Taming the Author

37: Look Past the Faults

I blinked twice, unsure of what that meant.

I was used to her cold demeanor but getting it like I did something wrong stung me.

The door swung open again. "Come in!" she scolded.

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, walking stiffly into the door – the scent of burning cigarette, old curtains, unwashed rug and rotting takeout filling my senses.

I frowned at the messy living room.

My mother wasn't a neat freak. She didn't like to clean either. But the house I remembered was kept neat enough to be lived in.

This was different.

Empty liquor bottles littered the table. Ash trays were teeming with ashes.

I glanced at the slightly hunched woman leading me to the dining room and felt guilt strike my heart.

The blonde hair she usually kept combed and styled with bottles of hairspray was in a frenzy. Wrinkles lined the skin she moisturized twice a day. The eyes I remembered her pampering with cucumber slices were accented with grey lumps spelling insomnia.

As I took a seat in the dining table and watched her work around the chaotic kitchen, I realized how long I kept my distance from her and how horrible I was at doing so.

My perfect beautiful mother was now a lonely old woman.

"You of all people," she muttered as she whipped me a cup of coffee. "I expected better things from you."

I couldn't help but smile. She had that way of showing how much she hated me or my presence while taking care of me.

I remembered being scolded for ruining a new shirt she bought me. I was in kindergarten, and a bully pushed me over a puddle of mud.

She snapped at me for not taking care of the things she bought me, for being a weakling, and for not being like my brothers.

It brought me to tears as a kid, but remembering the events in the following years made me realize she wasn't just scolding me that day. She was also taking my clothes off, patiently giving me a bath, and cooking chicken soup that she later gave me to cheer me up.

The blonde woman, despite the pain she brought me, was a mother – my mother.

"I'm sorry," I said as she served the cup of steamy coffee.

I stared at the familiar Batman-printed cup reminding me of days spent in the dining table with two boys, a middle-aged man reading the Sports News on the daily paper, and a stylish woman serving plates of pancakes.

"I should have called," I continued, keeping the memories at bay. "I was in the area for work so I decided to drop by and see you. I understand now that it's a bad time."

She frowned, confusion clear on her face. "You were in the area for work?" she asked.

I nodded slowly.

It was a lie but telling her the truth about planning to visit her didn't seem like something she would like to hear.

"You have work?" she asked.

"I—I do," I answered, looking up at her. It was my turn to act baffled. She knew I had been working in the publication company for years! "I've had one for years. Are you okay?"

She stared at me for a moment, studying my face. "You're not getting fired?"

I would have told her I was close to getting fired months before, but it didn't seem like she would take it lightly.