Crushed - Pamela Ann Page 0,40

that.

Driving back, I was surprised when my phone rang, but what truly shocked me was the caller. It was my mother who never called me for anything. She would have her assistant do it for her if there were “obligations” I had to fulfill in the family, such as dinner appearances, the occasional Christmas portrait, and so forth.

“Hello mother,” I uttered sternly, readying myself to hear something disapproving from her.

“I need to speak with you. I was hoping we could meet for coffee.”

Her random invitation almost made me step on the break and digest it properly. I felt as if I had just heard her wrong.

“Yeah, sure. Just let me know when and where,” I responded casually, not wanting to come off too curious. Then she would end up lecturing me about manners.

“I’m actually in Starbucks on State Street, the one that’s closest to Cabrillo. How long do you think it’ll take you to come and meet me?” Her statement came as a surprise. Not only that, but I daresay she seemed too eager to see me.

The whole thing—the random call and invitation for coffee—was putting me on edge. This wasn’t my mother, but she sure did sound like she was. I had no choice except to put off my cooking skills to go meet my mom.

“Let me drop off the groceries first, and then I’ll come meet you. Give me about fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be right there.”

“Very well.” She then hung up on me without a goodbye.

I snickered, thinking it was typical of her. I supposed the real mother I was so accustomed to was still there, alive and thriving. Nothing had changed.

After dropping the grocery items and shoving the cold food in the fridge, I quickly ran back out to meet my mother.

As I was driving towards the meeting place, I conjured up all the reasons she could possibly be requesting this random meeting. Alas, none of them came to fruition. What she announced before I had even had the chance to take the old, leather-cushioned chair across from her was a bomb, ready to explode on me.

“Your father and I decided to get divorced,” my mother declared, pausing as she pointedly raised her brow at me before taking a deep breath. “Well, it’s him mostly, and I was practically left no choice in the matter.” She stated it succinctly and as though she was looking for some sort of angry reaction from me.

The divorce news shocked me, yet at the same time, I wasn’t all that surprised. After all, they bickered like they were oil and water. I was just wondering what had taken them so long to decide to finally do it. However, knowing how sensitive this subject was to my mother, I feigned caring what the reasoning behind such a revelation could be.

“What? Why would Dad want a divorce now after all these years?”

She gave me a straight-faced look, trying to read my facial reaction, like she wanted to pick my thoughts as she probed into my eyes. “He’s having twins with that woman, and now, years later, he believes it’s time we should live our lives happily. He wants to be with his real family, apparently.”

Okay, those words stung. After all these years, as much as I told myself I didn’t care what my father did away from us, deep inside, I knew it was a lie. Even after what they had done to me, I still surprisingly cared.

What truly dug into my heart was how he had told my mother he wanted to be with his real family. What were we, then? His fake one? I couldn’t believe it. Father had finally found his cajones and taken a stance against my mother—against her influential family—to live the life he wanted for himself, and it seemed that newfound life and freedom didn’t include me, either.

Staring at my mother, I saw she was really affected by my father’s announcement. Though she tried to hide being shaken up by looking like her pristine self, I could easily see the cracks—her eyes stood out, red and teary-eyed.

“I wish I could say I’m saddened by this, but I’m not,” I whispered, carefully making sure I knew how I felt about this whole situation. “Growing up, all you two ever did was bicker. Not once do I ever remember having a loving memory of us together, of you two not constantly at each other’s throats. Quite frankly, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart,