Chapter 46: Chapter 46

◇ KEL ◇

“What do you mean, you're not sure?”

My mother's voice barely drifted past her soft-spoken motherly tone, but her focused brown eyes and scrunched brows were enough to raise the barometer in the room—not that this cheap apartment unit had one.

I glanced down and put my phone away.  My mom didn't need to see the pitiful numbers on the screen displaying my current bank balance. Shrinking and just hanging by a thread—pretty much like my confidence. I almost failed a class again…something I didn’t want to tell my mother, but something I knew she definitely wanted to know.

“Just one year left, Mykaela. Then you're off to residency. You're so close, K.” My Mommy Tilda switched off the stove. She sighed her disappointment at the fried rice she just cooked for us both.

It was the weekend, so my mom just drove to my apartment first thing to check up on me.  She just had to make sure I was eating right and sleeping enough—not stuck procrastinating and buried under piles and piles of expensive medical books.

She expected nothing but the best from me, but I didn't really live up to her expectations.  I couldn't.  "Just another year, K."

“I know, Mom, but…”

“You can't just quit now. Sweetie, it's really not practical.”

1) No more savings.

2) Mounting student loans.

3) Credit card and hospital bills.

I could add much more valid reasons to the list, but I knew my mother didn't want to hear any of it. Absolutely none of it.

“If it's money you're worried about, forget it,” my mother went on. “I'll get another loan.”

Oh no.  Not this talk again...

“Stop worrying about tuition. Just focus on your performance and graduating on time.”

“Mom, you're kidding. You're already working two jobs. We got enough debts to worry about.”

“David says he can help.”

Oh dear Lord. Not David again. My brother-in-law already thought I chose to bleed my parents’ savings dry by choosing medicine instead of just getting a regular nine-to-five job after graduating college.

“Please, for the love of all things bright and beautiful—" I sighed. "Don't ask for money again. Just no. Okay? I'll figure it out.”

“How?  K, you have enough student loans as it is, and you're not taking time off school again to do modeling jobs. Out of the question.”

“Mom…”

“What?”

“Don't ask David. No banks. Just don't…get another loan.”

My mother served the rice dish and went back to the fridge to get fruits.  “There's barely any vegetables in here. We're going shopping after lunch.”

"Okay."

Then we prayed to say grace. “Why're you second-guessing everything again?” My mom put a bowl of the rice meal on the table while waiting for a more reasonable excuse from me.

“I'm not. I just…”

“Is it Miles?" She smiled for a second. "Yeah. Of course.”  Mommy raised a perfectly arched brow and sat next to me at the table. Sometimes she wore makeup, but her often flawless complexion didn't really need any. “You're still depressed? Because you broke up?”

“What? I'm not dep—”  I scoffed at the idea. Me? Depressed? Just because of Miles? When did I ever mention to her that Miles and I were a couple?  “We weren't together. Why don't you ever believe me?”

“Mm-hmm. So he just sends you your favorite flowers every other week ‘cause he's got nothin’ better to do.”

“We never dated! Ever. Why would I even lie to you?” I grunted and resisted the burning urge to dunk my face into the bowl of hot rice.  The garlic and spices made it smell heavenly, but my frustration and anxiety just shriveled my appetite the past weeks.

“Because you don’t tell me everything and you like keeping things to yourself," she muttered, her fair and slender arms now crossed below her chest.  "Then you let it all get bottled up inside till it turns into sleep-depriving anxiety. Then you end up self-sabotaging again.”

Well, fine...  My mother was stating facts now.  What she said had actually been happening a lot.  Especially now that I no longer had Miles on speed dial to help me deal with my mental health issues.

He was too busy with his own life now. Too busy for my problems.  I wasn't a priority.  I didn’t need him to tell me that, even though I often wished for the opposite.

“So what? Telemedicine? Medical sales? You wanna be stuck every day in the lab again?” Mom mildly shook her head and resumed eating her meal. “Be serious, K. You wouldn't last a year doing those.”

“What makes you so sure I’d last that long as a physician?”

“Because I know you can do it. You have the brains. You have the skills. You've studied so hard, and you had trainings already. And you didn't enjoy working in the lab all day when you worked in the hospital," she reasoned. "You said it's tedious. Laborious. Long hours. And it was too easy for you. You said you're more interested in the surgical track.”

Oh great. Here come the mid-day sermon I imagined the first time I read her  “See you in a bit. Driving to your place” early morning text.   “Yeah.  I know…but…maybe I'm just not cut out to be a doctor. Much less a surgeon.”

“It's all in your head, sweetie. It's just anxiety. As usual,” my mom replied in a more motherly tone, but with a more judgmental squint this time.  “I told you:  let's find a therapist to help you deal with it, and all the stress.”

“Mom, come on…” I sighed. “D'you know how much a 40-minute appointment costs ‘round here? An arm and a leg, and then another. And I don't wanna get addicted to prescription again.”

“It's just amphetamines. You say it like you'd have to score some from a drug dealer.” She chuckled.  “So, to wrap it up,  I'll just get another loan. Okay? Or I'll call David.”

“No! Please no. Don't borrow money from him again. Ugh. So embarrassing.”

“Stubborn as always...” My mom rolled her eyes.  “He wants to help. Okay? He's family. Stop thinking like you would owe him for life.”

“Because I don't want to owe him—or anyone—anything.”

“But it's completely fine that you lived with a guy you barely knew without paying rent for almost a year?” She smirked and finished eating.

“I helped with the upkeep and other expenses. It wasn't like I was freeloading,”I replied while trying not to scowl.

“I didn't say that.”

A tense silence replaced our debate as we tried to enjoy our early lunch.

“How's Miles, by the way? Is he flyin' out? For your birthday?”

Ugh. Now we were talking about Miles again…  I got up from the dining chair and started washing the plates. I took a moment to think of a believable answer. But I simply didn't know whether Miles would come visit me again.

“Gaia told me he was here a few weeks ago. So don't even try to deny it.” My mom was making me a fruit shake now.  “I don't get why you never tell me these things. It's not like I'm gonna force you into confession every Sunday. I know how you kids are these days.” She shook her head and feigned a short laugh, one void of humor. “At least he didn't get you pregnant.”

“Oh jeez. Can we not—”    Oh great... Not this talk again. I bit on my lip to stop myself from cussing out loud, but I couldn't exactly refute my mother's words. I hadn't told my family much about my living situation in Italy before because Miles valued his privacy more than his career or his family.

Also, he had specifically told me not to tell anyone  about what happened in their estate,  that day before I had to go back here in New York.  For my family's safety, he said.

“Can you imagine?” My mom switched off the blender and poured the smoothie into two glasses. “Being pregnant while getting your MD? You'd have thrown it in the first few months." She shook her head faintly.  "If you kept that big a secret from me, we'd be having way worse fights by now.”

“Yeah. Like I'm the only one keeping secrets.” I let out a sigh and finished washing the plates. Now I could barely look at my mom or respond to her lecturing.

At this point, my exhausted brain could only focus on what first triggered my anxiety lately. It wasn't just my average to declining grades, or my family's financial troubles. It was the news of Niccolo having been found dead by Serbian police, and Miles doing nothing about it, and those jaw-dropping emails from who I supposed was Niccolo…emails containing old birth records with my mother's name on them, next to an older man with a Russian-sounding name.

The past weeks, I'd kept it all a secret. I hadn't even told my best friend about it. Only because I feared all of it was true. Which would mean…my mother and my entire family deliberately lied to me all this time. For 25 years and counting.

But now that we had the time to talk alone, I realized there was no better time to hash it out with my mother. Get some answers for myself. I had to hear one...an outright denial, a confirmation, or a half-assed and terribly late explanation at least.

So I stopped pretending to be busy with the dishes and decided to shift the conversation. "Who's Ilija Mihajlović?"

At my poker-faced question, my mother stopped drinking her fruit shake and just stared at me. She didn't even blink, clearly in complete shock and not expecting to hear the name at all.

My mother's wordless reaction said enough. It made my chest heavy. It made every bit of my insides coil in discontent. Slightly sweating now, I stood close to my mom and waited for her to say something. Although I already knew the answer to my first question, my logic still needed the missing puzzle pieces.

Drats. My whole life…my entire 25 years of existence. It was all a lie?

I frowned at my mother's reticence, which, although I'd expected, didn't help my emotionally and physically restless state.

"How—"  Mommy weakly pulled a chair to sit by the dining table again. She directed her wide-eyed gaze elsewhere before attempting to answer the question. "From where did you—"

"Mom, just tell me," I sighed.

She cleared her throat and combed her long brown hair away from her pale cheeks. "I-I honestly don't know what to say." Her  frail voice wavered at the last phrase.

"Why?" I sat back and kept waiting.

My mom couldn't get rid of her surprised reaction, which meant she definitely knew who Ilija Mihajlović was.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I watched her clam up. Did she want me to beg for answers?

She covered her slightly trembling lips, now refusing to meet my gaze.

"Someone emailed me copies of the birth certificate, and the...adoption records," I muttered before my voice broke.  Trying to refuse my emotions only made me feel worse. Confused. Indignant.  "They're real?"

"Who sent them?" My mother's eyes and cheeks turned pinkish now.

"It's not important, Mom."

A long and awkward silence filled the room for a while before my mom eventually gave a more proper response.  "I don't know why they did it and I wanna know who sent them."  She paused. She pinched the bridge of her fairly pointed nose. "It wasn't like, w-we just wanted to keep it from you. We had to."

"Why did you?" I covered my face with both hands,  the tears making my cheeks damp and warm.

"We had to, K. It was for your own good." My mother got up to get closer to me, while her sad brown eyes centered on my face.

As I tried to stop the tears, I wiped my nose with my shirt and let my mother stroke my cheek. "So he's..."

"Yes," my mom answered with tear-filled eyes. "Imo 'tong birth certificate."

Finally...  The truth.  Too emotional for words, I sucked in a breath and stared at the ceiling. Distractions to stop the tears...  Anything just to put a lid on my overflowing tear ducts. My nose was just clogged I could barely breathe. My hands got busy wiping my cheeks while my mom did the same.

"Daghan pa 'ta ‘storyahan, 'nak." My mom tried to hold my hand tight, and it kind of felt reassuring. "Pero, promise sa na tiwason na nimo imong pagskwela, 'nak.  Kay mao'y gusto ni Daddy mo."

"I'm trying. Okay?" I paused to lower my voice a notch. My emotions were getting the better of me and I never liked raising my tone at my mother. "I just…I-I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

“I'm sorry…that you had to find out that way.” My mom tried to hug me, but let me go when I pulled away and kept sniveling. “But you need to promise me you're not quitting school again. Please, sweetie.”

I sighed loudly. Now my mom was trying to make me compromise, to avoid having to explain everything to me.

It was no surprise she practically resented my choice to take time off med school and work in the modeling industry. Our family's conservative views was one reason. But did she really have to bring that up now?

"I wanted to work so I could help you," I reasoned while wiping the tears off my cheeks. It was the truth.

We'd been having financial issues even before I started college. So I opted to explore other options and fend for myself. I'd only tried modeling to earn money for my tuition and to help out with Daddy's hospital bills, not disgrace our family with news of me dropping out of medical school to be a model.

My previous decisions and issues with my family was probably the talk of the town then. And my parents would've immediately chucked me into therapy had I stayed here in Schenectady.

Did my mother still refuse to believe my reasons? Or did my parents think my choice to drop out of school then was purely out of rebellion?

Whichever the case, I didn't want to wait longer for the truth. My brain was hurting from the dozens of unanswered questions, and I needed first-hand clarifications, especially now that the cat was out of the bag. "Just tell me who he is."

"Okay," my mom said resignedly after seconds of just staring at my face. "Remember what made you claustrophobic?" She spoke in a calmer voice now.

"No." I pulled a face.

"We were still living in our old house, in Tallahassee. Jill was still at school. It was just you and me in the backyard, playing with your toys." My mom smiled faintly at the memory.

I sat still and waited, then noticed how her expression suddenly changed from pleasantly reminiscing to somewhat irritated.

"He paid us a visit. Out of nowhere, he stopped by. He just...waited at the front door. I dunno how, but, you just knew who he was when you saw him."

I felt a pang of regret in my chest as I watched her wipe off more tears, her voice heavy with emotion again.

"Of course I told him to leave. I was so scared."

Scared?  Did Ilija hurt her back then?  "Why?"

"I thought he'd take you away. We fought, and, he…” Mommy wiped her nose with a handkerchief.  “He was about to leave. But you didn't want him to, so you hid in the backseat of his car."

Speechless, I only gawked. Old, blurry memories in my head scrambled for cohesion at words I was hearing for the first time in my life.

"We stopped arguing when I noticed you weren't in the house. Kept lookin’ for you everywhere. You were freezin’ and barely moving when we found you."

“What?”

“Your Daddy Jim and I were...separated for a year, before I met Ilija." For a moment, my mother kept her blank stare centered on the dining table.  "He just…  We didn't plan it. We didn’t plan anything. I guess he just left, because he couldn't..." She cleared her throat. Her frail voice sounded rather monotonous now. "He didn’t know how to be a father."

I stayed put and listened. The anxiety-causing confusion had lessened and my steadier breathing reminded me that I felt less vitriolic now. I let the facts sink in.

Although they gave me some answers I needed, it still didn't add up. I was waiting for my mother to mention something else—something about where I could find him. If he was still alive, or...

So far, it was just decades-old old family drama my utter curiosity couldn't fully appreciate at the moment.  "And then Dad came back for you and Jill?" I questioned.

"I called him."

"Was it his signature? On the adoption certificate?" So I really was the baby girl named "Sofija Mihajlović" on that piece of paper. Good to finally know my hunches weren't stupid or baseless.

"Yes.” My mother kept up a straight face and sat back down on her chair. "After you turned a year old, Ilija just left. Said he had to go back to his father's hometown. I didn't try to…I just couldn’t stop him."

"Why?"

"Of course I was furious when he showed up two years later. No proper explanations beforehand. Just...showed up."

Okay. At least he cared for a little while?

"I told him to leave, terrified your Daddy Jim would see him. Then Ilija left. Never saw him again. Thank God." Mommy let out a noisy breath.

I stayed quiet and let my mom clasp my hand.

"I'm sorry, baby."  She held my face now, and her voice faltered again. "I made a lot of mistakes. I know. I know I wasn't the best mom, but I really tried, y'know?" My mother held back another sob.

"Mom, I never said..."

"Part of me still hates thinking about it. I regret it to this day." She sniveled. "But I can't take any of it back. I know. And now you're all grown up, a-and I should've told you sooner. But I just…I just didn't know how."

To console her, I hugged her lightly as more tears came rushing down her cheeks. Seeing my mother crying because of me and struggling with her emotions felt like deep stabs in the chest. Sharp and penetrating.

Now I wished I hadn't brought it all up, but the secret I'd just found out about my real identity was too big to sleep off. Or just sweep under the rug.  For the next minute, I stared at my mother's beautiful brown eyes, just waiting for her to stop crying.

"So he's dead?"

"Might as well be."  Mommy resumed wiping tears off her flushed cheeks. "Didn't even try or care enough to stay. I hated him for so long, but now I just…don’t care about it, really."

"You never met his family?"  I frowned.  Was my real father well and alive?

Did Niccolo know how to find Ilija? Would I be able to find him somewhere in Russia? If I had the means, finding the man myself had an iota of possibility.  One of these days, maybe I could go to Russia and try to locate him.

For one, it could explain the threats Mr. Falco warned me about, and perhaps why all of this came about during that shocking series of events I experienced with the Falcos back in Italy.

"Never even saw a photo of them actually."  Mommy Tilda sniffled.  "How sad is that? Right?"  She shook her head weakly. "He just...vanished."

I didn't respond and just felt relieved that she stopped crying now.

"I love you so much, K.”  Mommy placed kisses on my cheeks. “I didn't want you to grow up knowing he just left you.”  She  palmed my face again. “Only reason your Daddy and I kept it from you, and Jill. I was just.... We just wanted the best for you, baby."

"Love you, too."  I embraced my mother. Actually I felt less bothered by it all but my mind remained eager for clarifications.

Would I ever meet my real father in person? Was he still alive?

Our teary-eyed discussion was about to move on to deeper-seated family issues when I heard my phone go off. The shrill ringtone put a pause on my current thoughts.  When I checked my phone,  the caller dropped the call but left a message I didn't expect to receive today.

1 New Message

From: Enzo Tomassini

“Are you at school? Can we talk for a bit? I'm right outside, bellezza.”

Received 12:13PM

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