“But she wants to connect with you,” he says.
Bitterness surges, until it’s all I can taste in my mouth. “She doesn’t think it’s too late?”
“I think that’s why she tried to follow you on Pulse, but she couldn’t see any photos, so she sent a friend request. I guess you ignored it.”
“I don’t do social media. I only have an account there because…” I sigh impatiently. “Anyway, no. I’m not interested.”
“Then you don’t have to deal with her, Amy. I only wanted to tell you in case you wanted to talk to your mother.” Underneath the calm is a hint of sorrow. He’s always felt he couldn’t fulfill all my needs.
“I do not.” I inhale deeply, hold the breath for a moment, then exhale. “I don’t need a mother. I have you, Dad. You’re the one who loved me and raised me. She doesn’t get to show up now and take any of the credit.”
“Okay,” he says gently.
I soften my voice. “I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie pie.”
We hang up. I stay where I am for a few seconds to gather my spiraling emotions and slowly unclench my hand from around my phone. I have to return to the office, eat lunch and go to the meeting.
But the fact that Mom wants to reconnect after all these years keeps nagging at me. It’s like a dog that won’t quit nipping at your heels.
After the meeting, I go back to my desk and pull out my phone. I stare at the Pulse icon. Why should I want to be her social media buddy now?
I put my phone down on the desk. I should ignore her. She doesn’t matter. She can’t just quit on me and then show up later when it’s convenient.
But I find myself picking up the phone again and tapping the Pulse icon.
Sure enough, the request is the first thing that pops up.
Renée Wilson wants to share mutual friendship with you.
Confirm | Decline
I click on the X to close it. What I want to do is check out her profile. See the kind of life she’s had after she dumped me and Dad. To be honest, I don’t know what I expect to see. Maybe I want to see her regret her decision to split. I know it’s going to feel like I’m being disemboweled if I see her with a new family…especially if there are children around my age.
Do you really want to see that?
But I’m already on her profile. Her face shot is excellent. Either it’s one from ten or fifteen years back or she’s done a lot of work to preserve her youth. Single. No kids. The gut tension eases, and I can breathe more easily.
That confirmed, I go through her posts, photos and videos. Contrary to my wish that she regretted abandoning me, she’s had a great life, I note with bitterness.
Images of her bouncing around topless by pools with beers and cheap sparkling wines spraying around her. Her licking white syrup all over her hand in a suggestive manner, her eyes on the camera, her mouth parted in a lascivious smile. Men gyrating against her, rubbing their dicks against her butt. She might as well star in a soft-core porn.
Parties. More wild parties that stretch for years on end, from the day she joined Pulse. I guess I should be relieved she didn’t post any orgy videos, not that that would really shock me.
No wonder she didn’t want me around. She might’ve been able to lead a degenerate life just being with Dad, but not me. I’m an inconvenience—or was when I was younger and needed her. But now… Maybe she thinks I’d make a great “girlfriend” to take to her repulsive parties. After all, she’s getting old. In the latest photos, her skin’s starting to show her age—and the decades of depraved lifestyle and choices. Maybe she needs younger meat to gain entrée. Who knows?
I can’t decide if I’m relieved and happy that I’ve been right all along that I’m better off without her. Or if I’m sad that the person who contributed half my genetic material is such a pathetic human being. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.
I type a quick personal message for her through the app.
I heard from Dad. You know, the parent who actually stuck around and raised me. FYI, I never use Pulse, and I’m not interested in connecting. Don’t bother Dad again.
I stare at the sentences for a while. Part of me wonders if I should soften it up a little…but no. Was she sweet and kind when she decided to dump me and Dad? She didn’t look back. Never made an effort to call or send a birthday card or any of those things. She doesn’t get to wake up one day and decide to play mother because she feels like it.
I hit send, then delete the app. People like Mom don’t deserve my time or energy.
“Amy, are you okay?” Emmett asks, pausing on his way back to his office.