26. Billie

CHAPTER 26

BILLIE

W hen I pull into my mother’s driveway, the feeling of being seven years old again floods through me. The last time I was here, I was twenty, trying desperately to get through to my mother, promising myself I’d give her one last chance to show me she can be the kind of person who might understand me. One last opportunity to be the person I’ve always wanted her to be.

In the end, it was no surprise when she let me down.

I had told her all about the new job I got — it was the first time I ever got to go to Isla Mostaza. I had been so excited because finally it felt like my life was coming together the way I wanted it to. But the entire time I was here, all my mom did was tell me how poor my career choices were.

She told me how much she wished I’d gone to college. How I should have been more like my cousin, who was a doctor. How this career path was going to bring me nothing but pain because I was never going to have a steady income and I was never going to succeed. And she didn’t say a single word about how pleased she was for me.

I cried the whole way home after that, and never came back. Until I called her last month, it had probably been two years since I spoke to her at all.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her. But every conversation we’ve ever had has been us talking over each other and not listening, like both of us are standing at a crossroads, yelling and yelling at one another, neither quite able to see the other’s point.

Neither of us was ever going to be the person the other wanted us to be. For all that I feel she doesn’t understand me, I know she feels I don’t understand her either. That’s a fact I have never been able to recognize until now.

As a child, I found her put-downs cruel, but as an adult I can see that she did care. I get why she acted the way she did. I can understand the stress she must have been under, with a kid and no support, and a job she hated.

It all makes sense the way it never did before.

That doesn’t make any of it right, and I haven’t forgiven it all yet, but in a wicked twist of irony, I’m pregnant and on my own just like she was.

I’m scared, just like she must have been.

I need her help.

I sit in the car for a while, taking some steadying breaths. I don’t have to do this. I wouldn’t lose anything by just turning around and heading back home.

But if I did, I’d be letting her down again, and this time it really would be my fault.

Unbidden, an image of Jensen drifts into my mind. I imagined him facing his parents just like this. I wonder if what he told me was true, about the pressure they put on him and the disappointment they felt as they watched him act out like a dumb kid.

Even after everything that happened, I can’t see him lying about something like that. He only lied about who he really was. I’m pretty sure of that. Everything else we talked about was true.

But what does it matter to me, anyway? He’s off traveling the world, our time together nothing more than a footnote.

Slowly, I undo my seatbelt and get out of the car, taking small, deliberate steps towards the house. I clench my fist and knock on the door, and inside I hear footsteps approach in time with my beating heart.

The door creaks open, and there she is, just the way I remember her.

She’s a little older now, of course, but she has the same box-blond dyed hair — her roots need doing again. She has the same creases around her eyes and mouth, the same sharp look with the blue eyes she gave to me.

“Hello, Billie.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Why don’t you come in?”

I smile a little and step into the hallway, the smell of my childhood rushing back to me in muddy shoes and scented candles.

“I wasn’t really expecting you to come,” says my mother, and I wince at her intuition.

Of course it’s going to be a little bit shaky right now. We’re only just getting to know each other again.

In reality, if this works, it might be more like getting to know each other for the very first time.

We make our way through to the living room, and I notice her eyes dart down to my stomach as we sit. My bump is barely noticeable, but if you’re looking for it, I’m sure it’s clear enough.

“How are you finding it?” she asks. “Pregnancy, I mean?”

I grimace. “It’s not very fun, is it?”

She laughs, and I’m suddenly reminded of my mother during the good times when we used to play together, when she would take me places and laugh with me and tell me stories. When she really felt like a mother rather than someone who was just looking after me.

“Did you buy those vitamins I recommended?”

“Yes, I did actually. Thank you. They’ve been making a big difference.”

“Good.” She smiles again, and the lump in my throat grows. “I’ve been through all this before, after all. I do know a couple of things.”

Without meaning to, I blurt, “I’ve missed you, Mom. I’m sorry.”

She looks squarely at me, her eyes shining with tears. “I know, baby. I’ve missed you too. And I’m sorry. I let you down, and I’m sorry.”

I blink in surprise. This was hardly the confession I was expecting from her. “You didn’t really,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

She shakes her head firmly, taking my hands and holding them so tight I feel like I’m about to lose all feeling in my fingertips. “Billie, baby. You haven’t let anyone down. How could you?”

“I left, Mom. I just left you here, alone.”

“You were just a kid. You weren’t getting what you wanted, so you did what kids do. I’ve had a lot of time to myself over the last few years, and I’ve realized a thing or two. Things I should have known years ago. I should never have let my stress my loneliness get in the way of us .”

A shaky tear slides down my face, and it’s mirrored on hers too.

Of all the things I was expecting my mother to say, this wouldn’t have even crossed my mind as one of them. I never thought I’d live in a world where she could be so self-aware.

And yet, here she is, being truthful with me. I still feel so guilty for running out on her, and sure, we have years of pain that are still stitching themselves back together, but I feel a lightness that I haven’t felt in a very long time. It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Like this is the right thing to do. Even if it’s going to be hard, this is right. This is the way it should be.

“I always wanted you to have a good life. You are having a good life, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I say, and mean it. “Do you want to see some of my photos?”

She doesn’t say anything, but she nods. I pick up my phone, and she shuffles closer to me on the sofa, close enough that I can breathe in the scent of the same deodorant that she’s worn since I was born.

I flick to one of my most recent photos. “This little guy is a turtle baby, going home to his mom.”

“Tell me more,” she says with an honest intensity that makes my heart sing. “Tell me all about the places you’ve been.”

I swipe to another image. “Okay. Uh… here are some red woodpeckers from Mostaza, which is an island north of Puerto Rico. Here are some more turtles. These are just some nice scenery shots.”

Quickly, I bypass a few selfies of me and Jensen, but it’s not fast enough to stop me thinking about him or the joy on his face when he was on the island — or for my mother not to notice him.

“Wait a second,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. “Isn’t that that prince? Wasn’t he washed up on… Oh, Billie, please don’t tell me it’s his.”

She looks down at my stomach, and I feel myself flushing. I laugh awkwardly, and mumble, “Well, about that…”

My mother’s mouth drops open. “Billie Ballard, I was joking! You’re telling me this is the child of a prince!”

“It was an accident, Mom. I never meant for this to happen.” I clench my fists, feeling seventeen all over again.

I wait for the yelling, but it never comes. Instead, she sighs. “Yes. I know a thing or two about accidents.”

This is something I already knew — that I wasn’t planned, and my dad was nowhere to be seen, though I’ve never known for sure what happened to him. “Yeah, Mom. You know, I never used to believe any of your stories about Dad.”

“You didn’t?”

“One time you told me he was a prince, and another time you told me he was an explorer. And one time you told me he was a TV anchor who got fired for sleeping with you!”

Her face glows pink at that. “I’m sorry I was never honest with you,” she says quietly. “The thing is, I don’t know where he is. He and I… well, the real, honest truth is that we were a fling. Holiday romance. Just like you, I suppose. Met by accident, fell in love for a few weeks. Oh, we had such a wonderful time, Billie. The two of us together… I never wanted it to end. And then we went home — and never saw each other again. And nine months later, I had a baby.”

She pauses for a breath, and I let the information sink in. Looks like fate really does have me following my mother, beat for beat through her life. The thought of it makes me want to laugh maniacally, but she’s clearly not done, so I hold it in.

“I had no idea what I was going to do with you. But I’ve always loved you. You know that, don’t you? I have always loved you.”

“I do,” I whisper. “I love you too.”

She pulls me in for a hug, and I wrap my arms around her, nestling into her chest like a baby bird.

“You still should have gone to college, though,” she says, and I finally let out a laugh. Some things are never going to change.

“I’m serious,” she says, staring me down. “You always had a brain. You should do something with it.”

“I am doing something with it,” I throw back, immediately jumping on the defense even though I don’t mean to. “I’m traveling the world. I’m helping.”

“Helping with what?”

“Science. Conservation.”

“Wouldn’t a college degree help with that?”

“You know why I didn’t go to college.”

I bite my lip. I don’t want to cry again, but she’s making it pretty hard to keep it together. I also don’t want this to blow up into a fight, so I hold my tongue, waiting for her to make her next move.

“You could still go,” she says.

I chuckle again. “Yeah, sure. Me and whose money?”

“You have a college fund.”

I’m sure I must have misheard, so I say, “I’ve what?”

“A college fund. I’ve been saving up for you since you left home.”

“Hilarious, Mom,” I say breathing deeply to stop myself from snapping.

“Billie, I’m not joking. It’s not enough to cover everything, but it’s yours. You should take it.”

“I can’t,” I say hoarsely. “I’m pregnant.”

“After, then. You should do it. Follow your heart. And I’ll help you every step of the way. Not that you’ve ever needed my help before.”

My head is still reeling, but she really does mean it. I can see it written all over her face. She’s not playing a game or trying to trap me. She really is trying to understand.

So, I should do the same for her. With a smile, I wrap my arms around her again. “Okay. Let’s do it.”