I twirl my straw in the glass and watch as the carbonated bubbles float to the top and POP. Yeah, boring, I know, but better than looking at the woman that’s supposed to be my mother. Yeah, yanno, the woman who left me four years ago to a dad I barely knew- still barely know, for that matter- and his new step-wife so she could go “find herself”.

Yeah. Right. Find herself, my ass.

But, then again, whatever. Some teeny tiny part of me gets it. But I’m in favor of pushing that teeny tiny part away so I can ignore it. Quite happily ignore it, I might add.

She coughs slightly into her hand- a hand that’s not as soft as I remember it, not as smooth- and then gives me a shaky smile. I look away, trying to push the scowl down that I feel forming. It’s not her fault, I try to reason with my anger.

But said anger gets the best of me and the scowl breaks through. Her smile flitters away like a bird that’s just seen a predator. I twirl the straw again and continue to watch the bubbles.

She taps her fingers against the table like a drummer and I’m struck by the differences. Her nails used to by disgustingly long and always painted a shade of red, which my naïve twelve-year-old mind had thought was blood. Blood from the people she shot down in court. Cock, aim, and then BAM! down goes a little birdie, never caring if it was guilty or not, just only caring of the amount of money she received. Rich little lawyer (hunter) aren’t you now?

The nails aren’t so long now, and not even painted. They’re cut down so I can just see the tops of skin on her fingers and they’re clear. There’s even a bit of dirt stuck underneath one.

Then she clears her throat and starts to speak. “I hear you’re taking ballet now.”

My mind listens to the new voice and wonders what happened to the old one. The old voice had been as hard as diamonds and as cold as the Artic. No emotion ever leaked through. The new voice is soft as down and shakes slightly with nervousness. The four years away from lawyer-sharks that would eat you up in an instant at any sign of weakness (emotion) probably made her lose the old voice. The new one probably came from her new job.

She’s with her true passion now. Accounting. Yeah, I know, what the fuck, right? Why would a famous lawyer give up her riches and fame for accounting? Really, I don’t know. Maybe it was the fact that she hated the chauvinistic bastards she worked with. Maybe it was the fact that her husband cheated on her while she spent long hours working in an office and trying to defend or persecute somebody. Maybe it was the fact that those long hours away from home made her daughter into a stranger.

The first two are actually possible, while the third…well, I highly doubt that one.

Suddenly, I’m back in the present. “Hm?” The words catch up with my mind. “Oh. Yeah.”

Her smile’s a bit brighter this time and my lips curl up in a sneer. She leans back slightly, the smile fading the tiniest bit. “And I see you got your braces off.”

The straw dances between my fingers as I roll my eyes. “Got them off two years ago, thank the Gods.”

Her eyes go down and her hands twist together. I ignore it- her discomfort- the best I can and lift my arm so my chin is resting on my palm. Then I look away and stare at the picture on the wall. Yay. Picture.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her bite her lip- not painted in that horrific lipstick anymore- and she sighs, eyes looking suddenly weary. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

“Sorry for what?” I snap back. She flinches and the icy guilt that floods my insides shocks me. I haven’t seen her for four years, and I feel guilty for snapping? Something inside- something dark and angry and alone- says I shouldn’t but that teeny tiny part from earlier- which isn’t so teeny tiny all of a sudden- says I should.

It’s all a mess of emotions that I really don’t even want to try and figure out. So, I push it away as best as I can. Just like I do with everything else. The icy guilt lingers though and I’m the one sighing this time as I move my arm into a less defensive spot by folding my hands underneath the table. I stare her straight on.

She looks back, fearless at first, but something fills her eyes. Her chin weakens, her lower lip sticks out pathetically and wobbles, and her eyes fill with tears.

I steel my resolve. My step-mom, Shirley, does this all the time. Especially when she’s losing an argument of some kind. The tears only make an appearance when she’s really screwed, though. Dad has learned that we… “dislike” each other with a fierce passion and doesn’t even try to stop the arguments anymore. But this is different.

It won’t work, I think. It won’t work, it won’t work, it won’t work…I look into her eyes- eyes that aren’t the fake blue of contacts of Shirley but the same dark chocolate-cocoa shade that I see every time I look into a mirror and….Fuck. It works.

I sigh and look at the table in defeat. The teeny tiny part- remember it? - fills me. Yeah, I might not understand, but I forgive anyway.

“No,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”

She looks shocked but holds the tears at bay. A minute or two pass of her looking off into the distance and when she looks back, the tears and wobbly lower lip is gone even if there is a trace of bloodshot eyes as a reminder.

Her smile is weak and shaky and I just sit there blankly. Forgiveness is there, yes, but it will take time to adjust.

A pizza is suddenly set between us and we each grab a piece. Pineapple and spinach. Weird, yes, but delicious. She grins- a sudden strong bright grin- as she takes a bite and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face.

…maybe the adjustment won’t take as long as I thought.