Chapter 25 - DOREEN’S FIRST REQUEST
Doreen waited eight months after parole before asking to see me in person.
Not Celia.
Not June.
Me.
Public café.
Parole officer approved.
I asked Celia first because I did not want family contact becoming hidden again.
“Do you want to go?”
“No.”
“Do you mind if I do?”
She thought.
“No.”
Good.
Doreen arrived early.
She wore a simple blouse and cardigan.
No prison clothes.
No business authority.
No keys.
She looked smaller.
Not physically much.
Socially.
No one in the café cared who she was.
We ordered coffee.
She said:
“I passed the old headquarters.”
“It’s a dental office now.”
“I know.”
She smiled sadly.
“Your father would hate that.”
“He hated dentists.”
We laughed.
Then silence.
Doreen asked:
“Do you like Brightwell?”
“Yes.”
“Do they drown you in forms?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That surprised me.
Then:
“I used to think paperwork was what people hid behind when they were too scared to decide.”
“What do you think now?”
“That it is sometimes how people stop themselves from deciding for everyone else.”
There.
Then she asked:
“Can I ever apologize to Celia directly?”
“She knows you’re sorry.”
“I want to tell her.”
“That is about what you want.”
Doreen nodded slowly.
“Right.”
Good.
“Maybe one day she’ll want it.”
“Okay.”
No pushing.
Then:
“June?”
“Same.”
She looked down.
“I have no right.”
“Correct.”
Not cruel.
True.
Then Doreen told me about the arts center.
A woman there gave her cash to run to the café.
“I made her take it back and use the center card.”
I almost laughed.
“Traumatized?”
“Yes.”
Good.
Then:
“I think about Evelyn.”
“So do I.”
“She would have loaned me the money.”
“Yes.”
Doreen’s eyes filled.
“That’s the part I can’t stand.”
Consent had been available.
She chose deception.
Then I asked:
“Would you do it differently if the company were failing today?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Close it.”
That surprised me.
“Not borrow?”
“No.”
“Not ask me to guarantee?”
“Maybe ask. Accept no.”
Good.
Then:
“And Celia?”
“I would let her call you.”
Simple.
The answer that should never have required prison.
Then Doreen asked:
“Do you love me?”
I hated the question.
“Yes.”
She cried.
“Do you trust me?”
“Not with everything.”
She nodded.
“Fair.”
“Do you forgive me?”
There.
I smiled tiredly.
“Still not organizing my life around that word.”
She laughed through tears.
“I deserved that.”
“Stop making everything about what you deserve.”
She stared.
Then laughed again.
Celia had said the same lesson to me once.
I continued:
“I can love you. I can believe you’ve changed in some ways. Celia can still never want you near her. June can grow up without you. Those things can all be true.”
Doreen swallowed.
“I know.”
That was the adult answer.
No reunion requirement.
Then the café visit ended.
No hug at first.
Doreen stood.
I stood.
She waited.
I hugged her.
Brief.
My choice.
Not because sentence erased.
Not because she was my mother.
Because I wanted to.
On the drive home, I told Celia everything.
Including the hug.
She nodded.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“I’m glad.”
I looked at her.
“That I hugged her?”
“That you got to choose.”
There.
Consent again.
Always.
Then June ran into the room holding a toy key.
“Daddy! Lock!”
My body reacted.
Tiny.
Celia saw.
June inserted the plastic key into a toy house and opened the door.
“Open!”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
May you like
Open.
The word had become ordinary again.
