Page 62 of Hate That Blooms
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Today’s the day. I’ve been putting it off, telling myself that I wasn’t ready to face her. But if I don’t do it now, I’m never going to. I have to make a decision, even if that decision is painful.
I look down at the phone in my hands again. The message I sent to Gabby is simple.
I’m meeting with my mom today. Gonna try to forgive her. I’ll let you know how it goes.
It feels like a promise to myself more than anything else. A promise that I won’t stay stuck in this endless loop of bitterness. That I can do this for me, not for her, not for anyone else. Just for me.
I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the roots, and exhale a long breath. There’s no turning back now.
I get out of the truck and head toward the coffee shop, where I agreed to meet my mom. It’s a neutral place, not too far from the apartment, not too close to my dad’s house. I haven’t seen her in over a year—not since the last time I tried to talk to her, when I hung up on her, so angry I couldn’t stand to hear her voice.
I don’t expect anything to change this time. I don’t expect her to suddenly apologize or have some grand explanation for why she did what she did. What I expect is the same woman who left me—self-centered, distant, and cold in ways I can’t understand. But today, I’m not here to try to change her. I’m here to change me.
When I walk in, she’s already there. She’s sitting at a table in the back corner, stirring her coffee absentmindedly, like she hasn’t been waiting for me at all. She doesn’t even look up when I approach. She’s the same as she’s always been—detached.
But when I sit down across from her, she finally glances up. Her eyes widen for a second, and there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—recognition, maybe, or regret. But it’s gone before I can name it.
“Joaquín,” she says, her voice flat but with a trace of something that might be guilt. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”
I don’t say anything at first. I just sit there, letting the silence stretch between us. Not wanting to speak until I’ve figured out how to say what I need to say.
“You’re just as surprised as I am. I didn’t think I would either,” I reply finally. The words sound like a confession, but they’re not. It’s just the truth. I didn’t think I would come. I thought I’d be too angry, too afraid of what I might say or do. But here I am.
She takes a sip of her coffee, and I can’t help but notice how the time apart hasn’t been kind to her. Her skin looks older, more worn than I remember. She even has some silver in her black hair, and there’s a tiredness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She’s not the woman I once idolized. The one who could do no wrong in my eyes. She’s just... a person. Someone who made choices, some of them bad, a lot of them selfish. Someone who hurt me, but someone who’s also still the woman who gave birth to me.
“I didn’t expect you to want to see me,” she says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, like she’s afraid of what I might say next. “I didn’t think you’d forgive me.”
I look at her—really look at her—for the first time in a long time. I see the cracks in her, the way she’s not the person I thought she was. And I realize something in that moment. I’ve spent this time hating her for leaving when I could have worked through it and moved on. Instead, I took it personally and took it out on someone who didn’t deserve it.
“I’m not here to forgive you for you,” I say, my voice steady but firm. “I’m here to forgive you for me.”
She blinks, and there’s a moment where I think she might say something, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me, her eyes wide, waiting for more.
“I can’t keep holding onto you abandoning me,” I continue, leaning forward slightly. “I can’t keep blaming you for everything that’s wrong and using that as fuel to hurt the woman I love. I’ve spent so long being angry, and I’m done with it. I don’t want to be angry anymore.”
I pause, letting the words sink in. They’re not easy to say. They never will be. But I know they’re true. And I know I have to say them if I ever want to move forward.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to have a relationship with you,” I add, more quietly now. “I can’t pretend everything’s okay. I can’t just forget everything that happened and pretend like nothing changed. You hurt me. Left me with dad, who took all his anger and sadness out on me. You chose Gabby’s father over me. And I can’t just act like that’s fine.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and for a second, I almost feel sorry for her. But I can’t let myself feel that way. Not right now. Not after everything.
“I don’t expect you to,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I never expected you to. I just... I’m sorry, Joaquín. I’m sorry for what I did.”
I nod, accepting her apology for what it is—a step toward reconciliation, but not the answer to all the hurt I’ve carried. Her apology won’t erase all the pain. It won’t fix everything that’s broken. But maybe that’s not the point.
“I don’t want a relationship with you, not in the way we used to have,” I say firmly, looking her in the eyes. “I don’t need you to be my mother. I don’t need you to try to make up for everything. I just need you to understand that I’m moving on, and I’m not going to carry this around anymore.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long time. She just sits there, her hands trembling slightly as she stirs her coffee again, her eyes distant. I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she even care? Or is this just one more conversation that doesn’t matter to her?
But then she looks at me again, and there’s something softer in her gaze. Something that feels... genuine. “I understand,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost fragile. “I don’t want to hold you back. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. That I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I don’t know if I believe her. I don’t know if I ever will. But I nod, because in this moment, I’m not looking for closure. I’m looking for peace.
“I’m done,” I say, knocking my fist on the table.
She nods slowly, and there’s a long pause before she speaks again.
