« What? »
« Don’t call Brad. Does not repair. I won’t come to you. »
« Mom, don’t be like that. »
It was an unintentional mistake.
« Really? »
« Yes. My God, you are making a big deal out of it. »
I laughed then, but not very joyfully. « I’m doing too much. »
« Look, I have to go. »
We are at a tasting. Go straight home. I’ll call Brad.
He will find the solution.
« Enjoy your wine, Jessica. »
I hung up before she could answer. For a moment, I stood there, motionless. Then I turned off my phone.
Airplane mode was disabled. I took my suitcase and went back into the terminal.
There was a café near the baggage claim area. I bought a cup of tea and a scone that I didn’t want, and sat at a small table by the window. The scone tasted like cardboard.
The tea was too hot. He burned my tongue. I still ate and drank, because I had to keep my hands busy.
Around me, the travelers advanced with a determined step. They knew where they were going. I don’t.
After a while, I took out my phone and turned it on. Seventeen missed calls. Ten by Jessica.
Four messages from Brad. Three of an unknown number. I deleted the voicemails without listening to them.
I opened my messages. Jessica: Mom, please answer. Jessica: Brad’s on his way to get you.
Jessica: Where are you? Brad: Dorothy, I’m at the Los Angeles airport. How about you?
Which terminal? Jessica: That’s absurd. You’re only making things worse.
I turned off my phone. I thought about that last message. It only made things worse.
As if I were the problem. As if I had flown to California, promised myself a party, and forgotten myself at the airport. There was a hotel across the street from the airport.
I could see it through the window: a large impersonal tower from which a shuttle bus left every fifteen minutes. I watched the bus go back and forth two times before getting up, throwing away my half-eaten scone, and going outside to wait for it. The hotel room was $189 a night.
I paid for two nights because I couldn’t consider going home yet. The room was as expected of it: two double beds with floral bedspreads.
A television attached to the chest of drawers. View of the car park. But it was clean.
And it was mine. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried for the first time. Not strong.
Nothing dramatic. Just silent tears, coming without warning and leaving without noise. Once it was over, I washed my face, put on comfortable clothes and ordered a bowl of soup and a bun from room service.
It arrived 30 minutes later, brought by a young man who said to me, in a sincere tone: « Good evening, madame. » I ate slowly. The soup was good.
Not great. Not catastrophic. Just food.
And it was good like that. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I turned on the TV, I zapped, I came across a documentary about wolves in Yellowstone and I watched it to the end.
Then another on the creatures of the deep. I fell asleep after midnight, the television still on, the narrator’s calm voice describing bioluminescent jellyfish. In the morning, my phone showed 32 new messages.
I deleted them all. But I read one by Brad. Dorothy, please let us know you’re safe.
The children are worried. Kids. Ava and Mason.
Who barely knew me. Who saw me once a year, at most. Who called me Grandma Dorothy as if I were a distant relative.
Not the woman who had held their mother in her arms for nine months before she was born. I replied by text: « Sure ».
I then got dressed, went downstairs and had breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee. It was better than expected.
At the next table, a family of four was arguing about their program: Disneyland or the beach. The mother seemed exhausted.
The father was absorbed in his phone. The children were kicking each other under the table. Suddenly, I felt immense gratitude to be alone.
After breakfast, I went for a walk. The hotel was near Century Boulevard – an area not very conducive to walks – but I didn’t care. I passed car rental agencies, a Target store, then a shopping arcade with a nail salon and an unpretentious restaurant.
I stopped at a small park – in reality, just a patch of grass with a few benches and a playground. I sat and watched a young mother push her toddler on a swing. The child’s laughter was pure.
Nothing complicated. I stayed there for an hour. Maybe more.
When I got back to the hotel, I found a voicemail. Jessica. I almost deleted it.
Almost. But I listened. « Mom. » His voice was strained.
« I don’t know what you want me to say. I made a mistake. I’m sorry, but you’re punishing us all for this. »
Brad says you don’t talk to him. The kids keep asking where you are. It’s not fair.
I recorded the message.
Not because I wanted to keep him. Because I wanted to remember it. The way she had victimized herself.
The way she had instrumentalized my grandchildren. The way I was sorry before, but…
That afternoon, I called my bank. The automated system connected me with an advisor named Miguel.
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