✾ Forget-Me-Not ✾

My conversation with Beau had...pushed me. I realized that I was acting like a child and had been for a long time. I felt guilty that he'd lost his parents, against his choice, and I was sitting there willingly ignoring mine. I knew I'd ever reconcile with my father--I didn't want to--but my mother was a different story.

I poked the brim of my hat farther up so that I could see better. The restaurant's entrance was less imposing than I remembered, but I'd been much younger last I'd dined at 11 Madison Park. I sighed. I hadn't wanted to do something so classy, as she called it, but my mother wasn't one to compromise about such elements of her life.

I bowed my head to send a quick text to Beau. Won't be home for dinner. Sorry. Then I forged onward.

I was greeted like royalty amidst a flurry of waiters and more than a few 'of course's and 'yes, Sir's.  A young woman with shiny brown hair led me into the main dining room with its stark white table cloths and fancy cutlery. I immediately spotted my mother because she'd elected to wear an enormous white fur coat, which was draped ostentatiously over her chair. She'd probably refused to abandon it on the coat rack because of its ability to make her stand out amongst the sea of the restaurant's more reasonably dressed patrons. It looked as if it might come alive at any moment and start rampaging around the dining room, upending tables and shattering wine glasses.

As I approached the table, I was struck by how sad she looked. She seemed to have age ten years in the two years I hadn't seen her. There was, of course, not a single dye-free grey hair on her head, but her age showed around her eyes. Ai Amano was a fabulous woman in that she carefully crafted her appearance to imitate the biggest stars on the red carpet; she was a movie star without all the acting getting in the way. She never went without ruby red lipstick and perfectly blow dried, ink-black hair, which she'd cut to her shoulders since we'd last met. Perfect makeup and fluttery eyelashes were nearly lost behind the sparkling silver necklace she wore and the multitude of gleaming rings.

Her wedding ring wasn't on her finger. I wondered if the missing diamond had disappeared for my sake or for hers. Either way, it was very possible that it was all just a show and the ring would be miraculously returned once our dinner came to a close.

"Mother," I said quietly.

Her head snapped up at breakneck speed and her eyes widened. "My son," she said excitedly, her chair squeaking loudly as she bolted upright and practically launched herself at me. The waitress who'd led me here gave me a quick smile and a bow before leaving us to our reunion.

"Mother, you're making a scene," I said, returning her hug with somewhat less enthusiasm. She felt tiny in my arms.

"Oh, let them gawk. I haven't seen my son in two years. I deserve this moment," she said into my chest. She was quite a bit shorter than me. I rested my chin on her head.

"Ok, mom," I said softly, patting her back. "I'm glad to see you, too, but where did the nervousness from our phone call disappear to?"

She giggled, looking up at me. She touched my face, and I let her. "I'm just happy, is all." Concern soured her expression. "Why? Should I...am I being too-"

I shook my head. "No, it's ok. I'm glad to see you, too, actually."

She released me and sat down, gesturing for me to follow suit. "Are you? I wouldn't blame you if you were still..."

She didn't usually struggle with words. She probably wasn't now. She just didn't want to say it out loud, 'it' being what I'd said to her when I'd left. "I'm not mad anymore," I said so that she didn't have to. Of course, I hadn't used such polite terms back then. I may have thrown around the words 'betrayed,' 'hate,' and 'neglect' amongst other worse ones I didn't care to repeat. And each of these words, of course, were like stinging daggers to her; whenever I questioned her morals, she scrunched up her face like someone had vomited on her Gucci shoes. She had never wanted to admit what she'd done, and probably still didn't. But I didn't want to be burdened by my resentment any longer.

"I'm glad," she said. "I've been terribly worried about you, you know."

I wasn't sure I believed that. I believed that a part of her remembered that she had a son and that motherhood meant something, but it was by no means the most prominent part of her. "You're so thin," she said, but it felt like she said it because that was just something a mom was supposed to say about their child. "And even more tattooed," she said, noticing my arms. That one sounded more genuine. "Is this how you spend your time? Injecting ink into your skin? You know, they make you look like a yakuza member."

I sighed, careful to keep my voice measured. "Mother, I don't think you have any right to criticize my decisions considering the quality of yours."

Vomit on her Guccis. "Well, I'm sorry. Do forgive me if I show concern for my son's future career. People will think-"

"I told you that I'm not going to take the company. I told you that. Nothing's changed," I interrupted. She said nothing. "I agreed to come here because I owed you for getting Beau into NYU." And because I was tired of being angry, but being around her brought out some of the worst in me. I just wanted her to struggle for a bit longer before I attempted a clean slate.

"I never said that you should. I know you're not that kind of person," she said unexpectedly. She nodded resolutely but I felt as though there was more to that conversation. "How is your friend? Is he enjoying school?"

My phone buzzed. I decided to look at it, my agitation with my mother taking another form. It was Beau. Speak of the angel. Got a date?

I smiled. He was trying to be casual about it, but he was a nosy guy. "Sorry, one second," I told mom. Yeah. Dinner date with my mother, I replied.

I smiled. "Beau loves NYU. I haven't talked to him as much lately. But he's the smartest kid on earth, so I know he's doing great."

"Why haven't you spoken with him recently?" she asked. "Isn't he your roommate?"

A waiter appeared to offer us wine. I was hoping that once she'd finished discussing the wine list with the man, she'd have forgotten all about Beau. I didn't really want to talk about him with her, not because I felt he was a secret but because I didn't know how to talk about Beau at all. He was just Beau, and if I got started, I'd never stop. And then it'd be entirely obvious to her how much I--

My phone buzzed again. Oh, wow! Good luck! Tell her she did a good job making you. I snorted, and my mother eyed me. What a weirdo. Beau was so cute.

"Why haven't you spoken with him, Hana?" she said suddenly. My old nickname. It meant 'flower' in Japanese. For some reason, I melted.

"He's an amazing person, and I'm not sure I can keep up with him...is all," I admitted.

"More amazing than you?" she asked, curious.

I laughed. "By far."

"Impossible!" she said, and leaned forward with a secretive look in her eyes. It was when she talked to me like this that I felt a connection between us, felt like I was special. A young boy, I had been her only confidant, the one she whispered to about how strict father was, how brazen the maid was, how that woman Delilah could stand to lose some weight if she wanted to snag a husband. I'd eaten it up as a boy until I realized how cruel and selfish she often was. But even now, that shine in her eyes and mischievous half smile made me feel important. Is loneliness genetic? "No one is more amazing than my son," she whispered, our little secret.

"Flattered, mom, but he really is. Beau's recently become an orphan, but despite everything he lost, he's still soldiering on. There's a fierceness in him that I don't think anyone else notices. But I can tell that he's unstoppable. I think he could do whatever he put his mind to."

The waiter returned with the wine, granting us a courteous smile and silence.

"Funny. He sounds a lot like you, to me," she said. "Minus the orphan part, of course." Her face sobered. "But then again, you've been as good as an orphan for a long time, haven't you?"

I was shocked. Mother never spoke like this. When I'd left, she'd looked me in the eye, wished me good luck, and blown out of the room without another word as if I were no longer her son. To her, I'd abandoned her to live the life she'd made for herself. How cruel a fate! I took a deep breath. "Do you ever regret it?"

She stared at me and took a long sip of her freshly poured wine. "Which decision? Marrying your father or abandoning you?"

"Mom," I chided. She wasn't a great woman—nothing like Beau's Vanessa—but she wasn't evil, either.

Her hand shook slightly, but her face was still entirely composed. Enigmatic emotional display was a skill she'd developed out of necessity, married to my father. "It's alright, Ren. Everything you said to me was justified. I just couldn't face it. Couldn't face him."

I understood, to some degree. While I wished I'd had a mother who would have protected me better, I'd never stood up to my father, either, even once I was older. Even now. "I'm ok now. We're both ok. And if you'd done something, he would have hurt you, too."

She fell silent, clutching the stem of her wine glass until her fingertips went pale. Dread washed over me. I felt like someone had injected microscopic shards of glass into my veins and they were only now reaching my heart, swirling around in the ventricles. "Mom," I pried, my voice grave. "He didn't."

She shook her head. Her demeanor flipped back to normal. "No, don't worry, Hana," she winked, "I'm much tougher than you give me credit."

The first course arrived, an artichoke prepared in some gaudy manner, but I had no appetite. I stared at my mother until our company left us. "Are you still living in that house?"

She shook her head. "I left. I'm living here now, at the Park Avenue apartment. Your father wasn't very happy about it, but he has other delights to occupy his time."

I winced. My mother had never been the apple of my father's eye, but he made no attempt to hide that fact from her. I didn't know what to say. It was possible the absent wedding ring wasn't for show.

"But let's not talk about your father. Let's talk about this Beau kid. Or your art! How is your painting going?"

I shifted in my seat. "It's good. I've hit a bit of a dry spell. Lost inspiration."

She looked genuinely concerned. "Are you still making enough to live off of?"

I shrugged. It had been tight lately. "I make do."

She nodded. "You know, I've been..." I waited. She steeled herself. "Helping out. I've been helping out."

"What?" I blinked at her. 

"I've been sneaking money from your father's accounts and putting it in the one I set up for you. It should be your money anyways. You deserve it more."

"Mom! I don't need-"

"Don't be mad. I've paid your rent each month. I told your landlord to save the money you gave him as a nest egg in case you needed it. And I've only paid the rent nothing else. Everything else is safe in an account."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I felt a little sick. Once I was old enough, I'd realized how dirty my father's company was. The thought that some of that filthy money was ending up in my hands made my head spin. "I didn't ask for that mom. I'm fine. I've been making do."

She looked away and said to the rim of her glass, "That's not what your landlord said."

"Beau's working hard to pay rent! You can't just take his money, too."

"I haven't taken anyone's money except for your father's, and he has more than enough. Tell your friend he doesn't need to pay any longer."

I groaned. "I don't need him knowing that I rely on my parents for rent."

"Oh, he won't judge you. You got him into NYU, after all."

I shook my head. "No, you did that. Jesus, mother! Let me take care of myself like a normal adult."

She looked small all of a sudden. "But I want to take care of you."

The venom left me. It fizzled out the same way her pretenses of royalty had; she was trying her best. After a long moment of silence, I spoke my mind. "You've changed, Oka-san."

Her eyes glistened. "You haven't called me that since you were a boy." It was time.

"I decided to forgive you. Blank slate. I'm tired of resentment and bad feelings. Even if our relationship isn't perfect, it's petty for me to keep this up," I said. I stared at the artichoke on my plate. I hadn't taken a bite and neither had my mother.

When I met her eyes, she was staring at me. Her lower lip quivered slightly and a single tear fell from her long lashes. "Oh," she said, inhaling sharply and wiping it away, "you'll ruin my makeup."

I smiled and sat up straighter. "God forbid."

She shrugged. "You know what, it's fine. What's a little runny mascara in the long run?" Watching her like this, I felt a strange peace fall over my heart like a blanket. It was like mom and I had been carried off in a bubble, away from the restaurant and away from the past.

"I'm sorry he hurt you, Mom. I didn't mean for-"

She waved her hand and picked up her fork. "Don't blame yourself, Hana. None of it was ever your fault." An ache sprung up behind my eyes at those words. I swallowed hard. "I do hope you start painting again soon," she said. "I'd love to see them."

I choked out a half laugh, quickly touching the corner of my eye to stop a tear from falling. "Sounds good."

"Now," she finished, "let's eat. Your father paid quite a lot for this food."

We both laughed, and I felt unburdened for the first time in a long while.