Surprises From Mother [FICTION]

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.” I say again as I clear the dishes from the table.

“Yes, it was, dear.” She smiles at me, gingerly patting some imaginary trace of cake from her lips.

How she can devour an entire meal without smudging her lipstick has always been beyond me. Perhaps if I had learned her secret, I would wear makeup more often. As it is, I am not sure I even have any make-up in my house.

My cell phone buzzes in the annoying way it has of letting me know someone wants to talk who hasn’t been added to my contacts. I ignore it and finish piling dishes into the dishwasher, so I can get back to my quiet evening with mom. It buzzes again. I sigh and slip it from my pocket, peeking at the screen to see a number from my hometown. I look up at my mother curiously, but her eyes remain fixed on her hands, probably pondering redoing her pristine nails as soon as she gets home.

I put the phone to my ear and offer a tentative. “Hello?”

Weeping greets my ears, followed by, “You should be celebrating with me. I’m your real mother.”

“What?” I ask, glancing at my mom.

Noticing the change in my voice, she looks up, scanning my face with eyes the same chocolate brown as my own. I take that in for a second, realizing again that our eyes are the only similarity between us.

“Mom?”

“Yes?” A weeping voice echoes in my ear as my mother queries worriedly and stands up to walk toward me.

I pull the phone away from my ear to turn on the speaker. 

“Are you still there?” The woman on the other end of the phone asks.

I watch my mother’s face as her healthy complexion fades to the color of heavy cream. “Sweetie…” her voice cracks.

“Agatha, is that you?” The voice on the other end of the phone asks.

I gasp, feeling tears streaming down my face. “What is happening?” I croak like a frog, a frog whose life has just been turned on end.

My mother starts weeping.

“Tell her, Aggie. You promised you would tell her when she turned eighteen.”

“Doris, how could you?” My mother dashes away a tear as anger takes the place of the shame and worry that had previously drained the blood from her perfectly made up cheeks. “I was going to tell her.”

“She’s almost thirty…”

“Shut up. Both of you!” I interrupt before the bickering becomes something more. “Mom, tell me what is going on.”

They both start talking again.

“I meant the woman I have been calling mom for the past almost thirty years.” I interrupt again.

The weeping on the other end of the phone starts anew. My mother takes a deep breath and reaches for my hands. I step away from her as she begins to speak.

“Your father and I wanted a child. When we couldn’t have one, he made a mistake.”

“I was not a mistake…” The woman on the other end of the phone screams.

“You were. The only good thing was that I finally got my daughter…” My mother hisses at the phone, leaning in so close that she covers the screen with spittle.

“So it’s true?” I sink to my knees as tears inundate my cheeks.

“In a manner of speaking…” My mother begins.

“You promised to tell her when she turned eighteen.”

“My late husband promised to tell her and bad choices caused him to die when she was seventeen, so I chose…” My mother cuts off whatever insult wants to burn its way off her tongue and looks at me, tears forming in her eyes again.

She reaches out to hang up the phone. “Honey, I am your mother. I always wanted you, even if you came to me…by unconventional means. Please believe me.”

As the pieces fall together in my head, I begin to sob in earnest. I don’t shy away as she circles her arms around me. She squeezes me as I sink into the familiar comfort of her embrace.

~~Anyone who has met my mother and me and had caused to receive disapproving looks from both of us recognizes this story as fiction. Hopefully, it was realistic enough to be compelling and entertaining. At the very least, it should make most Mother’s Days look wonderful, right?~~