This wasn't going how I pictured at all. Not even close. She wasn't happy to see me. She wasn't surprised or mad or confused.
She was completely indifferent.
That was worse than any worst case scenario I'd thought of.
Pulling out the postcard, I set it on the table in front of me. "You sent this to me." I tapped it with my finger twice before sliding it over to her. "Why?" I demanded.
She studied it as if it was the first time she'd seen it, then flipped it over to see her name scrawled on the back.
"I was probably high as a kite. Most things I did back then didn't make any sense." She shrugged and slid it back towards me.
"But you remembered I liked the otters … "
She gave me a look of pity and it was the first emotion I'd seen from her during our meeting.
"Listen, honey," she said, but the term of endearment didn't sound affectionate. It sounded condescending. "Don't rearrange your life for me. I wouldn't do it for you."
And there it was. The cold, hard truth.
I felt so stupid. This whole idea had been so stupid. I was the fool who traveled over three thousand miles to see someone who left me and never looked back.
At least now I knew where I got my straightforwardness from. Heartbreak mixed with anger-mostly anger at myself-and I knew I needed to get out of here.
The chair I'd been sitting in made a terrible scraping sound against the floor as I pushed away from the table.
I pulled the three dollar bills out of my pocket and placed them on the table between us. "For the vending machines."
She picked up the money but didn't say anything. Not even a thank you.
I looked at the stranger still sitting across the table, and suddenly I knew that's what she was-a stranger.
"It's your loss," I said. "I know that's a clichéd thing to say, but I mean it. I could be one of the best people you've ever met and you don't even know it. You're missing out."
I walked a few steps before I turned back and said the last word I'd ever say to my mother. "'Bye."
*
As much as I tried to hold back, several tears and sniffles escaped on the bus ride back to the motel. No one seemed to notice. Either that, or they didn't care. Maybe it was common for people to cry while riding away from the prison.
Ten years of hopes and dreams were just … Gone.
The bus came to a stop and the tears fell steadily as I stepped off onto the curb in front of the motel. A wall of intense midday California heat hit me but I barely noticed.
I swiped at the wet tracks coating my cheeks but they were quickly replaced with more tears. I sat down on a nearby bench and took out the tissues I'd known I was going to need.
When I bought them, I'd imagined they would be used for happy tears. I'd come prepared for a heartfelt reunion . Obviously, that was just wishful thinking.
Letting out a shaky sob, I mentally beat myself up for being the way I was. Naïve. Trusting. Gullible. Unrealistically optimistic.
My mother's brutally honest words repeated over and over again in my mind.
Don't rearrange your life for me. I wouldn't do it for you.
I took out the old postcard and looked at it through blurry eyes. It was a lie. A silly dream I'd conjured up out of nothing. My mother didn't send this to me because she was thinking of me or missing me. It was the result of some drug binge she couldn't even remember.
She didn't abandon me because she loved drugs more than me-she left because she didn't love me at all.
Suddenly angry, I ripped it up. I ripped and tore and shredded it until tiny unrecognizable pieces slipped through my fingers and blew away in the breeze.
Burying my face in my hands, I cried for the past relationship that had been lost and the future relationship that would never exist.
My motherless life flashed before my eyes.
I would never get to hear her say she was proud of me. I didn't realize until now how much I'd longed for those words. There would be no sewing lessons or piano duets. No cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning.
She wouldn't be there on my wedding day. She wouldn't help me pick out the perfect dress and she wouldn't cry in the front row because her baby girl was getting married.
When I had kids of my own, she wouldn't be there to answer pregnancy questions or give me motherly advice. Someday when my child was sick and I was scared and I needed someone to talk to, I wouldn't be able to call her.
She would miss my whole life and she was okay with that.
It was what she wanted.
I gave up everything to come here. To give her a chance. To make things right with her. I left the place that felt like home and the people who had quickly become like family.
I'd left the love of my life for this.
Maybe now I could give up on this silly California dream. I could go back to Illinois, back to Travis. Maybe I could build a life there.
But as comforting as those thoughts should've been, I couldn't get past the devastation I was feeling. My heart was too busy mourning the loss of my mother.
TRAVIS
When you're young and you've never been in love before, it's easy to live in the now. Because you have no idea what's on the other side of now.
I wasn't prepared for the pain I was feeling. It actually hurt.
And now I knew why they called it heartbreak, because it felt like my chest was splitting in two. I rubbed the area over my sternum, trying to ease the ache I felt deep inside.
Before Angel came along, I was happy.
I had a good life. Great, even.
I thought I had everything I needed. Family and friends. A job I loved.
At the risk of sounding like a complete sap, I'd say she was the missing piece I never realized was missing in the first place. Angel filled up a place in my heart that had never been touched before.
And now, her absence left a void that felt enormous. So empty.
My biggest regret was not telling Angel the depth of my feelings for her.
That I loved her. I loved her so much it hurt.
I lost count of how many times I'd almost said the words. But I'd been a complete pussy about it and kept my mouth shut.
I told myself the reason was because I didn't want to scare her away. That it was too soon.
It was a pathetic excuse. The truth was, I'd been a coward. I was too afraid she wouldn't say it back.
Well, fuck that.
The regret ate away at me until I couldn't take it anymore.
I was half-way across Utah when I decided to turn around. This wasn't something I wanted to tell Angel over the phone. Even if she didn't say it back, I still needed to see her face when I said the words.
Unfortunately, it meant I'd be delayed by two days getting back home.
I fueled up at a truck stop outside Salt Lake City, then decided to call Hank.
"Yo," he answered on the third ring.
"Hey, ah, I'm not gonna make it back in time," I said, feeling guilty for putting him in a tight spot. "I'm sorry."
He let out an obnoxious laugh. "Can't say I'm surprised. I already had a rental truck on reserve, just in case."
"Seriously?" Sometimes he knew me better than I knew myself. "I'll pay for it. I'll pay back whatever it costs."
"Nah, don't worry about it. You just do what you need to do, son."
"Thanks, Hank. You're awesome."
"Ten-four," he laughed, then hung up.
Although I felt bad about it, there wasn't anything that could've kept me from going back to Angel. Lucky for me, my boss was a pretty understanding guy.
After setting my phone back down in the cup holder, I put the semi in gear and headed west. Motivated by the thought of seeing my girl, I drove straight through the night.
As I pulled into the motel parking lot, I wasn't sure if my excess of energy was coming from all the coffee I drank or the anticipation of being with Angel again. Maybe it was a little bit of both.
I hopped on the balls of my feet as I knocked on her motel room door.
No answer.
I checked the time on my phone and realized she was probably visiting her mom right now, so I decided to wait in my truck. After finding a good country radio station, I leaned back in the seat and stared out at the crappy motel.
I must've dozed off at some point. When I jolted awake, I realized I'd been in the parking lot for over an hour. Thinking I might have missed her, I knocked on Angel's door one more time.
Still no answer.
If she had come back by now, she probably would've seen my truck. It was kind of hard to miss.
Still amped by the thought of seeing her, I hopped back into the semi. Finding a station with upbeat music, I raised the volume to a level that would ensure I didn't fall asleep again. Pharrell William's ‘Happy' blasted through the cab and I tapped my fingers on my knee along with the beat.
About ten minutes later, I saw the bus pull up at the curb at the end of the parking lot and Angel stepped off. I sat up straighter and turned off the music, preparing to get out to meet her, but instead of heading to her room, she slumped down onto the bench by the motel office.