Unforgivable by Amy Reed Page B

making a mess with no regard for who would have to step in it. She nods and looks me in the eyes and for a moment I see the woman before that, the one from my childhood, the mother who took us on adventures, the person I thought had to be the most beautiful woman in the world.
    â€œBut maybe it’s not,” she says. “Maybe it’s not too late.”
    I don’t know what I’m feeling, if there’s a name for this mix of resentment and nostalgia and hope, for this glimmer of love breaking through my tornado of anger and confusion.
    No. A few words at a coffee shop cannot undo years of damage. A half-assed apology cannot make up for the fact that she leftme, left David when he needed her most. She hasn’t explained anything. She is nowhere near off the hook.
    â€œWhy did you leave?” I say.
    â€œI told you,” she says. “I was miserable.”
    â€œThat’s not enough. A lot of moms are miserable, but they don’t leave.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œIt’s, like, against nature or something. Dads leave, not moms.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œHow does a mother leave her own kids?” My voice breaks, whether in sadness or anger, I can’t tell. But my throat feels like it’s going to close up.
    â€œI don’t know.” She is shrunken, gone. “I don’t know how I did it.” She is a shell.
    â€œIf you’re going to do something like that, you have to have a reason.”
    â€œI couldn’t love anymore.” Now the tears are coming. Now her voice is thick with them.
    â€œYou couldn’t love us?”
    â€œI couldn’t love anyone.”
    â€œYou loved David.”
    She makes a sound like a whimper, then says, “David used up my love until there wasn’t any left.”
    â€œYou blame him now? I thought you blamed Dad.”
    She shakes her head. “I couldn’t save David. That’s the only thing I knew I had to do, and I couldn’t do it.”
    â€œThere were plenty of other things you had to do, Mom.David wasn’t the only one who needed you.”
    She nods. She swallows. “I was dead, Marcus. I wanted to die.”
    â€œYeah,” I say. “I guess it runs in the family.” I have never wanted to hurt anyone more in my life.
    â€œMarcus, you have no idea how hard it was for me. How hard it’s been living with that guilt and shame. I can’t sleep at night.” She is weeping now. Finally, she is making a scene. She is making this all about her.
    There she is. There’s the mother I know.
    â€œYou have no idea how much I missed you both. I knew it was all my fault, and that hurt so much. This last year has been so hard. You have no idea—”
    â€œOkay, you can stop now,” I say. “I don’t need to hear any more.”
    â€œOh, Marcus,” she weeps. “I know there’s no excuse for what I did, but I want to make it up to you. I’ll do anything.”
    People look at us with annoyance more than concern. How dare we disturb their right to an expensive coffee break? Who is this black boy making this pretty white lady cry?
    â€œMom, stop crying. You’re making a scene. You’re embarrassing yourself. This is pathetic.”
    She stops crying. She sniffles. She looks up at me with a sudden clarity in her eyes. She says, “You sound just like your father.”
    That’s when I storm out and leave.
    â€œMarcus, wait!” she calls, but I don’t even turn around.
    She made a choice and she’s going to have to live with it. Family isn’t just something you have on reserve, ready to be in yourlife when you’re ready for it. She can’t leave, then decide she wants a kid again as soon as it becomes convenient. Maybe she’s lonely, maybe she thinks she’s figured herself out, maybe she thinks she’s ready to be a mother again, as if nine months sober is enough to change everything