Page 56 of A Heart On A Sleeve

thirty-three

Olive

Two Moms Make It Right

“Momma, can we talk?” I blurt out when my mother answers her phone after the third time I’ve called. She’s been trying to get ahold of me for weeks and then when I finally call, no answer until it’s clearly emergent.

“Olivia? Why are you calling me so early? Are you okay?” she asks.

I glance at the time and realize she probably wasn’t expecting a call at seven in the morning on a Saturday. I don’t feel guilty though; I’ve never called her like this. One time is the least she owes me.

“I’m fine,” I choke out, my voice shaking with nerves.

“You most certainly are not fine. What’s going on?” My mother has been activated. I can hear it in her voice that she’s ready to battle with whatever has upset me. It’s ironic really—she upsets me more than anyone, but she’s also fiercely protective.

“I, uh, I don’t know how to say this, but I think I’m in love.” I rip off the Band-Aid quickly, fully expecting her to react with rage or disappointment.

“You are?” I can hear her take a deep breath. I’m just waiting for her to tell me how disappointed she is. “That’s great, hunny,” she says instead, her voice carrying an air of relief through the line.

“What?” I ask, stunned by her reaction.

“That’s great. I’m happy for you. I’ve been trying to call you, to talk about—”

“I know, but I thought it was to yell at me, and I just couldn’t, Momma. You’re not angry? It’s not with Theodore,” I explain.

“Olivia, I have spent the past few weeks since you kicked me out thinking. I owe you an apology. I have spent most of my life trying to keep up with expectations. Your Nana never approved of me, and I think I spent so much time trying to be perfect for her, I lost sight of reality. I pushed you so hard because I thought if she saw any flaws, she’d insist we weren’t good enough for your father. ”

“Momma, why would you not be good enough?”

“I am good enough, I just didn’t see that for a long time. When I met your father, I was a poor waitress working long hours to put myself through college. I didn’t have anything to my name, and I think Nana wanted him to pick someone who was more like he was,” she explains.

“But you made me feel like a failure for so many years, like nothing I did was good enough. And you have literally been trying to pick my husband for years. I hurt someone I love because I was scared of never being enough for him.” The words catch in my throat as I say them.

I’m glad my mom is taking responsibility for her past actions, but that doesn’t help my current situation.

“Olivia, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you over the years, I know I was hard to love, but you have never been anything but perfect.

I think honestly, hunny, I was jealous of you.

You’re smart, kind, and funny. I wanted to be like you and when I couldn’t, it made me mad.

I don’t expect you to forgive me, but if I learned anything the day you kicked me out, it’s that walking away instead of fighting for the people you love is never the answer.

If you love this man, you need to fight for him. You deserve to be happy, princess.”

“Thanks, Momma,” I say, almost a whisper.

I can’t believe she’s admitting all of this, that she’s actually apologizing.

I feel like I’m in the twilight zone or something.

I’ve spent my whole life under her thumb, letting her dictate my decisions and how I felt about myself.

I walked away from Sam because I couldn’t stand the thought of being vulnerable with him, of having my heart displayed on my sleeve just to be picked apart.

“Tell me about this man. I need to know who he is and what he’s like,” my mom says.

I can tell she’s hesitant, but why wouldn’t she be.

Things have not been great in our relationship, and we’ve never been the type to over share.

She has zero information on Sam, but there’s more I need to know before I tell her.

“I’ll tell you about him, but can I ask you something first?”

“Always.”

“How did you do it? I mean, when you thought you’d never be good enough—how did you continue to be brave anyway?”

My mom laughs, a throaty but delightful sound before she answers, “I didn’t have a choice.

I loved your father more than I could explain, and the thought of having even a moment of happiness with him was more important to me than the fear of what would come if he decided I wasn’t enough, or if he listened to your nana. ”

“And you just went on, trying to mold yourself, even if it meant being someone you aren’t? Just so you could have that love?” I question.

“Olivia, I didn’t really change that much. Of course, I wanted to be perfect, and in the moments where we needed to be, I was, and I forced you to be too. But in the quiet moments where it’s just he and I . . . I’m the same goofy, down-on-her-luck waitress that I was when we met.”

I’m shaken to my core by her admission. It’s not like I haven’t seen that side of her before, but as the years went by, it seemed to show up less and less.

I remember catching my parents slow dancing in the kitchen once when I was maybe ten.

My mom didn’t have makeup on and it shocked me.

Part of me feels guilty, like maybe she stopped showing me that freer side of herself because in some ways my need to strive for perfection added to her insecurities.

My momma and I talk for a little while longer, mostly about Sam.

I fill her in on what transpired between us, leaving out the cursed-by-a-witch part because that may be a little too much for her to handle over the phone.

I don’t know that I fully forgive her yet, but I am reassured that most of my insecurities were born out of her deep-seated fears and that I am not in fact a failure at literally everything in life.

When I hang up, my thoughts immediately race toward making things right with Sam.

I know without a doubt that I love him. If the last week of misery wasn’t enough of a clue, it’s the little things.

Like wanting to tell him about my mom, wanting to talk to him about the meaningless thing that happened on Top Chef , or wishing I could give him a hug right now.

I realize that those small things are what matter, the moments that are so insignificant you’d never know they were important until they’re gone.

I rack my brain while showering, desperate to come up with some way of showing him how sorry I am, a way to tell him that I’m in love with him.

But my mind keeps taking me back to the cabin and the pumpkin muffins.

That was the night I started to cover myself back up, to hide who I was.

Yet, it also was one of the most special memories we share.

Sam went to so much trouble to make the place beautiful, and I still can’t think of those frosted muffins without blushing.

Once I’m done getting ready, it’s decided. I get changed and whip up a batch of the muffins. While I’m waiting for them to bake, I call Ari. She answers on the first ring.

“Tell me you’ve decided to go get your man!” she shouts.

“I have. I’m making him muffins right now. Then I’m going to head to Eerie to see him.”

“Yes. Good girl. Did you talk to Anne?” Ari asks.

“Yep, and she admitted that she was wrong the whole time. She told me that she always had high expectations for me because she never felt good enough for my Nana. She even admitted she used to be hard on me because she was jealous,” I explain, giving her the high-level details.

“Holy shit. That’s some fucked-up family drama. But I’m glad she admitted that you aren’t the problem.”

“I’ll say. I’m still scared though. What if Sam turns me away?” I say softly.

“He won’t, but if he does, then I’ll be waiting for your call and we will drink our feelings while internet stalking people that we used to know.” Ari chuckles to herself.

“Thanks, Ari. The oven timer is dinging. I gotta take these out before they burn. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“You’re welcome, Ollie. I love you forever.”

“I love you too.”

An hour later, the muffins have cooled, I’ve added the frosting and packaged them up, and I am ready to go.

I step off the front porch of my cottage, taking a second to look back at the once-beautiful decorations that Sam placed.

The flowers are wilted, and the pumpkins are speckled with black spots as they begin to rot.

It’s like a funeral, and I hope it’s not indicative of what is waiting for me at Eerie Ink.

I take a deep breath and walk toward Mage Square.

I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do if he turns me down.

I’m finally ready to open myself up, and it’s really scary to think that I might have missed my chance at a happily ever after.

I still can’t believe that I thought the tattoo was the only reason we were so good together, that he was using it to give me what I wanted.

It seems silly, the more I overanalyze it.

How could he have used it when half the time, it was a myriad of emotions whipping around and random objects that didn’t make a lot of sense even to me?

I guess that’s what having your life turned upside down does though—makes you question anything and everything.

I approach Eerie, and the lights appear to have been turned off, the open sign dark against the glass windows. I press my face against the cold door, trying to see if I can spot anything indicating Sam is here, but I don’t. It’s unusual for him to not be working on a Saturday. Maybe he stayed home?

I retrace my steps, walking past my cottage and toward Sam’s. I’m outside of the cemetery when a car slows behind me, and I pick up my pace as my heart races. A few seconds later, a black sedan pulls up next to me, window rolled down, and Sam’s dad, Patrick, says, “Hey, Olive. Headed to Sam’s”?

“Oh, hey. Uh, yeah, I was hoping I could talk to him. Do you know if he’s home?”

“No, he’s at the hospital. Come on, I can give you a ride,” Patrick says. His eyes are so kind, full of compassion. With how nice he’s being, he must not know we broke up. Wait, did he say Sam is in the hospital? My heart clenches as I jog over to Patrick’s car and pull the door open.

“What happened? Is he okay?” I huff out.

“Oh, sorry. He’s fine, Xavier’s baby’s coming.” Sam’s dad smiles, and relief rushes through me.

“That’s great, but I probably shouldn’t be there. Can you just take me home?” I set the muffins on my knees as I reach to buckle my seat belt.

“Nope, I can’t take you home. I know something happened between you two, and if I take you home, you will sit and wonder all day where things stand.

I won’t take you to the hospital if you don’t think it’s the right place to talk to my son, but you aren’t going to sit and worry alone either.

Mabel is baking today. She will appreciate the company. ”

Ugh, this man. This is where Sam learned it from. Patrick showed him how to be kind, how to be sweet. My heart melts, and I can’t stop myself from hoping it works out with Sam even more. I want to be with Sam, but I want to keep his parents, too.

“Okay, I see how this works. Let me practice my groveling on Mabel,” I say, winking at him.

“Now you’re learning. Mabel will be far tougher than Sam. I’ll only be a scream away, young lady,” Patrick coos, winking right back.

We both laugh before falling into a comfortable silence. A few minutes later, we pull into the driveway and I hop out, making my way to the front door. Before I reach the top step, it swings open and there stands Mabel with her hands on her hips, frowning at me.

“Mabel, I’m in love with your son,” I blurt out awkwardly.

“Well, duh. I’m frowning because you waited a whole week to admit it,” she chastises me.

“It’s, um, I’m complicated. But I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and I just want to talk to him so I can tell him how I feel,” I say, rushing the words out as quickly as possible.

“You will get your chance, I promise. For now, you and I are going to bond over baking and undo all that garbage your mother put in this beautiful head of yours. Come on, my sweet little belle.” I guess Mabel must know more than I thought about my mother.

Several hours later, after baking nearly enough pastries, cookies, and bread to feed Cami and Xavier for a year, as well as deep diving into my childhood, I’m exhausted.

Mabel and I discussed just about every topic under the sun, and while I thought it was going to be difficult to open up, she made it feel so easy.

Each time I’d hesitate, she would remind me that I didn’t have to tell her anything, and that alone allowed my heart to feel in control.

We talked a lot about my mom, and Mable helped me to see things from my mom’s perspective.

It’s not much different than my own and how I was afraid of Sam not wanting me once he learned of my flaws.

Did my mom go about things the right way?

No, of course not. But Mabel reiterated that most of the time when the people we love hurt us, it is more about what’s going on inside of them than it ever is about us.

I glance at the clock and notice it’s nearing five. I’m not going to stick around and invite myself to stay for dinner. It doesn’t seem like Sam will be stopping by anytime soon. A pang of sympathy for Cami strikes me. She must be having a heck of a time in labor. I hope everything is okay.

“I think I’m going to head out,” I say, grasping Mabel’s hand and giving it a light squeeze.

“Okay, sometimes these things take a while. Sam’s going to stop by and grab this stuff when he leaves the hospital. Did you want me to tell him you were here?” Mabel asks.

“Yes, do you have a pen?” The idea of leaving him a note feels a little lame, but I want him to know I’m ready to talk when he is.

Mabel digs around in a drawer full of random items and pulls out a pen and some paper. I take them from her and sit down in the dining room to jot out a quick message.

Sam-

I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I would like the chance to talk, just one chance to tell you how I feel. Please come over tonight when you get home. I only need a few minutes.

Love,

Olive

I fold the note and put it on top of my box of pumpkin muffins before heading back into the kitchen.

I set the box on the counter and look at Mabel meaningfully.

She doesn’t have to say anything, I know she understands what to do.

As I grab my bag and turn to leave, she stops me with a hand on my arm.

“Come here, Olive.” Mabel pulls me into a hug and I melt into her. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” she says, stepping back and offering me a small smile.

“Thanks, Mabel. I hope you’re right.”