LOVELORN

15|Thanksgiving & disappointment

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

THERE WAS no sign of Mai on Monday. Nor on Tuesday or Wednesday. By the end of the week, we had yet to hear from her or see her. I'd asked Caio, but he hadn't revealed much, just saying that she was in the hospital and didn't have her phone.

When we finally saw her the following week, Mai was not herself. She seemed fatigued and was largely unresponsive, zoned out most of the day. It was such a stark contrast to her normal talkative behavior. It felt familiar in the worst possible way.

I tried talking to her, inviting her to speak to me if she wanted to. My offer only received a nod and a forced smile. Not sure what else to say, I left it at that, hoping she would explain what was going on eventually. While I might not entirely understand what she was going through, I did get the difficulty of talking about mental health. So I knew to remain patient.

There was a healthy balance between prying too much and letting someone know you cared, I didn't want to cross that line and enter the prying territory. This all made me realize how much I'd grown to care about Mai in the weeks we'd known each other. It was almost scary how fast someone could slither their way into your life, forming a residence in your heart and settling there.

At one point, I didn't know Zora. We had been two strangers, occupying the same space for a while until Zora approached me, deciding we would be friends one random day toward the end of elementary school. Up until then, I'd been an outcast. Mostly just sitting and watching the other kids play. Zora and I had been in the same class for months until she sat down next to me on the playground one day, saying 'Let's be friends.' I wasn't sure what made her talk to me that day, but I'd be forever grateful for it.

The week was largely uneventful. Mai was at school for the entirety of it, but she was distant, often not hearing us until we called on her. Her body was there, however, her mind was wandering somewhere else.

On the Thursday of that week, I'd overheard my mom on a call with a coworker and friend. We don't necessarily celebrate Thanksgiving, I'd even heard my parents insult the holiday more than once, but despite that, my mom would usually accept an invitation to a Thanksgiving dinner with some friends. When I'd ask her why once, the only explanation I got was that it would be impolite to decline a dinner invitation.

I knew that eavesdropping was rude and I wasn't going to, but right before I was about to announce my presence to Ma, my name was mentioned. It startled me at first, I'd thought that she'd caught me. However, what followed my name left a hollow space in my heart, a space reserved for my mother's love.

"Naya? Oh, no, she can't come this year. Yes, I asked. No, she's busy. She'd just be quiet the entire dinner anyway. Has no manners, that girl. Sweet? Being sweet doesn't get you very far. You'll see Avi, anyway. Yes, I know, he's very smart. A bright future ahead of him. I must have done something right at least."

I'm sorry, Ma. I'm trying. Let me be six again, let me be the daughter you still loved. The daughter who hadn't disappointed you yet. Let me be your daughter again, and not just the ghost of one.

Please, take me back to when you spoke of me with the joy of a mother raising a daughter, with the joy of nurturing a girl who still harbored potential in her little body. Rather than with the small sighs and disappointment dripping off my name now. Take me back to when the hope was infinite and the expectations not yet formed.

Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom. I wish I was better. I'm sorry. Mom, I love you. Mom, I hate you. Mom, listen to me. I am not a reflection of your mistakes. Mom, see my pain. See how painting over it didn't erase it. See that I need my mom.