“I missed you, Grandma.”
Teresa greeted me with a hug.
“Come in, Beatatrice. Your house, your table.”
Emily was in the kitchen.
She saw me and nervously wiped her hands on her apron.
“Beatatrice,” she said, “thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
We looked at each other.
Two women who had been at war.
Two women who were not yet friends.
But who were learning to coexist.
“The mole smells delicious,” I said.
“Teresa taught me her recipe,” Emily admitted. “It’s better than mine.”
It was the first time I heard her admit that someone did something better than her.
We all sat down to eat.
Eleven people around one table.
Miguel told a joke.
Andrea sang a song she learned in school.
Michael showed off his grades.
Sarah showed a drawing she made of her new big family.
We were all in the drawing.
Teresa.
Her kids.
Daniel.
Emily.
Their kids.
And me in the center, with a crown drawn on my head.
“You’re the queen, Grandma,” Sarah explained. “Because you made us all be together.”
I broke down.
I cried in front of everyone.
Daniel took my hand.
“Thank you, Mom, for not giving up on us.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For finally seeing me again.”
After lunch, Emily asked to speak with me alone.
We went out to the small backyard, the same one where I used to hang the laundry.
“Beat,” she began in a trembling voice, “I know I have no right to ask you for anything. I know I hurt you in unforgivable ways. But I want you to know that I’m in therapy, individual therapy, working on my insecurities, my need for control, everything.”
“I’m glad,” I said sincerely.
“Teresa is teaching me a lot,” she continued, “about humility, about gratitude. She lost her husband, she lost her house, and she still smiles every day. She’s grateful for what she has. And I… I had everything, and I never stopped complaining.”
She wiped away a tear.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m just asking you to let me try to be better. To see that I’m trying.”
I looked at her.
This woman who had made me invisible, who planned to get rid of me, who humiliated me for three years.
But I also saw a broken woman trying to put herself back together.
