Chapter 20 - MY MOTHER MEETS HAZEL AGAIN
Hazel was twelve.
Four years after first letter.
She asked:
“Can I see Grandma once?”
I did not celebrate.
“Why?”
“Want to know if she still looks mean.”
I laughed despite myself.
Maya helped plan.
Neutral office.
Forty-five minutes.
I present initially? Hazel requested me in room.
No gifts.
No family history lecture.
No touching unless Hazel initiated.
Mother agreed.
She entered.
Older.
Smaller somehow.
Not because prison magically humbled posture.
Age.
Loss.
No pearls.
Hazel sat beside me.
My mother stopped six feet away.
“Hi.”
Hazel:
“Hi.”
Then silence.
Mother asked:
“Can I sit?”
Hazel nodded.
Good.
Hazel began.
“Why did you kick chair?”
My mother answered:
“I was angry that you were sitting in a place I had decided should belong to blood relatives.”
“Why?”
“Because I believed blood made people more entitled to family.”
“Do you still?”
“No.”
“How know?”
My mother looked at me.
Then back.
“Because I used that belief to excuse Graham again and again until I helped him hurt you.”
Hazel asked:
“Did you know phone?”
“Yes.”
“Before chair?”
“Yes.”
“Did you want it fall out?”
My mother swallowed.
“Yes.”
There.
No minimizing.
“Did Uncle say put it there?”
“He told me he had put it near you so people would suspect you.”
Hazel’s eyes filled.
“Why me?”
My mother cried.
“Because I had spent years treating you like the easiest person to doubt.”
That was the answer.
Ugly.
Correct.
Hazel wiped her face.
“Did you think adopted kids steal?”
“I let myself believe things like that.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Do you love me?”
My mother took a long time.
“I do now in a way I should have allowed myself to before. But saying I loved you then would be unfair, because love that refuses your belonging is not much protection.”
I looked at her.
Good.
Hazel said:
“I don’t love you.”
My mother flinched.
Then nodded.
“You don’t have to.”
Meeting ended at thirty-two minutes.
No hug.
In car Hazel said:
“She does look less mean.”
I laughed.
“Scientific.”
“Can I see her again?”
“Not today.”
“Later.”
Maybe.
We did.
Months later.
Public lunch.
Then another.
No overnight.
No unsupervised access for years.
Trust grew in narrow lanes.
My mother accepted.
May you like
That was change.
Not absolution.
