“Annika didn’t betray her like she did me,” Mom says, her eyes going to me, finally.
I look like Mom. Mom is tall—not quite as tall as me at just under six feet, but still taller than average—with my wild, curly hair and a lot of curves. Her hair is brown, but otherwise, I’m damn near a spitting image of her. The red, I’ve been told, is a recessive genetic trait inherited from Gram’s side of the family.
Erin missed the height and the curls, being on the taller end of average at five-eight, but she shares our eyes and our tendency to bottom-heavy curviness. Erin is beautiful, with brown hair that hangs pin-straight and thick, with delicate features and a sweet, calm disposition. Unless riled, like she is now.
“She’s yourdaughter,” Erin snaps. “She’s my sister. I won’t turn my back on her. Not if she’s clean.” She turns and addresses me. “If you relapse, I can’t—I won’t…” She shuts her eyes, shaking her head a few times, and then again meeting my gaze again. “But if you’re really, truly sober…”
“I am, Erin. I swear I am. I’m sober for good. Forever. No matter what. I won’t relapse.” I stand up, move cautiously toward her and Mom. I look at Mom. Not daring to breathe, to hope. “Mom, just…give me a chance. Please.”
“I gave youso manychances, Annika,” Mom says, voice thin and trembling. “Again and again. I let you back in my house, back into my life. I dragged you out of crack houses. I picked you up from alleys. I fed you. I bathed you. I gave you money. Even when you started stealing from me, I’d forgive you and let you back in time and again. But you kept going right back to the drugs.”
“Iknow, Mom,” I whisper. “I understand if you can’t…if I can’t have you in my life. I get it. I ruined…everything…and I get that. But I…all I want is to be able to look you in the eyes, just one time, and tell you I’m sorry. I’m so,sosorry, Mom. I don’t even expect you to forgive me. I know you can’t. I know I can’t ever pay back what I took from you. I can’t fix it. I can’t make it better.” I lose the ability to speak for a moment, crying too hard—I drop my chin to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut as burning tears stain my lips and drip from my chin.
I look up, finally, as Mom just looks on, eyes wet but her expression otherwise unreadable. “I love you, Mom. And I’m sorry.”
Mom shakes her head. “Iwantto believe you.” She shakes her head again. “But just because you’re clean and don’tlooklike you’re on drugs doesn’t mean I can—”
Chance speaks up, then, his voice quiet—but even quiet, it’s still a deep, gravelly, booming sound. “She faced her former dealer. She faced him and she flushed his drugs down the toilet. I watched her do it.”
Mom looks at him. “Who are you?”
“My name is Chance. I’m…a friend. Of Annika’s.”
“What kind offriend?” Mom asks, suspicious, alert.
“The kind who knows exactly what Annika’s going through, except I don’t have any family to make amends with.” He holds Mom’s eyes. “You only get one family. And what you may not understand is that her addiction and recovery was impossibly more painful and difficult for her than it was for you. Not minimizing what you went through, because I know damn well how that shit makes you act and how it affects the people around you. But what I also know is that family is a precious thing. She’shere. She’strying. She’s your daughter, and you’re gonna keep punishing her? Because I know for afactshe’s punished herself far worse than anything you could do or say. Except to not forgive her, one more time. That’s probably the cruelest thing you could do.”
I look at him. “Chance, enough. It’s okay. I get it. I haven’t…I never told you all the shit I did to Mom and Erin.” I move away from my mother and rest my hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine. I said what I needed to say. We can just go.” I bend over Gram and rest my face on her head, inhale her scent, kiss her hair. “I love you, Gram, so much. Thank you for…well, letting me in, and listening to me, and most of all for forgiving me.”
Chance rises to his feet, and I see Mom’s eyes widen as he reaches his full height, taking in the impossible breadth of his shoulders, the mammoth wall of his enormous chest, his long hair loose around his shoulders, his tattoos, his huge, dense arms and treelike thighs. Erin is frozen, staring up at him in something like a mixture of awe and fear.
Which I get. Boy, do I get it.
Chance moves for the doorway, and Mom scuttles into the kitchen and out of his way, as if he is threatening her merely by being close to her. He stops, looks way down at her. He says nothing, but reproach radiates from him.
I press up against his back, press my palm between his shoulder blades. “Chance,” I whisper. “It’s okay. It really is.”
He shakes his head. “I’d do anything to have my parents back.” He stares down at Mom even as he speaks to me. “I’d stop at nothing to get even five minutes with them.”
I choke. “Chance. This is different, honey.”
He tenses when I use that word. I don’t even know where it came from. His head pivots and he twists until he can look me in the eye. I see a hint of a smile, a glimmer in his eyes. “It’s not. It’s easy to hold on to shit when you know they’re still out there. Easy to hold on to grudges and shit.” He looks back to Mom. “You got a shot at having your girl back, Emily. She’s here. Fuckin’lookat her, and I meanreallylook at her, goddammit. You’llseeit. You’ll see that your girl’s back, for real, and for good. All you gotta do is grab on and say three little words.”
Mom peers past him, at me. Finally, for the first time since arriving, she really and truly looks at me, and not justatme, butintome. I let her look. Let it all hang out in my gaze—sorrow, regret, fear, love, hope.
And then…
Mom crumples, sobbing.
Chance catches her, holds her up, turns her to me, and my arms go around her middle. Mom finds her feet and latches onto me. Her arms go around my neck and her face goes into my cheek. For several moments, we just cling to each other.
“My girl, my baby.” It’s barely intelligible. “It’s really you.”
“It’s me, Mom. I’m here.” I cup her face. “Look at me. I’m healthy. I’mokay.”
Mom’s fingers touch my face, my cheeks and my chin and my jaw—touching places where I once had sores and scabs from scratching—feather through my hair, which is now clean and cared for, rather than tangled and matted and filthy. She runs her hands over my forearms, also healed and sore-free. Finally, she just rests a hand on my face and looks into my eyes for a long, long time. I let her.
“My girl.” She reaches out for Erin, who moves in and we hug.
