In the Language of the Flowers

| 14 |

✾ Forget-Me-Not ✾

My conversation with Beau had...pushed me. I realized that I was acting like a child and had been for a long time. I felt guilty that he'd lost his parents, against his choice, and I was sitting there willingly ignoring mine. I knew I'd ever reconcile with my father--I didn't want to--but my mother was a different story.

I poked the brim of my hat farther up so that I could see better. The restaurant's entrance was less imposing than I remembered, but I'd been much younger last I'd dined at 11 Madison Park. I sighed. I hadn't wanted to do something so classy, as she called it, but my mother wasn't one to compromise about such elements of her life.

I bowed my head to send a quick text to Beau. Won't be home for dinner. Sorry. Then I forged onward.

I was greeted like royalty amidst a flurry of waiters and more than a few 'of course's and 'yes, Sir's.  A young woman with shiny brown hair led me into the main dining room with its stark white table cloths and fancy cutlery. I immediately spotted my mother because she'd elected to wear an enormous white fur coat, which was draped ostentatiously over her chair. She'd probably refused to abandon it on the coat rack because of its ability to make her stand out amongst the sea of the restaurant's more reasonably dressed patrons. It looked as if it might come alive at any moment and start rampaging around the dining room, upending tables and shattering wine glasses.

As I approached the table, I was struck by how sad she looked. She seemed to have age ten years in the two years I hadn't seen her. There was, of course, not a single dye-free grey hair on her head, but her age showed around her eyes. Ai Amano was a fabulous woman in that she carefully crafted her appearance to imitate the biggest stars on the red carpet; she was a movie star without all the acting getting in the way. She never went without ruby red lipstick and perfectly blow dried, ink-black hair, which she'd cut to her shoulders since we'd last met. Perfect makeup and fluttery eyelashes were nearly lost behind the sparkling silver necklace she wore and the multitude of gleaming rings.

Her wedding ring wasn't on her finger. I wondered if the missing diamond had disappeared for my sake or for hers. Either way, it was very possible that it was all just a show and the ring would be miraculously returned once our dinner came to a close.

"Mother," I said quietly.

Her head snapped up at breakneck speed and her eyes widened. "My son," she said excitedly, her chair squeaking loudly as she bolted upright and practically launched herself at me. The waitress who'd led me here gave me a quick smile and a bow before leaving us to our reunion.

"Mother, you're making a scene," I said, returning her hug with somewhat less enthusiasm. She felt tiny in my arms.

"Oh, let them gawk. I haven't seen my son in two years. I deserve this moment," she said into my chest. She was quite a bit shorter than me. I rested my chin on her head.

"Ok, mom," I said softly, patting her back. "I'm glad to see you, too, but where did the nervousness from our phone call disappear to?"

She giggled, looking up at me. She touched my face, and I let her. "I'm just happy, is all." Concern soured her expression. "Why? Should I...am I being too-"

I shook my head. "No, it's ok. I'm glad to see you, too, actually."

She released me and sat down, gesturing for me to follow suit. "Are you? I wouldn't blame you if you were still..."

She didn't usually struggle with words. She probably wasn't now. She just didn't want to say it out loud, 'it' being what I'd said to her when I'd left. "I'm not mad anymore," I said so that she didn't have to. Of course, I hadn't used such polite terms back then. I may have thrown around the words 'betrayed,' 'hate,' and 'neglect' amongst other worse ones I didn't care to repeat. And each of these words, of course, were like stinging daggers to her; whenever I questioned her morals, she scrunched up her face like someone had vomited on her Gucci shoes. She had never wanted to admit what she'd done, and probably still didn't. But I didn't want to be burdened by my resentment any longer.