CHAPTER SIXTEEN
INDIGO
Mom's lasagna tastes just like how I remembered it to be. The cheese melts in my mouth as I funnel forkful after forkful into my mouth, despite the fact that the hot, juicy noodles burn the top of my mouth and my tongue.
She keeps giving me looks. Looks I've known and experienced for the last almost twenty years. The first is the 'I know something wrong with you and I'm going to make you tell me' look, the second is 'and if you don't tell me I'll tie you up and torture you until you do'. We have such a pure, loving mother-daughter relationship.
She clears her throat, and then reaches for her water. Sometimes I can't get over how breathtakingly beautiful my mother is. She's several shades darker than me, but her skin is much brighter than mine. Of all the years I hold memory, I can only remember this woman before me, radiant, shining with the glow of thousands of suns, billions of stars. My mother is my rock. She is the one person in the entire world I can forever trust to have my back. After all, she could've let me down millions of times before. God knows my sperm donor had no qualms in doing just that.
Mom clears her throat again. I look up, a furrow creasing my brows. "You good, Mama?"
She nods slowly, as if trying to decide herself. Then, she shakes her head, as if snapping out of a trance. She used to do this little bit a lot when I was younger, on late nights after she had gotten off at the little diner. We would both sit down at the small table she had found in a junk yard, and eat. Normally my meal would consist of some chicken tenders, or some left overs she had made at work. Hers would be chips, or maybe some string cheese. Never an actual dinner.
"Mom," I say slowly, cocking my head slightly to the left. A stray curl falls my bun, I reach a hand about and begin to twirl it absentmindedly around my index finger, "What's bothering you?"
She chuckles a little, laying her fork down, "What's bothering me, is that I don't know what's bothering you."
I arch a brow. Riiiiiight. "I'm fine, I swear. But I know you're lying."
She sighs, and looks down at her plate as she speaks. I glance down too — she's barely touched her lasagna.
"You just look so much like him."
She says it so quietly, if I hadn't been so focused on her, I wouldn't of heard it. And when I do, I kind of wish I hadn't, because my heart breaks a little for her. She, who has done all the work in raising me, she, who has always been one phone call away.
I've always known I looked like my dad. When I younger, it was all I heard. You're so pretty, you look just like you're daddy. All of the variations of that one might imagine, I've heard. And I hated it. Each and every single time. Don't get me wrong, my dad never laid a hand on me, or my mom. But you can't really touch someone when you're never around them can you? He was all too happy to give mom full custody of me, until he learned that meant child support. The checks were few and far between, and never enough.
Mom wipes her hands under her eyes, and shakes her head, "You know, I've tried, for so long, pretty well you're entire life to hate him, and yet I can't. Do you know why?"
I frown. Talking about my dad isn't my favorite topic. "No?"
She reaches her hand across the table until it lays atop mine. She interlaces our fingers, and runs smooth circles on my hand, "Because without him, baby, I wouldn't have you." She wipes away another start tear, "And how could I hate someone who gave me the world?"
Tears prick at my eyes too. Wow, it's been an emotional day. I lick my lips, fighting the urge to sob and throw my arms around my mom. Instead, I squeeze her hand. "I love you. So much."
She smiles at me, but it's a rare kind of smile, the one that shows her pain, her anguish, her love, her pride, her joy, each and every emotion she's ever felt towards me, or about her situation is shown in that smile. She's the strongest woman I've ever met. My goal as a mother is to be as half as loving and as caring as mine.
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and then opening them back up as she exhales. The tears are gone. In fact, it's like there's no trace of the sad woman who had sat before me only moments ago. "I told you my troubles, now you tell me yours."
I can't help my groan that escapes. "Mom."
"Indigo."
I sigh, running my free hand down my face, slinking farther down in my chair. And then, much to my surprise, I begin to talk.
"A few weeks before Greer and I broke up, I RSVPed to a fancy art showcase a professor of mine had invited me too. I RSVPed for two, because, well, Greer told me he would go. I didn't want too look bad in front of my professor, so I asked Sadie to see if any of the boys would be my date — honestly, I had expected to go with Drew, but he was grounded. Kolby ended up as my date.
"He was so good at playing the part, he never left my side, got me drinks, always had his hand on my back . . . It was nice, really. But he had only agreed because I had promised to be his DD. Turns out I'm a God-awful DD, because I was jsit as, if not more drunk than Kolby by the time the night ended.
"When we went to leave, it was weird. The air was crackling, and each time his hand grazed me as we walked from the bar to his truck, it felt like I had been struck by lightning. One thing mead to another, and we ended up in the back seat of his truck, pants off. And then it was like we couldn't get enough of each other. We had changed everything that night.
"And then I got scared. Kolby — he's so good to me, and he's fantastic as his uh, job — but he . . . He doesn't know how to be committed. I've known him for twelve years, and never once has he been in a relationship . . . I just don't wanna get hurt again."
I take a deep breath as finish talking.
Mom says nothing for awhile, just staring at our hands. Finally, she sighs. It's big, it's heavy.
"Indigo," she says, but it's soft, and yet packed with the punches of a hundred men, "How does Kolby make you feel."
I laugh a little, closing my eyes and titling my head back, "Like a princess." I shake my head, "Am I stupid? Should I be making him work so hard," I gesture to myself, "For me?"
Mom grabs my face in both of her hands, "Indigo, you are the most precious thing in your life. If you want to make the boy jump through fiery hoops in order to touch you, make him. Because the right person for you, a real man of his word and of his affection, would do anything for the woman he loves."
I blanch, "Loves."
"Do you not love him?" She cocks her head to the side, like a confused puppy.
I shrug. Truthfully, I don't know. Love is a strong word. "Not yet."
She nods, "Give it time. Give him time. And ya know what, go on a date. With anyone. And if it sucks, and if all you can think about is Kolby the entire time, run to him, and kiss him like your life depends on it." She taps my nose lightly, "I don't believe in soulmates, I don't believe in fate, but I do believe in love, and that most things happen for a reason. There's a reason Drew was grounded that night."
I smile down at my empty plate. Go on a date. If it sucks, run to Kolby and kiss him. The perfect plan.
I love my mom.
And I think, given some time, I could love Kolby Bradford, too.
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