve changed my last name too.”
I sniffled and suppressed a laugh.
She hugged me tighter and kissed my forehead. “Does Selena Ross eat crepes and home-made yogurt? I read somewhere that she only eats the finer things for breakfast.”
“She loves crepes,” I wiped my face on my sleeve.
“I’d hoped so,” she stood up and reached for my hand. “I’m looking forward to four years of stories, young lady. How long do you plan to be in town?”
“Five and a half more weeks…maybe more.”
“Well, that’s a start. In addition to updating each other on all the years we’ve missed, you can help out at Sweet Seasons to try and get back on my good side. I never was able to perfect your cherry bourbon pie—I’m sure everyone will be happy to have the real recipe back…I’ve missed you so much, Selena. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She squeezed my hand. “Was that really Matt Sterling’s baby?”
Chapter 8
Ethan
I stared at the blonde woman lying on the floor of Autumn Wonder and tried not to laugh. I’d never seen someone literally fall backwards before. One minute she was yelling at my coworker, and the next she was falling on her head and her heels were in the air.
“Is she okay? Is she talking about suing us?” Lola called from across the store. “Do you think corporate will fire me if she sues? You think I should put in an application at Starbucks before they do that?”
“I think she’s okay,” I bent down and touched her forehead. “Do I need to call 911?”
She didn’t answer. She was busy mumbling something to herself, shaking her head back and forth.
I gently shook her shoulder and her eyes fluttered open.
Wow…
She was a vision. I could gaze at her all day.
She had the most amazing gray eyes I’d ever seen—her irises were the color of stormy rain clouds, with deep green speckles that glimmered like glass, the type of eyes that could see right through me.
She seemed to be in some type of trance. It looked like she was slightly puckering her lips at me, like she wanted me to kiss her, but I made myself believe I was only imagining that.
I helped her to stand up, ignoring the sudden jolt I felt as soon I touched her hand. I asked her a few questions about how she was feeling, but she simply stared at me and turned bright red.
She looks very familiar…Where do I know her from?
I brought her a new coffee and demonstrated how the door opened: the word “PUSH” was boldly written on the handle bar and etched on the glass. Before I could ask what her name was, she rushed out to the patio.
I wanted to follow her, to ask her out to dinner—tonight, but I sensed Lola behind me.
“Well, at least she’s okay,” Lola patted my back. “Thanks for filling out paperwork on your off day, Ethan! You are already one of my favorite coffee beans!”
I’m getting out of here by the end of the week…