The Heart of Avalon

I can’t thank my Dad enough for raising me in Avalon. It’s one of the greatest places in California, and I’d argue, in America. It’s small, quaint, and everyone knows everyone. Your business is his business is Avalon’s business, and we all breathe as one, and you feel it as soon as you set foot here. You’re not one person in Avalon, you are a piece of here. We are the heart, pumping and working to keep it alive. The people here are one.

That’s why I know that on my eighteenth birthday, when I got the letter addressed to me from Joan Young, we all held our breaths.

----------------------------------------------------------------

I sit cross-legged on the garage floor, Winston the Great Dane sprawled out next to me. “She wants to meet me, dad. Are you hearing me?”

“I hear you loud and clear, kid,” dad says, his voice muffled from under the car. Dad’s all-familiar car repair shop (Sonlight Auto, the only car repair service for miles) is usually bustling with friends and customers on a Friday night, but it’s just us right now. Dad rolls out, holding a spanner, grime smeared all over his chin.

“You look ridiculous.”

“I know, it’s the look I’m going for; just mended a gearbox,” he jokes. “Read me the note again?” I do, highlighting the important parts.

“She says happy birthday. She’s willing to fly here to meet me, if that’s okay. For ‘coffee or something’.” I explain. “Dad, this is crazy. It’s been eighteen years. Why on earth… why now?”

Dad frowns. “This doesn’t sound like the Joan I know. Maybe it’s her evil twin sister.” He goes back under the car, missing my earth-trembling eye roll. I skim read the note again, looking for any clues or hints, maybe referencing something she needs. But it all seems genuine. Though I don’t know what genuine is for her, I’ve never met my mother.

“How are you not freaking out? We haven’t heard from her in-“

“-eighteen years, I know Alexica,” I hear the wheels of the creeper. “But I don’t think she’d completely abandon us. She’s too curious for that.”

I sigh, standing up. Winston stirs beneath me. “I’m going back. See you later?”

“Sure thing. I’ll bring home Buffalo Nickel pizza, your favorite.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

I pull up a seat at the counter, letter in my hand. Dear Alexica, Happy Birthday. The normalcy of the phrase happy birthday bewilders me, as if she’s sent me a birthday wish every year. It still doesn’t feel real, her wanting to meet me. After all this time. I’d accepted long ago that my Mom wasn’t a part of my life anymore. Now she’s asking for a way in, and I don’t know what to think.

There’s a photo I keep in my bedside drawer, of Mom and Dad in their early twenties at the beach. Mom was pregnant with me, bump showing, smiling, brown eyes glowing. Dad with shining black hair and pearl skin, holding her hand and looking at her like she was the only girl in the world. I’d asked Dad why Mom left us when he gave me this photo. He told me Joan was never the kind of person to settle. She was a wild spirit.

And that’s when I started hating her. What kind of mom abandons their baby? How could the same smiling, loving woman in the photo shut out her daughter? Run away from everything and pretend like it never happened? I hated her for leaving us. And all of Avalon hated her too.

Dad comes home with dinner. The smell of pizza wafts through the door, wafts through the town.

“A birthday dinner for the birthday girl!” he calls out. “Dig in!”

I smile. Joining him, I stuff my face with pizza, but I’m still holding the letter.

Dad notices. “Made up your mind?” he asks, nodding to my hand.

“What? Oh, uh, I guess I’ll let her see me.”

“You guess?”

I think about this. There was a time when I hated Mom, and I think that time is over. But that’s the thing, we’ve gone so long without her that I’ve almost forgotten she was ever a part of me. This sounds horrible, but bringing Mom back into my life could also bring unwanted feelings. I’ve only ever associated her with bad thoughts, thoughts of her avoiding the hard truth and escaping to an easier life, leaving us in her dust.

Yet, I’ve never even met Mom. There could be a lot more to her than this, and maybe this is her way of showing me that she’s become a better person. It would take a lot of courage to reach out to someone who was a part of you eighteen years ago. There is so much to learn, so many questions and unfilled gaps. But if I don’t look at this as an opportunity to mend my relationship with her, then I might regret it for the rest of my life.

“Yeah, I’ll see Mom,” I whisper. Dad meets my eyes, they’re full of pride and love and blueness.

“I have something for you,” he says between mouthfuls. Dad strolls over to the kitchen drawer and pulls out a miniature white box. “This is your present, and I know we’re not big on birthdays and gifts and all, but… this one is special. Happy eighteenth, kid.”

I open it up. Inside is a choker, a black shoe-tie material holding a pendant, a glassed-over circle. Printed in the circle is a detailed feather with spiraling lines splaying from its side, as if it’s exploding. I recognize the feather instantly, it’s the tattoo me and Mom share. In the photo of my parents, Mom has this feather tattoo on her hip. Two years ago I’d got into a fight with Dad about her, and in a rage, I spent all my money on replicating that same tattoo. I don’t regret having it, but I do regret getting it out of spite.

“I bought it for Joan when we found out she was pregnant. When she left… she asked me to give it to you when today came.” His face is pained, but his eyes search mine.

And suddenly it clicks. “You knew. You knew she was going to write to me. You knew all along…” I gasp, “…that’s why you weren’t surprised when I got the letter. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She asked me not to. I guess she knew you’d figure it out.”

I stare at the pendant, run my thumb over the smooth, glass dome. It’s so pretty. “Thanks, Dad.” I give him a warm smile, which he returns. Right now, we lift the hate off of Mom.

----------------------------------------------------------------

It’s Saturday morning. Avalon is beautiful today, not too hot, the sun peeping through the clouds. Dad left croissants from the bakery on the counter, which I scoff down and head to Sonlight Autos (the benefit of having the shop in walking distance). The usual crew’s here, Dad, Stephen and Trevor, and half a dozen mingling customers. Trevor calls out to me when I enter. “There she is! Sorry we missed your birthday yesterday, Alexica.” He ruffles my long, dark hair.

Stephen bursts out from under a Chevy on a creeper, which startles me. “Sorry, Lex. How’s it feel being eighteen?” he asks. I should be comfortable with them, these two are like second and third fathers to me, but I’m on edge. Last night, Dad gave Mom a call saying I was ready to meet her. She’s going to board the earliest flight from England to the US that she can, which still feels surreal. My head was spinning all morning. I’m going to properly meet my mother.

“It feels the same. I still feel like I’m seventeen.” Stephen chuckles. Dad emerges from the storage room and locks eyes with me.

“Alexica’s probably feeling a little stunned,” he announces, spinning a wrench around his fingers, “we gave her mother a call last night.”

“Your mother? As in Joan Young? She loved it here. I imagine it would’ve been awful to leave.” Trevor shakes his head. I’m not surprised, everyone loves Avalon. I couldn’t leave this place.

“You knew my mom?” I ask him.

“Everyone knew Joan. She was this natural-born leader in a town of followers. We all knew Avalon changed the day Kent- your dad- brought her here.” Somewhere, someone drops a metal tool. It seems like everyone in the world knows more about my Mom than me.

And it leaves a burning feeling, so I get to work around the shop.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks later.

Dad and I are eating take out on a stuffy summer evening when he gets the call.

Instantly, my heart starts beating a million miles an hour. It’s been three weeks; it must be her.

“Hello?” he says. I can’t hear Mom on the other end, but I know it’s her from the way he draws his eyebrows in.

“Yes… yes, she’s here… tomorrow?” I hold my breath. Avalon stops dead in its tracks. “Alright, of course… yes… okay, thanks Joan… bye.”

“Tomorrow? I’m meeting her tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, at a Mexican place near where she’s staying,” Dad informs me. “I can drive you if you’d like?”

I shake my head. “Is that all she said? Just a time and place?"

He nods. I’m not sure if I’ll ever breathe again.

I crawl into bed and the reality of what I’m about to do tomorrow hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m going to meet Joan Young, my mother, tomorrow.

----------------------------------------------------------------

I don’t remember what I’m doing from the moment I wake up to the moment I’m getting dressed. I’m there, but my mind isn’t. Truth is, I’m scared. Scared that Mom won’t like me. I’m afraid to know what she’s like as well. I’m taking a step into the unknown, Avalon right behind me, and I suddenly feel like Dad has thrown me into the deep end. I push that thought away.

I stare at my appearance in the mirror from afar. I guess since I’ve never really had Mom around to mimic her style, I look exactly like Dad. Ebony hair, shocking pale skin, alternative clothes. Peaking out from my black jeans and red tank top is the feather tattoo. Dad wasn’t too upset when I got it, since he’s covered in them too. But abruptly I’m self-conscious of Joan seeing it. What if she gets freaked out by it? Though I want her to see the real me. I throw out that insecure thought and chuck my wavy hair into a bun and slide on my boots. The necklace that Dad gave me yesterday stares me down from my bedside. Daring me to wear it. And I do, tying it up around my neck. With one last glance in the mirror and a hug from Dad, I’m in the car and driving to the address she gave us.

It all happens in three seconds flat, because suddenly I’m here.

The place she’s chosen is a crowded Mexican joint. It’s not too noisy, luckily. Though this seems like a weird place to meet your daughter, who you haven’t been in contact with for eighteen years. I search the place for her, assuming she still looks like she does in the photo or that somehow my instincts would cosmically recognize her, but Mom is nowhere to be found. I circle back to the front. I’m about to pull out my phone when I hear it.

“Alexica?” the voice is husky, like Avalon on a rainy day. I turn on my heels.

In front of me is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

She has dirty blonde hair, pulled back into two messy braids. She is not 'pretty', but an elegant mix of dark and light. Her soft, bird-like features are poised curiously, but we share the same eyes. Huge and endless and whisky-colored, I realize now that I’m a replica of Mom with Dad’s personal touch. I’m the self-portrait Mom started and Dad finished. And Mom is stunning. Everyone breathes again as we bask in her beauty.

As Mom studies me, I wonder if she’s thinking the same things I am. Then her eyes set on the choker and drop to my hip, where our tattoo lies, and time pauses. Suddenly I can’t move, can’t speak. I’m frozen solid to the ground, my stomach a bottomless pit, a feeling so foreign I almost topple over. Joan moves forward and soon her arms are around me, enveloping me in a great big hug. It feels like a Mom hug, which almost brings me to tears and she smells of forest. “Wow, look at you. You look just like…”

“You,” I say, because I’ve found my voice and it’s the only thing that comes out.

“And Kent," she adds. "Shall we go in?” I note she has a subtle English accent. I don’t know what to do and I’m not totally present, so I just nod.

We find a table for two outside. “So, I guess we have a lot to talk about, then."

“Yeah. Where do we start?” I have no bloody idea. But I can't stand this silence, so I start rambling about my life. Because she’s my mom and she has no idea who I am and I can’t stop.

I tell her about Dad and Stephen and Trevor, memories of Trevor teaching me to drive when I was fourteen, getting my car at sixteen, about how I dropped out of senior year to become an apprentice at Sonlight Autos. How I want to be a mechanic and follow in Dad’s footsteps. I talk about how much I love Avalon, about my fight with Dad, and the tattoo. How dumbfounded I was when she sent that letter. Slowly, it becomes so easy and smooth to talk to her, just like talking to your best friend, and I’m overwhelmed and I wish I could do this all day. And when I’m done, it’s her turn, and she launches into a description of her life before and after me. How she went to college to become a lawyer and met dad at a party. How no one else had made her feel so alive, how her whole life changed because of him, her style and personality and dreams. She tells me about England, that after me and Dad she’s been working at a law firm and was waiting for the day I turned eighteen to come back into my life.

“Why eighteen?” I ask her. “Why now?”

Mom looks away. “Did your father ever tell you why I left?” she whispers.

“He said you were a wild spirit; you couldn’t be tied down.”

“I guess that is true. But it’s not the main reason,” she takes my hand in hers. This is news to me. “Everyone always told me, when a mother sees her baby for the first time, when she holds him or her in her arms, it’s love at first sight.” Mom sighs. “That’s why I absolutely loved being pregnant with you. I couldn’t wait for the day…” she trails off. “But I don’t know why, Alexica, I didn’t have that with you. I just, I couldn’t connect. I didn’t have that motherly instinct.” Her words come out blurry. I don’t know if I fully processed what she just said. She never even loved me?

“Please understand, I wanted to. I really tried to be a good mother. But I couldn’t do it, I had no idea how to handle you, my own daughter-“ Mom breaks off, her voice cracking. Tears well up in her eyes and I feel them prickling mine. I see now her face is lined with age, and deep, grave pain. “I’m sorry, Alexica. And I’m sorry to your father, too,” she says.

“Does Dad know this?”

“Yes, he does.” I can’t believe all the secrets he kept for her.

“Alexica, now that you’re an adult, I really want to try and reconnect with you. I miss you. Even talking to you in this past hour… it’s exactly how I imagined a mother who loves her daughter would talk to them. Please, if you’re willing, if you’re not too ashamed of me after what I’ve just told you,” Mom pleads.

I lock eyes with her and see hope in hers. I think about how we’ve been together for such a short amount of time and already I do know that I love her. Because she is my Mom. And she’s done some bad things, and it hurts that she could never bring herself to mother me. But I’ve only had a glimpse into a life with Joan, and it’s only the beginning. I want so much more, I want her back. I’ve spent too long wondering what she was like, if I would ever meet her. Well, today she’s given me this opportunity that I never thought I would get. And now that I’ve got her, I don’t ever want to give her back. 

“Yes, Mom,” I nod. “I’d like that.”

Her warm smile draws the sun out of the clouds and Avalon breathes new air into its lungs. Her cheeks are wet with tears, but since her eyes are full, I know mine are too.