Not Quite Family
“Mom, what’s that letter you’ve been hiding?”
“Oh, it’s from the countryside, from your grandfather,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively as she continued to prepare dinner.
“Wait, we have a grandfather? You always said there was no one left on your side of the family.”
Mom paused chopping the vegetables for a moment before resuming with renewed focus.
“Well, yes, there is… and so what? I left home many years ago, wasn’t needed then, and am I supposed to drop everything now and rush to help him?”
She began to cry, and I was at a loss for words. Our family didn’t discuss her relatives, I only knew my mom came to London straight after school, worked, studied, lived in a dormitory, then I was born, and my father left even before I was born.
Mom harbored resentment towards her family. I had no one to ask about what had happened back then.
That evening, when mom was asleep, I quietly took the letter from her room and read it. The handwriting was neat and elegant, clearly not that of an elderly, ill person. It explained that my grandfather was bedridden and needed good care and expensive medicines. They asked mom to let go of old grievances and pride, emphasizing the matter was about a person’s life.
There was no signature. I looked at the address. The village was quite near to our city; a friend had a country house a few miles from it. A chill ran down my spine… I often visited her, and my grandfather lived nearby. How could mom do this to us?
The following day, I got ready for university as usual, but I also grabbed some money and a bag with spare clothes and headed to the coach station.
Getting off the bus, I took a deep breath of the clean, crystal-clear village air, and the walk was short. The old, leaning cottage stood just a few meters from the bus stop. I opened the gate and stepped into the yard.
“Who are you looking for?” asked a voice. I turned to see a woman in her forties arranging freshly picked mushrooms under an apple tree.
“I’m here to see Simon Andrews, my grandfather.”
“Oh, so you must be Lucy’s daughter,” she smiled. “Well, hello! Come in, I’ll put on the kettle. Grandpa’s napping after lunch. He’s feeling a bit better.”
The cottage was cozy and smelled of pies. While the woman busied herself at the stove, I got a chance to look at her. Remarkably, she resembled my mother, the same almond-shaped eyes, raven-black hair, even her speech had a similar intonation. My eyes then shifted to a portrait on the wall – an old faded photograph of a smiling man and woman with two small girls who looked very much alike.
Noticing my gaze, the woman said,
“That’s us with your mom and our parents. I’m Sophie, her sister, your aunt,” she smiled.
“Nice to meet you. Why haven’t I ever heard of you? Mom always insisted we had no family.”
She sighed, sat at the table, and began pouring tea into cups.
“Your mom resented us. I was born weak, often sick, and our mom practically lived in hospitals with me. Dad, of course, had to work day and night to provide for us and pay for treatment. Lucy initially stayed with our grandma, then dad often left her with a neighbor. Naturally, most parental attention went to me. From a young age, she convinced herself that she wasn’t loved or needed. Even when things improved, once she got her school certificate, Lucy moved to London, and we haven’t seen her since…”
She sighed, adding,
“Drink your tea; you must be hungry from the trip. The kids will be back soon and clear everything out. I have two children – Alana and Leo, raising them on my own. They’ve been asking if there are any relatives; they’ll be thrilled…”
That evening, I met grandpa and my cousins. Everyone was so welcoming, and I finally understood what it felt like to have a big, loving family gathered around one table. I stayed for several days, bought all the necessary medications.
Mom called several times, demanding I come home immediately, but I couldn’t leave grandpa. Aunt Sophie was struggling to juggle work and care for him.
“Who will pay for your education if you go over budget?” mom shouted on the phone. “I sacrificed everything for you, and now you’re with people who haven’t lifted a finger for us.”
“Mom, what are you talking about? You didn’t share your address for fifteen years… strangers, relatives… he’s my grandfather first and foremost. It’s time to let go of past events. He needs care and attention. If you’re not coming, then I will stay. By the way, you have a wonderful sister and niece and nephew. Don’t be like that, mom…”
She’d hang up, upset, then call back, but our conversations led nowhere.
After a week, I returned to the city to continue my studies, being in my final year, but my heart was elsewhere. The little money I earned from distributing flyers and a few hours of tutoring each week I sent to the countryside. But, of course, it was barely anything…
My relationship with mom was like a stretched rubber band, at one point, she even hid my passport so I’d stay in town over the holiday weekend instead of going to the village.
A year flew by in a blur of hustle, arguments, and tension.
As soon as I received my diploma, I packed up and left. Aunt Sophie had arranged for me to work at the local school, and life resumed its course. Grandpa was up and about, taking short walks in the garden, happy to have me around. Yet his eyes remained sad, waiting for his daughter…
September brought a flurry of activity and joy, as I was assigned to teach first-graders. I grew to love them so much that every day felt like a celebration. And I noticed someone else taking an interest in me – our history teacher, a recent graduate from a city university, ended up in this village. I wondered, as usually, everyone is eager to move to the city. But here…
“Amy, don’t dismiss Alex,” Aunt Sophie would whisper. “He’s a good lad, knows his way around. Look at the house he’s built. And just because he didn’t stay in the city, well, his gran’s here all alone, and he’s an orphan, so they live together.”
Soon, Alex asked me out, and our romance blossomed. He became a regular visitor to our home, grandpa approved of my choice, and when Alex proposed, he gave us his blessing.
The wedding was set for late April. I informed mom well in advance via a letter. There was no response, and it hurt knowing she wouldn’t be there on such a significant day…
On the eve of the ceremony, as Aunt Sophie, two friends, and I bustled in the kitchen preparing for the big day, there was a soft knock at the door.
I rushed to open it, and there stood mom. Seeing her brought tears to her eyes.
“I… I’m just here for a short while, to congratulate you…”
I invited her in, but she hesitated. Then Aunt Sophie hurried over from the kitchen, and grandpa, hearing our voices, joined us.
He embraced his daughter, and they stood there for a long time, wiping each other’s tears. Grandpa whispered something to mom, and she cried…
Many years have passed since I settled in the village, raising a beautiful, loving family. My children are growing, I still teach primary school, and most importantly, I finally have family – people who once, my mother considered strangers. Mom didn’t leave; she reconciled with her father and sister, leaving the past where it belongs…
