24
Rashad had never been so nervous in his entire life.
Today was the day that he would meet his mother for the first time since he was a baby. The first time since she left him with his father thirty-three years ago. For the first time in all that time, they would lay eyes on each other, in person.
He and Layla sat in a rented car in a gas station not too far from where his family resided.
Over the last four months, they’d exchanged correspondence, phone calls, and eventually video calls with his mother. While it was true that he looked a lot like his father, he also saw some of his mother in him too. His dark complexion and cheekbones came from her.
She and his younger sister lived in a small, two-bedroom house with his mother’s mother. His sister, Marcy, was their primary caregiver.
He learned that his mother, Ernestine, had tried to find him at various times over the years since he turned eighteen, but she never could. She’d had no idea that he changed his name and thought the fact that she couldn’t find him was for the best because of the story behind his birth.
Layla covered his hand on the gearshift. “You ready?” she asked gently.
He’d insisted that she come because she’d been the catalyst for this reunion. She’d been the reason he finally sent a simple handwritten note on a card to his mother. That had finally culminated in this planned reunion.
“I’m ready.”
He said the words, but the tightness in his stomach betrayed the severity of his fears. He didn’t even know why he was nervous. They’d been in contact for months, yet he worried that rejection could still come. Perhaps when he walked up there and she saw him in the flesh, how much he looked like Chester, she’d change her mind about wanting a relationship with him.
Well, they’d driven over two hundred miles, so he might as well go that last mile to meet his family.
Rashad started the car and pulled out of the gas station and drove down the road past a row of small ranch houses on either side. Clammy palms gripping the wheel, he turned right into the subdivision. The GPS directed him to turn left down Acorn Street, and he followed those instructions. As soon as he did, he no longer needed the directions. He saw the house long before they pulled in front of it.
Outside the little brick ranch, there were red, blue, and yellow balloons tied to the mailbox. More balloons were tied to the railing on the little porch, and a huge welcome sign hung from the gutter that ran along the front.
Rashad eased the car in front of the house. Ernestine, Marcy, and his grandmother Kay were already waiting outside. He looked at Layla and tears burned his eyes when she smiled at him, biting her bottom lip. Without a word, he exited the car and walked toward the three people who were already coming down the driveway.
Ernestine was a tall, heavyset woman with her short Afro salted with gray. Marcy was shorter but thinner, her hair pulled into a thick ponytail. His grandmother Kay shuffled behind them wearing what looked to be her Sunday best, which included a string of pearls and her thin gray hair curled to frame her face.
Rashad stopped walking because his feet no longer could function. Rashad Greene, Mr. Confident, Mr. Suave, lost all his smooth and stood in the middle of the driveway, regressing into a little boy who simply wanted to be accepted. Wanted to be loved.
And he was.
Three sets of arms wrapped around him. He flung his arms around his mother’s neck and held her tight as she cried. He brushed away a tear that fell onto his own cheek as he listened to her sobs. His sister rested her cheek against his bicep, and his grandmother took up the rear, whispering over and over again, “You’re here. You’re finally here.”
When they released him, his mother gazed up into his face, each hand lightly touching his cheeks.
Looking deeply into his eyes, she said, “I never regretted having you. My only regret was not being brave enough to take you with me.”
“It’s okay. I don’t blame you,” Rashad whispered.
He wanted her to know this, though he’d said it before. He needed her to understand that he did not blame her for anything that had happened. The blame for the dissolution of their family and the pain she suffered lay squarely on the shoulders of the man sitting in a Texas prison.
“Layla’s here.” He signaled for Layla, who was standing several feet away, to come forward. She had talked to his family several times via video and on the phone. He slipped an arm around her and pulled her into his side. “As you know, she’s the reason I had the courage to write to you. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said, gazing down at her.
“Welcome, to you too,” his mother said, and then she treated Layla to a loving hug the same way she did him.
Mother. He had a hard time getting used to thinking in those terms.
They all went inside the small, quaint house. It was very clean and smelled like a bakery. The scent of fresh bread and cake perfumed the air and added to the homey atmosphere.
Rashad had brought a small photo album with pictures of him throughout the years. Over slices of pound cake and tall glasses of iced tea, they spent time going over the photos. He told them stories about his life and his accomplishments. His sister brought out photos as well, pictures of herself and their mother and grandmother over the years.
They spent the rest of the day there, which included eating a delicious dinner of roast, potatoes, and sauteed cabbage. While they talked over dinner and laughed and shared more stories, Rashad learned that his love for baking was a result of genetics. His grandmother used to run a bakery with his grandfather, but they had to close it when they fell on hard economic times. His mother learned to bake from her, and in fact for many years baked cakes and cookies and sold them out of her home as a way to make extra money.
Ernestine moved in with Kay after she and her second husband divorced, but she never lost her love of baking and was pleased to learn that Rashad had the same passion.
