“Did she say when she’d be back?”
“She didn’t, William. I’m sorry. She said that…there’s a possibility she might stay there permanently with her family.”
Suddenly, I’m done with my breakfast. I sit back and push my plate away, then quickly excuse myself. I do have lots of work to do, but I can’t think about anything else the rest of the day. Not that Jenna was far from my thoughts before this, but now she’s halfway around the world and I can’t stop thinking about how permanent this is. I’ve lost her forever.
I can’t explain why, but that night when I get home, I open the drawer that holds the stack of cash and birthday cards from my mother. After opening them at my dad’s house, I brought them to mine. They are still arranged in order from my sixth birthday to my twenty-first. I read through them in that order until I reach the last one—the one I didn’t read the night I was with Jenna.
The one Mother sent me only months before she died.
Liam,
It’s too late. I know that. I wish I could go back and change everything between us, but by the time I was in a place to try, you were too old and too hurt by things that happened when you were a child. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good mother to you. I regret that every day. But I was young and human and imperfect. Your dad was so much better with you than I ever was. He did a good job raising you and I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished, though I really have no right to be.
Someday, perhaps after I’m gone, I hope you will forgive me.
I love you. I always have.
Mom
There it was—the one I’d been looking for. The message I’d doubted she ever penned. And had I opened it the day I received it, there would have been time. Time for me to pick up the phone and call her, to meet with her, to forgive.
But because I’d let my anger and resentment rule me, that opportunity had been lost. Forever.
As I stand in my bedroom, my face is wet. I’m crying while thinking about how much I wanted her love when I was young. About how she didn’t love me because I was broken…different. All the words that had been heaped upon me during childhood—spaz, freak, retard, Liam the Loon.
In the middle of my room, I stand there and cry like a baby for almost an hour. Because I’ve realized that my stubbornness has caused me to miss out on the opportunity to forgive my own mother while she was still alive.
The Buddha once said that holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.
I remember Jenna’s words from the night we read the birthday cards, and I know then that I’ve been judging Jenna based on what my mother did. That I’ve been expecting her to run away from me, and in so doing, I pushed her away.
With my face in my hands, I picture Jenna the last time I saw her, pressed against the door, her face wet, her eyes red and swollen from weeping.
And my words…so cruel. So heartless. Just like a robot.
But what can I do?
Jenna is gone, and she might never come back.
Have I lost her for good? And if I find her again, would she even want me back?
The only thing I can do is try.
Chapter 37
Jenna
My stomach churned as the bus made its way along twisting mountain roads. Only two hours remained of the lengthy trip from Belgrade to Sarajevo.
Just five hours before, I’d said goodbye to Helena and Vuk at the bus station. It had been a quick and exhausting few days in Serbia, meeting their family members and touring the city. And now here I was—alone—once again, with only my thoughts and no possibility of escaping them.
The past few weeks were a blur—a sore, painful, and then numb blur. Helena had been worried about me, checking in like a concerned mother several times a day. She’d kept her distance until Alex spilled the beans when I didn’t get out of bed one day. That’s when Helena decided to make arrangements for us to fly out a week earlier than planned.
Yet despite the whirlwind surrounding a trip overseas, I missed William terribly. I’d wake in the morning after dreaming of him, feeling his ephemeral kiss on my lips. And as the Dream Wil faded and reality set in, I’d die a little when I realized that he hated me still. That I could never erase the image of his face when he left my apartment weeks ago. Pain and disappointment. Disgust.
I shook my head, fixing my eyes on the beautiful, green and hilly countryside of the land of my birth. Bosnia-Herzegovina was a country of rugged, verdant beauty. And until darkness fell, I lost myself in the gorgeous views while trying to forget the slowly dulling heartache.
I’d decided it was time to find some permanence, and there was a strong possibility that my real home would never be in Southern California. Maybe my destiny lay here after all. I’d decided to give it an honest chance, anyway. Maybe the reason I’d never set down roots in the US was because I truly was Bosnian. After all, I had family here who cared about me deeply.