“You owe me the truth though, Mum,” I tell her, and she gives me a slow nod, patting the spot on the couch next to her. I let out a breath and do as I’m told, coming to sit next to her on the sofa. Storm remains by the door, crossing his arms over his chest and averting his eyes. It’s clear he wants to give us some privacy but still stay near for me, and for that alone, I could kiss him.
“No, you don’t understand,” mum says, and she is right. I furrow my brow in confusion as she picks up her handbag from the side of the sofa and starts searching through it. “I always have too much stuff in this bag.” She continues to rummage, looking up at me to add, “I can’t tell you the truth, Karma, but I can show you.”
I try not to chuckle at the look on Storm’s face as my Mum begins to pull out a massive range of things from her bag. An umbrella first, then a makeup bag, a pack of tissue, a box of biscuits, and a postcard with a picture of Michael’s face on it. I even miss that damn goat, and the sight is nearly enough to make fresh tears well up in my eyes, but the absurdity of watching Mum dig through her purse like it’s the most normal thing in the world is enough to keep my emotions from overwhelming me.
Finally, Mum finds what she is looking for: a small, nondescript blue box, like the kind used to carry jewelry. Mum shoves everything back into her bag, somehow (I’m still not sure how she manages to fit it all in there), before handing me the box. I steel myself, afraid of what I’ll find but unable to avoid the truth any longer. You asked for this, I remind myself. Whatever the truth is, it’s better to find it out now. Just rip it off like a band-aid.
Slowly, I open it up, finding a small charm inside it, much like the ones she’s gifted me every year for my birthday. The charm is blue, shiny and shaped like a perfume bottle.
I furrow my brow. “What is it?” I ask Mum, picking up the charm out of the box and holding it in the palm of my hand. Mum covers my hand with hers before she speaks, sounding like she’s choosing each word carefully.
“It is a memory charm,” Mum replies. Seeing my questioning look, she continues, “See, I knew one day I’d have to tell you about the past, but I didn’t know what the right words for the truth could possibly be.”
“Mum,” I begin, “it’s all right-”
But she puts her hand up again, and it’s clear from the strain in her voice that she’s having a hard enough time just getting this far in her explanation. I bite my lip and wait for her to collect her thoughts before she continues.
“It breaks my heart to see these memories,” she says. “Even just thinking about them makes me feel guilty… sad…” Her voice cracks a little, and she takes a steadying breath. “And it has for a long time, so I knew from the start that I wouldn’t be able to talk about it. I didn’t want that to affect you, so I got this charm. It stores memories, so I used it to make a copy of the important parts of my memory. The ones relating to you,” she explains to me.
“I can’t believe they let you keep this,” I breathe, holding the charm up to the light and wondering what sorts of memories it could possibly hold.
“It wasn’t an easy fight,” Mum replies with a look of grim determination. “They took the rest of our charms away. But in the end I convinced them that it was worth showing you these memories, if only to make it easier for them to sway your opinion. I… did what I had to.” She clears her throat. “I’m so sorry for everything you are about to see, Karma. I wanted you to be older when I showed you this. I had a plan… but I can’t protect you from the truth anymore, it seems. This has become bigger than me - bigger than all of us. I just want you to remember that I love you,” she adds. “Please.”
“Mum,” I say quietly, my eyes wide, “I love you, too. Always.”
She smiles a little at that, and reaches across the seemingly endless gap between us to stroke my hair the way she did when I was a little girl. “Remember that bringing you up as my child was an honour, and loving you was a present I will always treasure.”
Before I can answer, my mum closes her eyes, and in an instant my hand starts to warm up. My eyes drift closed unwillingly, as if I’ve just been given a powerful sedative, and soon the warmth begins to spread throughout my entire body. It’s a pleasant feeling, like nostalgia, and I’m unable to fight it; when I open my eyes again, I’m not in the same room, and my mum isn’t with me.
I’m standing under a tree on a sunny day in someone’s garden. It’s strange - I can feel the warmth of the sun beating down on my face, smell the freshly clipped grass and hear the buzzing of insects among the flowers. It feels so real, even if it is a memory. I don’t recognise the garden as I look around, but it’s pretty big, and there is an old cottage in the distance, with a table and chairs set up outside. I can make out the sound of chattering birds in the trees, and the sound of water in the distance - a beach, perhaps? Glancing down, I’m taken aback when I see that my body is translucent, almost non-corporeal. It’s like I’m a ghost, spying on a memory that I can’t interact with.
“What did you want to tell me that you didn’t want anyone else to know, Maria?” comes a voice from above me. It’s uncannily like Mum’s, although it sounds younger and more carefree. I take a step back before looking up to see that there is a treehouse built into the branches of the large oak tree in front of me. Two young women are sitting on the edge of the platform, their legs dangling down. The branches rustle and the boards creak with their movement, and a handful of leaves flutter down from the tree, passing through me like air to land at my feet. I have to take a few more steps back to get a good look at the two women, craning my neck and shielding my eyes against the glaring sunlight.
I recognise my mum almost instantly, mainly because of her wavy red hair and bright eyes. She has a flowery top on and high waisted jeans, but it’s the happiness that throws me. There’s a look of bright, unworried joy on her face - a look of love. I’ve only ever seen her look at our family the way she is looking at the woman sitting next to her.
I gulp as I see Maria, my mother’s sister, who I know little to nothing about. Her red hair is darker than my mum’s, and is pulled up in a high ponytail. She is dressed in a white dress, showing off the freckled skin on her arms and chest. She is very beautiful, just like my mum, and has an almost otherworldly quality to her. It’s clear that she’s family from the way that Mum is looking at her... but I can’t keep my eyes off her for another reason entirely.
She looks almost just like me. We have the same high cheekbones, long lashes and pouty lips. The slant of her nose is exactly mine. But there’s more, too: the way she tucks a stray red curl back behind her ear, the little half-smile on her face as she stares at her beloved sister, and the way her shoulders slouch in a carefree, almost lazy posture. These are all qualities I’ve seen every time I’ve looked in the mirror, little things I’ve been unable to put my finger on… until now.
I know who she is without needing to see the rest of this past memory. My throat suddenly feels tight, and tears begin to fall unbidden down my cheeks as I watch the two women. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is my biological mother, and seeing her next to the woman who raised me is stirring emotions in me that I don’t even have a name for. Questions begin to flow through my mind, each one impossible to answer: what was she like? Was this how they interacted? What would life have been like if she had raised me, instead of Mum? This is followed by an immediate surge of guilt. She didn’t raise me, and she isn’t my Mum - at least, not in the sense that truly matters. My Mum is the one sitting next to her… but that doesn’t alleviate the confusion I’m now feeling to see the two of them side by side.
The emotions are almost too much to handle, and I nearly miss what they are talking about as I try to get a handle on myself.
“I’m pregnant,” says the strange yet familiar woman sitting next to Mum.
Mum’s eyes grow wide. “How far along are you.”
“About three months gone, Blaine,” Maria says, and my mum throws her arms around Maria while letting out a happy squeal. My middle name gives a lot away in this story.
I rub my chest as my heart hurts with a nostalgic ache that I didn’t know it was possible to feel. Maria is my biological mother. If I wanted confirmation, I finally have it.
“Congratulations,” says Mum, putting a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “I’m so delighted for you! Are you happy?” she asks earnestly, and I can see her pure joy.
Maria smiles softly in response, placing her hand over her stomach, and she gazes into the distance. For a second, I think she is looking at me, but she moves her eyes away to my mum too quickly to have actually seen me. I’m just a stranger looking in on a memory that I cannot touch, the closest I’ll ever be to the woman who gave birth to me.
“It’s not that simple,” Maria replies, glancing down at her belly.“This poor child is going to have a complicated heritage.” She takes a long breath to steady herself, closing her eyes for a moment, and then looks at Mum. “But I already love my baby,” she says. “I will protect her, shield her and hide her. The moment I found out, I was in love with my child, and that will never change… despite how much I love her father,” Maria finishes. Thick tears continue to fall down my cheeks as my hand goes to my mouth to hold in a sob that threatens to escape. I never knew how much I craved hearing her say those words, but it feels like an incredible weight has just been lifted off my shoulders. Ever since Xur told me the truth about my parentage, there has been a nagging worry in the back of my mind, one that I haven’t really even been able to articulate. But these words have cast it away: Maria wanted me. She didn’t give me to my mum because she was afraid of me, or because she didn’t love me. Whatever else happened, she did what she did in order to protect me.
“What did—” begins Mum.
“He doesn’t need to know,” replies Maria. “I love Neritous...but he wouldn’t love the baby - or want it.”
“How do you know?” asks Mum quietly, her eyes wide.
“Why would he?” asks Maria, shaking her head. “For all he’s concerned, she would just be a bastard hybrid, and a threat to the higher gods. Besides, he broke up with me two months ago, and I’m sure he has forgotten me by now,” she adds, and I can hear the heartbreak in her words. Mum simply nods and tilts her head to the side. I’m sure she was a shoulder to cry on; they look so close right now, the same way Peyton and I are close.
“He is a fool, but you are not alone,” Mum tells her. “I will be here for you, I promise, and Peyton will be a brilliant cousin to this little one,” she says. “And one day you can meet another man, a kinder one, and no will ever have to know who this baby’s real father is.”
“Do you mean that, Blaine?” asks Maria, a wave of emotions seeming to pass over her.
“Of course I do, Sister,” says Mum. “We can keep it a secret, you and me. I’m the only one who knew you were dating a higher god in the first place. This never has to leave this treehouse.”
“I love you, sister,” Maria says, smiling widely as she places her head on my mum’s shoulder. “It’s going to be difficult. She’ll have abilities. Eventually she’ll have questions.”
“We’ll deal with those when they come,” Mum assures her. “Now is the scary part,” she continues, grinning a little. “Now you have to tell Holly and Daniella. They are going to freak out that everyone is having babies.” They both begin to laugh at that, the sense of relief that passes between them palpable. My eyes begin to drift closed again, and although I fight it, desperate to remain in this moment, the magic is too strong. My head bows as my eyes shut, and I can feel the environment changing around me.
When I open my eyes again, I find myself in a completely different place, and the sight is hard to see. The smell of blood and medicine fills the air, and the small room feels almost stifling. Maria is screaming blue murder on a bed, and my mum is at her side, holding her hand. An older woman is kneeling between her legs, shouting at her to push. This older woman has curly grey hair, but the tips are still red, so I have a feeling she is related to us somehow.
I look to my left, where two women are holding hands and waiting. One has curly black hair and looks so much like Damien, whereas the other woman has short red hair with big bright blue eyes. They must be my aunts, Holly and Daniella, if I had to take a guess. I look back just as a baby’s cry fills my ears, and the older woman hands Maria a newborn baby, covered in blood. There’s a dusting of freckles on her face, and on her head is a tuft of red hair. It’s me.
