BOOK V
CHAPTER X
MY MOTHERS
MY MOTHERS
“But there's
a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your
face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and
heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because
hers is where yours begin.”
~For One More
Day
“Anaaa,”
I chide her. “We’ve discussed this. I need to do this alone.”
She
crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows in a questioning manner.
“Think
of it one of my private talks with Grace. This has to be a private talk with
Ella. In absentia... Like one of my sessions with Flynn,” I add raising my eyebrows. I don't really know what this graveside visit would accomplish. Yet, I know I have to do it.
“Yes,
but you don’t have unresolved issues with Grace,” she responds.
“It’s
not like Ella’s gonna talk back to me when I air out my grievances to her.” She
drops her arms to her side, abandoning her defensive stance.
“I just want to establish some form of closure.
When I make another visit to her grave, when I resolve this problem I have with
her, we’ll go back together. I promise.” My hands slowly rub her arms to soothe
her.
“Christian,
I want to be there for you when you need me,” her voice softens with concern.
“And
you will be. Come on, I’m going to talk to a grave in a potter’s field. I just
need to be alone. This will be the first conversation I’ve had with my
biological mother… however one sided. I think it deserves privacy,” I add. With
that, her eyes widen. She wants to tell me something. She opens her mouth, then closes it. Then slowly exhales abandoning what she was thinking of saying. Shakes her head and talks to me gently as if she's talking to Teddy.
“Oh,
Christian! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to infringe on your privacy. I just want to
be your support.”
“Baby,”
I lift her chin up to look at me. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have come
this far. You’ve already made the difference. I need to walk through the door
on my own. This part is on me. Okay?”
“Yes.”
She nods. Her arms are crossed.
I
get closer to her. “Some paths I need to cross on my own.” I pull her hand and
take her to the spacious living room of our suite. She subtly pulls her hand
and looks up at me.
“But
I promised to be on your side! I just feel like I’m failing in that. That’s
all,” reminding me of our wedding vows. She sounds disappointed.
“You
are always here,” I fish pump my chest. “I’m not doing this alone. I’m just
going by myself.” She worries her bottom lip more than usual as if she’s trying
to stop herself from tearing up.
“Ana,”
I search her face. “God! You are so fucking irresistible! Wench, if I wasn’t
leaving in a few minutes, I’d fuck the hell out of you right now!” Her eyes
wide and her jaw drops, her gaze drifts to the direction of a clearing throat.
Taylor. So, what?
“Don’t
worry about Taylor! He knows I fuck my wife!” I know the shock value my words have on Ana.
“Oh my God!
You are incorrigible Mr. Grey! Fine! Go and resolve this,” she shoos me slowly.
“Mrs.
Grey, if I didn’t know any better, I’d get my feelings hurt thinking you’re
trying to get rid of me now.”
“Mr.
Grey! There’s no winning with you! You won’t take me, but you get offended if
I’m hastening your return by kicking you out,” she grins playfully this time.
Then her head turns to the sound of cooing from the opened door of the adjacent
suit connected to ours. Then, it’s her million-megawatt smile lights up her
face.
“Ah,
the Grey men in my life! They’re both vexing,” she winks at me, “irresistible,
lovable and totally mine!”
“If
I take my son in my arms, I won’t be able to leave.” Mrs. Taylor brings Teddy
into the living room and his little arms are already reaching out to me. I had
never thought the love of a tiny person would completely engulf me. He has
become my world. This little person whom I thought would take my wife away from
me is now single handedly controlling my emotions, how my heart beats and
taking over my thoughts and dreams. He’s a major contributor of my effort
today. As fucked up as I have been, if I’m capable of loving my son, maybe it
is possible for Ella to have loved me. Ana is sure of it. I think I am as well.
***** ❦ ♡ ❧ *****
On
the drive to the cemetery, Taylor is quiet. I’m answering some business-related
e-mails then I come across an e-mail from Grace. It has a large attachment.
“We know you will be going to visit Ella
today and you have more than our blessing for this visit. We had these pictures
collected from Ella’s parents anonymously through a private detective some years ago. Please don’t be angry with us for doing so without your expressed
permission. But then again, you were a teenager then and in and out of trouble on daily basis.
She had so few relatives, but we now suspect only her mother left alive.
If we knew that it would help with you achieving closure, we’d have given these pictures to
you sooner.
You were so angry with the world.
Troubled all the time, getting into fights, even broke the nose of an assistant
principle when he was trying to pull you off of another student. We thought if
we could prove you that your biological mom loved you, then you’d stop being angry with
the world. With all our efforts, we couldn't make you believe that we loved you. But your psychiatrist at the time told us that it would only harm you more. Cause
you undue burden. Confusion. Add that into the already existing rage problems you had. You
might have even taken it the wrong way as if we didn’t want you. Oh, baby, we wanted
you! We just wanted to help you out of that boundless rage and fury. Find a way to open your heart so you could feel our
love.
“What
the fuck?!?” My epithet immediately makes Taylor look at me through the
rear-view mirror.
“Sir?
Is everything alright?” My breathing heavy as if I ran a marathon.
“Yes!”
My voice is curt. I close my eyes for a minute, trying to process this
information. My parents hired a private detective to locate Ella's family just to find out if they had some pictures of us. What could that have achieved? Even the worst parents take pictures of themselves with their children. I'm pretty sure her parents didn't want to do anything with her once she became a whore. Do I even want to know or care how that happened? Let me see what excuse my parents give me in going to that length.
"...I want you to know that there wouldn’t be any boundary neither I nor your father would not cross to show our son we love him! Therefore, we aren’t sorry that we crossed that boundary then. Because we have then decided we don’t need anyone’s permission to be your parents. Not even yours, Christian Grey. You were meant to be our son and I your mother.
I’d have destroyed these pictures, but your father said that there might come a time that you would want to see them. If that time didn’t come, we were going to leave them to you in our will. But we think you are ready to see these pictures now. I hope you forgive us if you perceive this as a transgression of your privacy, but we’ve only done it because we love you.
Mom”
"Oh fuck it!" I mumble. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I try to get my heart rate under control. Finally, I shake my head and laugh out loud. Would I not cross any
boundary to protect my son if he was being destructive, violent, non-communicative?
Sure, as hell I would and not a force in the world would be able stop me. Except
maybe for Ana. Grace and Carrick did their best for me as parents with the
little given information to understand and accommodate me.
“Sir?”
Taylor sounds concerned.
“It’s
nothing, Taylor. Just my parents,” I say and he nods.
“Are
they okay?” he asks with concern.
“They
are more than okay. They are simply fantastic!” He smiles assured, without
needing any further explanation.
My
finger hovers over the “Download” icon. I exhale a breath and press it. I watch
the small gray bar fill and turn to blue as the download progresses. Then the files
open. They’re scanned images of worn out photos.
The
first picture fills my screen and steals my breath. Ella, my mom lifted me up
above her head, her arms fully extended, her head tilted back, laughing. The
toddler Christian in the picture is also looking blissfully delighted in some
‘throw me in the air, mom!’ kind of excitement. I stare at it, because I’ve
done the same many times with my son. Held him up like this. But I'm a little older than Teddy in this image. I scroll down. The
caption says, “note on the back of the
photo”.
“This
is MY SON!!!” I can almost feel the pride in that four-word caption.
The
next photo is Ella as a new mother in the hospital. She has that ‘deer in the headlights’ look. It’s clear
that the cause of her fear is her unexpected motherhood: A tiny baby in her arms. She looks
so amazingly young. She couldn’t even be 20 years old in that picture. Suddenly a thought comes to my mind. Was I
born because she was whore or did she become a whore because she had me at a
tender age? Was she abandoned by her family because she had a baby or because
she sold her body for money? Do Grace and Carrick know the answer to these
questions?
I
don’t check the other two pictures. I decide to call my parents right away. My
fingers speedily dial their number from memory. The phone is answered
immediately. Grace Grey who is normally very composed, ready to weather any storm sounds shaky, teary in fact and her voice is laced with
worry.
“Christian!”
she breathes in her motherly tone.
“Mom.
I need to know!” This statement without a preamble takes her aback.
“What
son? What do you need to know?”
“Do
you know if she was a whore before she had me or after?” I can hear my heart
drumming away in my ears.
There’s
a pregnant silence for a short minute. Either she’s trying to comprehend my
question or she’s trying to catch up with my thought process.
“Ella?
I thought you called me because you were upset with me sending the pictures.”
“I
was. For about fifteen seconds.”
“Sixty-eight,”
Taylor mutters under his breath. He was timing me!
“I get it, mom. I need to know if you’ve
uncovered… you know… the circumstances.”
"You know the circumstances of her death dear. It was all in the police report."
"Not that mother!" I, Christian Grey who had almost no limits in sex can't bring myself to ask Grace whether I was conceived as a result of a purchased sex in a back alley someplace. I think she finally catches up with me.
I
can feel her shaking her head. “No, baby. By the time we initiated this search,
you were a teenager. We only conducted the search to finally give you some sort
of closure so you wouldn’t be so angry with the world all the time.”
That's not the answer I'm looking for. I guess I have to spell it out for Grace.
“Did
you find out how she conceived me?” Each word forms a boulder with jagged
edges. Is it shame? Disgust? Hate? Or empathy and seeking redemption for her?
“Christian,
we never cared about the circumstances. It was enough that regardless of how
you were conceived, you were our son. So, we never searched for that aspect.
I..” she pauses, “your father and I just wanted to prove you that your mom did
in fact love you. That’s all. That’s the best thing a mother can do for and
give to her child. The question ‘how you came to be’ is moot. I am thankful she
did what she did to have you. No matter how selfish you may think of me, I’m
glad she did. Her sacrifices brought you to the world and to us.”
Clear Bandit ft. Sean Paul & Anne-Marie ~Rockabye
“So,
you never tried to find out if in fact the man who fathered me was her john?”
“Christian,
where is this coming from now? It doesn’t matter, who, where or how. All I care
is that you are our son! And for the
record, I won’t have you talk about your mom that way!” Leave it to Grace Trevelyan-Grey. My mom had never defended
or criticized Ella before. Ever. My curiosity piques.
“Why
do you care about Ella, mom?”
“Because
I’m a mom, too! She was simply a young woman with a child who was dealt a shitty hand
in life. Period. And, no. I was never curious. I didn’t care, neither did your
father. It was enough that you were our son!” That brings me up short. It never
ceases to amaze me the Grace’s limitless love for me, for all her children.
“I
love you, mom!” I say in a low voice.
“Yes,
you do!” she says with conviction. “For the record, I will always profess my
love for you. But if you start doubting after this point on, I might have to
consider having it tattooed on your forearm so you always remember it!” she says
jokingly.
“Thank
you, mom.”
“And
son…” she pauses.
“Yes,
mom?”
“It’s
time for you to forgive her.”
“I
know.” Then I gently hang up the phone. I’m ready to see Ella, now.
When
I finally have the calm of mind to take a look outside, I’m amazed at the lush,
green, and clean beauty of the street. Taylor must have exited to a
neighborhood from the freeway. This is not just an ordinary neighborhood; it’s
a well to do neighborhood. There’s absolutely no way that there would be a potter’s
field nearby. Is Taylor taking me somewhere else?
“Taylor,
are you sure you aren’t lost?” I ask to confirm.
“Of
course not, sir. We’re almost there.”
“This
is not the cemetery neighborhood I have received from Welch, and you know it! I
checked the way, and the surrounding areas. This is not it! Just tell me
exactly where you are taking me.”
“Look, sir,
it’s right ahead of us." He points with his right hand.
“That’s
a historic church.”
“It’s there, sir, behind the church.” Taylor speaks with
conviction. I take a deep breath and brace myself for what I may find here.
Taylor
parks the SUV after passing through the stone arch, and opens my door. I exit
with cautious steps. This is finally it!
“We
have to go through the walkway, it isn’t that far, sir.” I shake my head and
fall into steps next to Taylor. It’s clear that this is a cemetery but I feel
like I walked into history. We walk several minutes in silence. Taylor seem to
know exactly where he is going. He finally makes a turn to the left to a small
pathway, crossing under some great trees. The walkway opens up to steps walking
down to what seems lie a rose garden. A cherubim statue is pouring water into a
small fountain. There roses form almost a protective circle with the angle
protecting the entrance. A small wooden bench is hidden by the rose bushes.
“She’s
right in that circle of roses, sir,” Taylor indicates with his right hand,
giving me to passage to enter. I look at him. He stands back stoically. Giving
me the privacy I need. I take a step into the circle and try to step on the
chipped wood and not the grass covering her grave. The wooden bench is
conveniently placed right across from the headstone. I stand between the bench
and her gravestone. My hand flies back to my neck as it always does when I’m
stressed, confused or simply to overwhelmed to speak.
I
speedily turn around and lift an accusatory finger at Taylor.
“Her
grave is supposed to be in the Canton Cemetery! This is Assumption Groto! And
what’s more, she was buried with four others! Her gravestone was just given a
first name!”
“Yes,
sir. It was. Mrs. Grey said, and I quote, ‘my husband’s mother should at least
have her grave to her own instead sharing it with four strangers she’s never
met. I don’t think she had much peace in life, she should at least get it in
death.”
I
shake my head. “What did you do? Memorize what she said?”
“Yes,
sir. I asked her to write it down, just in case you question me,” he extended a
well-worn piece of paper which had been folded and opened many times.
I
open it. It says exactly that.
“She
had the headstone brought over along with her body.” How did she even manage
that? Why didn’t she tell me she would do that? I’m not sure if I ought to kiss
my wife’s feet for this kind generosity towards Ella, or be furious for
allocating this piece of heaven for her without asking me. Yes, I forgave Ella, but I’m not sure
if I would do this for her. For Grace? Yes, I’d go any length to make her life
easy here, or give her something even better, though I don’t know how I can
replicate something better because this is definitely done by a loving mind.
“Why
hadn’t she, or you told me about this?” I hate surprises!
“I
was sworn to secrecy, sir. You know Mrs. Grey. It was supposed to be a surprise
for you. One she hopes you thought was nice,” he says worried.
I
take a deep breath. Conflicted with emotions. I walk to the wooden bench and
sag down.
“Hi…
uh, Ella.” I speak to the woman beneath the headstone. I can hear Taylor’s
slowly retreating footsteps to give me some privacy.
“Mom…”
The word weighs my soul down with grief. It feels both natural as breathing and wrong.
“I
haven’t called you that in over twenty-four almost twenty-five years. You know
why that is, don’t you?” I shake my finger at her grave to the woman who was
much younger than I was when she died.
“Of
course you may not remember it, or maybe you don’t want to remember. But, all
the same. Let me tell you why: Because you left me! By dying! Killing yourself,
no less! Left me all alone in the world, with your corpse!” I stand up
abruptly. I walk around the grave, not able to walk out aside from the small
opening between the rose bushes, cleverly trapped in a circle of roses. I look
around for something to punch. The only thing there could be punched is the
cherubim pouring endless amounts of water into his pond. Totally oblivious of my grief. Uncaring as if I don't exist. I plop down next to
the headstone. It reads:
ELLA
Christian’s
Loving Mommy
Finally,
at Peace
“Are
you really finally at peace, mom? Did you manage to find it at all? Or are you stuck
on earth somewhere trying to atone for being a shitty mom?” Despite the harshness of my words, the softness in the timbre of my
voice even surprises me.
“I
was angry with you for a long time. For giving up on life! For leaving me! For
letting me be abused by him!" I remain silent for minutes or seconds. I don't know.
"But I
can’t be angry about that anymore. He abused you far more than any one human
could endure.” I lie down on the soft grass next to her headstone, and plop my
head up on my elbow.
“Did
you just stop existing or are you really someplace? Are you at peace like your
headstone says, ‘you are’? Or is it just wishful thinking? I wish could know
that. I loved you and I hated you and you tore my soul up. I remember screaming
for you. I wanted my mommy! Then you were gone, and I was gone. Then, once they took me away, even
speech had left me for a long time.” I roll over onto my back, my arms
supporting my head.
“Ana,
- that’s my wife, is convinced that you love me.” Then I correct myself. “Loved
me. Did you? Love me, I mean. Or did you loathe the idea of having a child who impeded your
lifestyle, or were you at all happy about me?” I almost spit the words out and
taste the bitterness of my thoughts.
“You
have a grandson, you know that? His name is Theodore. We call him Teddy. You’d love him!” I sit up
immediately and cross my legs in lotus position.
“You
know, it is only because of my son, I’m willing to do this talk with you. Not
even for Ana. For my son! Because, in that short span of his life, I’ve learned
that I am helpless to unconditionally love my child. Did you know that he was
unplanned? Everything in my life has an order. Planning, Preparation. Clear
pathway to action. He’s the only thing, the only person who came into my life as an
accident, and yet…” I pause. “Yet, he’s my miracle accident. He opened up the
floodgates of love. All I want to do is to protect him. Love him. Care for
him. Just make sure that he is safe. Did you feel that way for me at all? Ana
says you did. I believe her. She loves our son so much that she was even willing
to give me up to protect him. What is your story mom?”
I stand up, and walk to
the small wooden bench. I sit on it silently, having a stare down with her
headstone. I can almost feel her looking back at me patiently. I close my eyes
and it’s like she’s here with me, rubbing my hair like she did when I was
little. I exhale and slowly open my eyes.
“I
guess I want to tell you that, I finally learned to forgive you. I forgive you
for dying on me. Well, for committing suicide. Or even for leaving me with that
fucker! You probably knew he’d come and find you unless you thought someone
else would find us. I think the source of my anger was that you didn’t put much
thought in your actions that killed you and left me to be found by your pimp!”
I take a deep breath and shake my head. I’m berating my dead mother!
“But
you must have known that the state would be involved. You probably knew that they
would take your child and place him with a foster family. They did and I have
been adopted by a wonderful family. Without Grace, that’s my mom… who adopted
me, without her, I’d be dead. I suppose you knew that I wouldn’t survive. Even
if I did by a miracle, I wouldn't do anything useful or be anything worthwhile had
you survived other than menace to society.” I stare up in the bright sky so the
boulder blocking my throat doesn’t unleash a flood.
“What
I’m trying to tell you is, thank you for giving me life. It has been a good
one. Without you giving birth to me, I wouldn’t have Grace and Carrick as
parents. I wouldn’t have my often wonderful, sometimes utterly annoying
siblings. Most of all, I wouldn’t have my beautiful wife or my son! And for
everything else, whatever you have done to me that was wrong, I forgive you … Ella.
You can rest in peace, now,” I take a very deep breath as if she’s right before
me.
“I
love you… mom.” As a wave of peace washes over me, I stand up to leave the
grave site. I see Taylor wearing out a path on the stone walkway, pacing back
and forth, spewing something into his phone. Why is he looking uncomfortable and trotting like he has ants
crawling in his underwear unless there’s an emergency?
“What’s
the matter Taylor?”
“Sir?”
“You
look like you’ve got diarrhea and can’t find a bathroom. What’s going on?”
“Sawyer
was supposed to check in with me ten minutes ago, but he didn’t.”
“Call
him then.” My words come out annoyed.
“I
did, sir. Three times. It rings, but no one answers. I just left him a message. I called Melissa as well.
She’s at the hotel with Gail and Teddy. She said that he accompanied Mrs. Grey
to the gym. She said that Mrs. Grey scheduled a three-hour workout session with the hotel's trainer.”
“Mrs.
Grey hates long workouts. Didn’t she get suspicious of that?”
Our eyes lock.
“Did
you try calling Mrs. Grey?” I almost have a feeling of déjà vu but we’ve never
been to Detroit together before. He shakes his head.
“No,
sir. I was only calling Sawyer and Melissa.” A million different scenarios of
what may have happened crosses my mind. Each one of them raises my blood
pressure and pulse every four seconds.
I
take my phone out and dial Ana’s number. It rings without an answer. I hang up
and dial again. It goes to her voicemail.
“Anastasia
Rose Grey! You better have a fucking good reason for not answering your phone,
so help me God! I don’t care how long we are married, I will punish you, woman!
You’re worrying the hell out of me!” That’s not a good sign. I open the
messaging app.
*Where
the fuck are you?*
Usually,
my epithets get an immediate response from Ana. The single word response I receive shakes
me to my core.
*Hospital*
Why
didn’t Sawyer call or message us? Wasn’t there enough time? Did she pull a
muscle? Break a bone? Why did she try to work out so long?
*Which
hospital?*
A
location map is texted back. “County Hospital? That’s the worst place to go!
What the hell is she doing there? Where the fuck is Sawyer?”
Taylor
and I both have identical expression on our faces. Wordlessly, we both run to
the car. Taylor unlocks the doors and I jump next to him in the front. He doesn’t
even wait for either one of us to be buckled before hitting the gas. There's no sound, but the silent screams in my head finally echoed by the screeching tires as we speed away.
Disturbed ~ The Sound of Silence
