Chapter 10: Sweet Mother

The fresh air felt decadent after I stepped outside on Sunday afternoon. A visit to my mother had been long overdue, and a recalibration of my sanity was necessary.

I was still deep in the metropolis. My train led me into the elite residential neighborhoods. Anyone looking at my current situation would have never guessed that I had family in the Upper West Side. In fact, the rest of our family was still surprised that my mother managed to reside in such an expensive part of the city.

It was possible for her to live this way, after her marriage to her second husband. Before him, my mother put food on our table through long shifts as a nurse. Through the sore back, shoulders, and feet, I always admired how she would never let her love of the arts go. Whenever she knew my needs were met for the day, she was away in her corner– painting or sculpting. It was her sanity check, it was her flaw to the rest of the family. I never understood how her escape was so problematic to others, but after I grew into a preteen and confirmed the envy around her, I made a point to never interrupt her creativity with my wants.

When I was seventeen, remembered spending the weekend away from my dorm room on an early fall day. I made it a point to return home to take care of the house, so that she didn't have to worry. Without hesitation, I felt the importance of her attending her first art class. The look on her face before she left our duplex was unforgettable. With a smile, I asked what was wrong, and she confessed, "I don't want to be told what I've been doing all along is wrong. That my comfort should conform."

"Then don't let it, mama."

A year passed and one late Saturday evening, I was watching her run down the sidewalk from the distant bus stop– her art caboodle and medium portfolio in her clutches.

"Ada!" I remembered her shouting and smiling. "My instructor wants me to submit my paintings into a showcase!"

I cried before I could say anything. It was the first reaction I had; it was uncontrollable. I didn't know how to explain how proud I was of someone who had already accomplished so much. She didn't need my approval, but when I told her how her joy made me feel, she said, "I always want you to be proud of me, my darling. Of all the people left in this world, I want to know that I have done this."

The look in her eyes when she stood beside her work was indescribable. It was me, my grandmother, one of my aunts and my cousin who came out to watch my mother shine. It was amazing. I loved every second of it, including moment my mother caught the eye of a gentleman that I learned was familiar to her.

An old high school sweetheart had made his millions programming away selling his business ventures, and to escape the hysterics of big money he made time to view the abstract in parts of town he didn't belong in anymore. They were inseparable from that night on, and I never questioned her decision to move on and live her life when I saw how much he loved her.

As soon as she was ready to marry him, he moved us out into the Upper West Side; however, I was off to a scholarship funded college experience.

Naturally, I was torn having to be away from her. I wasn't scared to be alone, I was always worried about her new life. The anxieties. The alleviate mine, she and I would talk often on the phone, dwelling on what it was like to not be in our familiar duplex. She was still adjusting to the new "quality" of life that this old love wanted to give to us without hesitation. Even after presenting her with the finest things, she never quick to accept luxury, and he learned to sedate his desires and let her be the girl he remembered.

Nowthat she had retired from being a nurse, she volunteers as a gallery curator around town and when she wasn't surrounding herself in art, she was making it at home. Her new, even more beautiful home.

My stepfather heard her small remark of wishing more sunlight would come around in the city. A year later, when the estate was available, he moved them to a new dwelling where she couldn't miss a single ray. Their new home was on the twentieth floor of a twenty-story building. The luxury apartment was gorgeous and spacious, but there was no surprise that it wasn't anything but minimal. My stepfather gave my mother whatever she wanted, and if she whispered of disturbing clutter, it was removed in an instant.

I trotted into the lobby with a bouquet cradled in my arm. It felt odd to sign in with the receptionist, but I knew that the new face wasn't going to let me stroll over to the elevator without sicking security on me. On my ride up, I pulled out my phone and laughed again at the formalities in my mother's text message from hours ago.

Ada,

The door to the apartment will be unlocked.

Love,

Mom

I wasn't going to complain about her style; I was happy she finally came around to texting at all.

The elevator served its duty and delivered me to floor where a giant painting of my mother's hung on the wall across from me. I loved seeing it, and it genuinely had nothing to do with the fact that it was a recreation of an old baby picture of me. I simply loved the hint of my mother's presence. Their apartment on the top floor was refreshingly beautiful. Clean cream-colored walls, led to a large tan door– an unlocked door. I twisted the handle and immediately inhaled the faint scent of tempura paint.

After locking the door behind, I slipped off my flats and scurried out of the entrance across the freshly polished wood floors. The height of the roof magnified at least twenty feet above and the tall windows let in the bright sun. The modern space was perfect for my mother, and of all the things that my stepfather had done for her, it was to allow her whatever space she wanted to do what she loved. His solution wisely involved many windows. Of course, she was near a corner where the ceiling tall windows met.

Who couldn't relax in a pad as wonderful as this? It was astoundingly beautiful, but I didn't find myself visiting it too often. I wanted to tell myself that my reasoning was foolish, but my internal challenges kept my fears firmly in place.

"My darling," she sang sitting in front of a large easel.

"Mummy!" I screeched as I used to when I returned home from school.

She knew it was best to remain seated as I always ran up to her with open arms. My limbs clamped around her soft frame, sparking a chuckle I missed hearing in person. Once I pulled away, she placed a needed kiss on my temple before tipping the bouquet of calla lilies in my hand to her nose.

"Those smell fresh," she noted with admiration.

"I know you love them fresh, mom. They're in brown paper so I even went to an organic mart for them," I noted with bright eyes.

"My thoughtful sweetheart," she smiled with the same lips I saw when I glanced into a mirror.

"Where is Nico?" I asked, teasing her. "Your prince?"

"In the next city over," she smiled. "Exploring museums."

I scoffed, "You didn't go with him?"

"No... not this time. I wanted to spend some time alone with you today," she smiled, tilting up her chin with pursed lips.

I pressed my cheek to her mouth, and a smile was still on my face when I turned my eyes to the canvas in front of the painter.

"What are you emitting this time, mom?" I questioned, while observing the array of reds and blues.

The shapes were very sporadic, and surprisingly so considering that I couldn't have imagined my mother painting those strokes as aggressively as they appeared.

She put her head down, "I'm not sure, darling."

"Huh?" I immediately returned.

Again, I was struck by confusion. My mother always had an answer to my questions. Uncertainty wasn't in her nature, or at least it wasn't for her to express it so easily.

Her head tilted to the side, her eyes squinting from the bright morning sun.

"Ada, I have to share something with you, she sighed, scraping her nail against the chipped paint on the handle of her brush.

I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my face into her hair. "Are you going away on another vacation?"

"No, not this time," she reassured, rubbing my arm.

Honestly, I was glad. She and Nico vacation for long durations, but while I want her to be away enjoying herself, I do miss knowing she is a few train rides away. I've definitely felt that feeling over the last few years as Andre and I were starting to fall apart.

I soaked in her warmth like I did as a kid most nights. When I wanted to sleep, she'd pet me on our small couch before she would lie me well for bed. My eyes opened at the slight grip she suddenly held on my arm.

"I have cancer, my darling."

I pulled my face from her and stepped back, murmuring, "What?"

She didn't repeat herself, forcing me to stand beside her easel, "Mom, what?!"

"I have stage two breast cancer," she sighed.

Her lively brown eyes were cold and concerned for a moment. I felt ill catching another glimpse of great sadness in a wonderful face. She was too beautiful on the inside and out to be sad, and I had been trying hard to bring myself out of my woes so that my happiness could make her smile again.

But life... life had other plans for me. For us. The last time I felt this kind of devastating heartbreak I was thirteen. My father died unexpectedly, and I watched my mother grieve the love of her life. We shared a loss so powerful, and I vowed to never share that kind of darkness with her again. But that vow was instantly broken. The loss felt so new, so cold, so real all over again.

The transition between the news and my tears existed for a split second, and I cried, "How can you be so calm about this?!"

"Because one of us has to be, my love," she said, forcing a pretty smile.

I shook my head, tears flowing one after another, "No mom. You can't. You can't have this."

"Ada..." her voice faded along with her smile.

I reached out for her face, savoring the warmth of her skin under my fingers. I didn't know what else to do but bring myself close and tremble.

"You can't. I want you to live forever. " I sobbed into her hair. "I'd die without you."

I'll be an orphan.

"No, my darling, you would live," she exhaled.

My mother held me for the all time I wept. Her touch was all I ever needed. With every hurt, she could heal my pain, and I regretted fleeing from her all the times I had needed her the most over the past year. But I had suffered on the inside for so long... I hid myself away because I knew she would suffer with me.

My mother did the last thing she ever wanted to do; she delivered the key to shut me down from within. My life had crumbled at an exponential rate. I had nothing left but an endless reserve of tears.

I pulled away and dragged my hand underneath my running nose. My palms violently swept under my eyes and I looked around at our surroundings. The aromatic flowers, the warm sunlight beaming into the large space. The cleanliness, the atmosphere, the life in the room. Suddenly, in my eyes, these beautiful these things were no longer beautiful.

I took a few steps away and tried to take in a few deep breaths. I could breathe though I didn't want to. Pinching my nose didn't stop my face from instantly contorting in pain. I was weeping again, howling into my palms, "It's not fair!"

She doesn't deserve this! No one deserves this fate!

Turning back on my heels to her, she sat in her tranquility, unmoving. She was contemplating. I was unraveling in front of her, yet not a single bone moved in her body. The long, slender paintbrush remained in her grip, and I realized she had no palette in her hand as usual. She had planned on telling me this hard truth and couldn't even do what she loved most. The old strokes of paint against the vast, white frame that always allowed me a glimpse into her beautiful mind, but it looked like there was nothing she could contribute to an unfinished piece for the first time. My mother was my spirit, and I felt it withering away knowing that she might not be there when I needed her– knowing she was already changing.

I was defeated. Every passing minute of the following hour continued to tear away at my core that my legs couldn't hold me up anymore. I sat on the floor, beside her feet. I was looking up to her, hoping that this beautifully landscaped nightmare was just that– a nightmare I could wake up from.

My mother. My sweet mother... I'll never forget you.

Though, I knew it wasn't, once the warmth of her hand against my forehead. My throat had dried and my lips had become parched yet were contoured by small rivers. Her breathing was steady as she tickled my skin with the soft pads of her fingers. Her eyes were closed, while she gently felt around my weary face. If she felt a small stream under my pleading eyes, her fingers would wipe them away and one or two would fall from her own.

We sat in silence. I could only hear my tired, ragged breaths until I confessed, "I don't think I can believe in anything anymore."

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A/N: I've been waiting a long time to write this chapter. I say that because I knew that I could only do it once I was in a particular place in my life. Well before I finished uploading the last chapter of "Clear", I had no idea how much the exploration of this kind of pain would correlate to my own personal experiences. This was in my outline, but it's very different from what I knew I would draft out to my readers. To this day, I still can't explain how charging it feels to be hit with sudden events that take you into an emotional realm you never wanted to cross into. But as I mentioned before, I knew I would only be able to try once I had a better understanding of what was happening in life. I feel that I'm mature enough to sit down with the past, and even share with you more personal experiences that have served as catalysts to me feeling in balance with myself.

I am sharing all of this, not to sound like some deep "writer" who is discovering transparency, but to explain and give more insight into why I took so long to get the ball rolling with this sequel. Also, this prompt is supposed to give a more in-depth answer to "Where is Ezra?"

You can find it here: https://mayenwrites.com/2016/10/21/chrysalis-stage-2/

As always, thank you for reading and being supportive. I really do appreciate every second of it.

-Mayen

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Number of Hidden Songs: 1