I should have binned it the moment I saw it. Or ripped it into tiny pieces. Or done anything other than open it. I knew the handwriting. I would know that handwriting anywhere with its distinctive J, childlike love heart for dot about the I, and overly cursive e. Coupled with the nauseating mustard coloured envelope, this had to be from her. It could only be from her. And I knew that opening it would be a mistake. It would send me into a downward spiral I could ill afford with everything I was juggling in that moment. I would be ripped apart for at least two weeks before I could get back my sanity and I could move on.
But it reeked of her perfume. And the moment that mix of jasmine, rose and vanilla hit my nostrils, my brain stopped working.
It was like I was seven again begging her not to leave us from what seemed like the hundredth time only to watch her walk away again. I refused to wash my clothes for months after. I hid them in the back of my cupboard so he couldn’t find them and dispose of them like he had everything else. They were the only thing I had left that smelt like her. It was the only thing I had left of her.
Then I was seventeen again, seeing her for the first time in seven years behind his back. I almost didn’t recognise her. Her chocolate brown hair was now perfectly blonde. Her once slightly crooked nose which had been broken during a game of football with her brother was perfectly straight. Her clothes were all designer. She looked nothing like the woman I could perfectly remember. But then I caught that same scent, and I knew it was her.
Going to that meeting had been one of the worst decisions of my life. She looked down at me. She was ashamed of me and she refused to acknowledge me as her daughter. And he had been so angry at me for going. He knew the minute I walked in the door where I had been. He shouted for a bit then held me as I cried. On that day I promised both him and me that I would not see her again.
And for the last ten years, I have kept to that promise. I haven’t seen her. For a while though, I did receive letters from her. All of them exactly like this one. They all began by asking how I was and then rabbled on about her life. And they always, always, ended by asking for money.
And for a while, I gave her the money. I think that in some twisted way it made me feel connected to her again, like I was a part of her life.
Then, about four years ago, the letters stopped. And I put her in a little box in my mind that I tried not to think about as I continued with my life.
But now there was another mustard envelope and before I could stop myself, it was open and the contents, a pure white card, was in my hands.
As I unfolded the card, I felt something land on my feet, but I was too focused on the card’s contents to really pay any attention to it.
Together with their parents
Amelia Slone and Matthew Carmichael III
Request the honour of your presence at their wedding
Saturday the 1st of August 2020 at 2.00pm
Trinity Church
Reception to follow
Who are Amelia Slone and Matthew Carmichael? I had never heard of either of them before in my life. Maybe they made some mistake and sent the card to the wrong person. Maybe it wasn’t my mother’s handwriting at all. Maybe there was another J Mathieson who lived in this apartment before me, and this invitation was intended for them. I have never heard of them before, but it could be possible. God, it even sounded stupid to me as I said it to myself. This had to be for me but why? There had to some reason.
But I could think about that at another point when my head wasn’t as muddy.
As I turned to dump the letter on the old table by the door, I slipped slightly on something on the floor, and I was reminded of the thing that had fallen out of the card. Now, I could see that it was a piece of paper baring my name. There was no mistaking that this invitation was meant for me, even if I had no idea who these people were. I grabbed the paper off the floor and opened it without hesitation.
In hindsight, I wish I would have prepared myself more. Maybe then I would have been ready for what was inside that letter. I think that because I was so confused by the wedding invite that I had sort of disregarded that this was from her, so my guard was done. And, in this instance, it led to an absolute disaster.
Jane,
It has been such a long time since we last spoke, and I must say that I am disappointed that you did not stay in touch with me. It truly hurt me that you choose not to maintain our mother-daughter connection. However, I am still your mother and I care so deeply about you. That is why I have invited you to be involved in such an important occasion, your sister’s wedding.
I know that you never had any real interest in me and my life which is why I never told you about your sister. Her name, as you can already guess, is Amelia and she is now eighteen years old. While you always took after your father, she is the spitting image of me. Blonde hair and all. She is incredibly beautiful. Amelia has also just begun studying political science at one of the most prestigious universities in the world, Yale. We hope this will help her to achieve her goal of becoming a Politian, just like her father. Although no one doubts that she will be able to achieve anything she sets her mind to. She is one of the smartest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Amelia also volunteers with many different organisations, both at home and in America. She has even been commented for her efforts. Her father and I am so lucky that we have the perfect daughter – smart, beautiful, and kind.
Soon, we will also have the perfect son-in-law. Matthew, her fiancé, is twenty-three and the son of one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country, Matthew Carmichael II. He is attending Cambridge University and is on his way to becoming a lawyer. Like Amelia, he is a very attractive young man and in very active within his community. The pair have been together for three years now and are a perfect couple. They are so deeply in love and are completely devoted to one another. As a parent, I could not ask for a better man for my daughter, and I look forward to him becoming an official member of our family.
For years, Amelia has asked about you. She has always wanted to form a connection with her older sister. It is a real shame that you never tried to create a connection with me and my family as it has caused her so much heartbreak. As she is about to embark on the next stage of her life, I think now is the perfect time for you two to meet.
It would mean so much to both of us for you to attend this wedding. It would also be a real show from you that you are truly interested in having a relationship with both myself and your sister. Both of us have been so deeply hurt by your disregard of us so being at this event would go a long way to help heal this hurt.
My details are included below. I hope to hear from you soon,
Your devoted mother.
Tears were streaming down my face before I even finished the letter. All my life, I had longed to have a sibling. Someone who would be there for me and love me. Someone I can share secrets with and would support me. Someone to help end the unbearable loneliness I endure for so much of my childhood. And now, I find that I have a sister. A sister who has been alive for the last eighteen years. Yet my mother had never bothered to mention her to me. But somehow, somehow, that was my fault.
It had always been my mother’s special talent to make me feel horrible about myself. The entire letter was a prime example of that. Everything she said about her daughter was a hidden slap in my face showing all the ways I had failed in life. And I couldn’t help but feel angry. Angry at her. Angry at Amelia (although it wasn’t her fault). And angry at myself because I could never be the perfect daughter she wanted, and I hated myself for that.
Her other special talent was to push all blame onto everyone else. Even though I was a child when she left, somehow it was my fault for not staying in contact with her. Despite knowing this, I still feel guilty every time, like there was something I could have done to change what had happened. And I was consumed by guilt after reading this letter because not only had I hurt her, but I had also hurt my sister who I didn’t even know existed.
And as my last tear fell, riddled with anger and guilt, I did something even more stupid that opening the envelope. I called my mother.
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