Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Ah,” I said, impressed. “It must be a challenging role.”
“It can be at times.”
Leaning forward, she picked up her teacup and took a small sip, seeming to savour the warmth before placing it back down. Her eyes flicked to mine. “Thank you for the tea.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, remembering I had an apology to give her. “That day you came to my office to tell me about our parents,” I began. “I was a prick to you, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have refused to see you, nor left you waiting for so long.”
She straightened a little, taking another sip of tea before she replied, “You were a prick that day,” she confirmed, a hint of the attitude returning, and my mouth began to curve in a grin.
“Am I forgiven?” I questioned low.
She pursed her lips. “That remains to be seen.”
I chuckled and shook my head, plastering on my most sincere expression. “It’s my fault we got off to such a bad start. I may have misjudged you.”
She didn’t respond, only stared at me like she was trying to figure me out. Maybe she thought I was only apologising because I wanted something from her. And, well, I sort of did.
“Can you tell me a story about my mother?” I asked.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so vulnerable and exposed. The last time I’d felt like I needed something from someone so badly.
Her eyes widened in surprise before they softened in sympathy. I felt pathetic, begging for a scrap of her memories, something good to hold on to.
Ada kept the teacup clasped between her hands as though warming them. “What kind of story?”
My throat tightened. “Something good. A happy story.”
“Hmm, let me think,” she said, her eyes travelling across the room as she chewed absentmindedly at her full bottom lip.
I was unaccustomed to feeling so needy. In my life, people typically came to me looking for things. In this case, I was the one searching, and I hated the feeling. But I needed something to dull the raw pain inside me. My grief was something much worse than normal loss because it was mixed in with regret, guilt, shame and self-recrimination.
“One time, we found a litter of four kittens taking shelter in one of the bushes out front.” She motioned out the window. “Their mother was nowhere to be found, and they were really young, like, had literally just been born. Their eyes hadn’t even opened yet. They were so little and weak from malnourishment. We decided the mother must’ve died somehow, leaving them all alone. Your mam, as you might be aware, was allergic to cats, but she couldn’t abandon the kittens and knew that if she gave them to a shelter, they might just end up being put down. So, she dosed up on allergy medication and made it her mission to nurse the kittens back to health.”
Ada paused, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as she let out a quiet laugh. “I swear I never heard someone sneeze so much in my life, even with all the antihistamines she was taking. But she loved those little kittens. After a couple of weeks, they were the healthiest, most beautiful creatures you’d ever seen. So much so that Leonora was able to find several people to adopt them from amongst her friends and acquaintances. The day the final kitten was taken she looked so happy, like she’d done a good deed for the world.”
That sounded like Mam. She had a heart so big it could sometimes be to her detriment. This story had a happy ending, though. There were times in my childhood when there wasn’t one. I sat there, picturing her with those kittens, loving them back to health, and it took everything in me not to break down. I still hadn’t cried even though my inner turmoil was almost unbearable at times.
“Thank you,” I said at last, lifting my gaze.
Ada was staring at me with kind eyes, and discomfort pinched at me. I didn’t want her to see the pain ripping through me.
“You might not know this, but I can understand a little of what you’re going through,” she said. “Up until a couple years ago, I hadn’t spoken to my father in a long time.”
Her confession distracted me from my agonised thoughts. “You hadn’t?”
“You’re aware of his alcoholism. His addiction created a lot of problems when my sister and I were young, and it came to a point where we cut him from our lives. Then, a few years ago, I was leaving work and discovered your mother waiting outside for me. She told me who she was and asked if we could grab a coffee. We sat in a café for over an hour, and she told me about my dad, how he was a changed man and all the work he’d done to get sober. She convinced me to give him another chance, and if it weren’t for her, I’d probably be in your shoes right now, mourning a parent I hadn’t seen in—”