The one Mother sent me only months before she died.

 

Liam,

It’s too late. I know that. I wish I could go back and change everything between us, but by the time I was in a place to try, you were too old and too hurt by things that happened when you were a child. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good mother to you. I regret that every day. But I was young and human and imperfect. Your dad was so much better with you than I ever was. He did a good job raising you and I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished, though I really have no right to be.

Someday, perhaps after I’m gone, I hope you will forgive me.

I love you. I always have.

Mom

 

There it was—the one I’d been looking for. The message I’d doubted she ever penned. And had I opened it the day I received it, there would have been time. Time for me to pick up the phone and call her, to meet with her, to forgive.

But because I’d let my anger and resentment rule me, that opportunity had been lost. Forever.

As I stand in my bedroom, my face is wet. I’m crying while thinking about how much I wanted her love when I was young. About how she didn’t love me because I was broken…different. All the words that had been heaped upon me during childhood—spaz, freak, retard, Liam the Loon.

In the middle of my room, I stand there and cry like a baby for almost an hour. Because I’ve realized that my stubbornness has caused me to miss out on the opportunity to forgive my own mother while she was still alive.

The Buddha once said that holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

I remember Jenna’s words from the night we read the birthday cards, and I know then that I’ve been judging Jenna based on what my mother did. That I’ve been expecting her to run away from me, and in so doing, I pushed her away.

With my face in my hands, I picture Jenna the last time I saw her, pressed against the door, her face wet, her eyes red and swollen from weeping.

And my words…so cruel. So heartless. Just like a robot.

But what can I do?

Jenna is gone, and she might never come back.

Have I lost her for good? And if I find her again, would she even want me back?

The only thing I can do is try.

 

 

Chapter 37

Jenna

My stomach churned as the bus made its way along twisting mountain roads. Only two hours remained of the lengthy trip from Belgrade to Sarajevo.

Just five hours before, I’d said goodbye to Helena and Vuk at the bus station. It had been a quick and exhausting few days in Serbia, meeting their family members and touring the city. And now here I was—alone—once again, with only my thoughts and no possibility of escaping them.

The past few weeks were a blur—a sore, painful, and then numb blur. Helena had been worried about me, checking in like a concerned mother several times a day. She’d kept her distance until Alex spilled the beans when I didn’t get out of bed one day. That’s when Helena decided to make arrangements for us to fly out a week earlier than planned.

Yet despite the whirlwind surrounding a trip overseas, I missed William terribly. I’d wake in the morning after dreaming of him, feeling his ephemeral kiss on my lips. And as the Dream Wil faded and reality set in, I’d die a little when I realized that he hated me still. That I could never erase the image of his face when he left my apartment weeks ago. Pain and disappointment. Disgust.

I shook my head, fixing my eyes on the beautiful, green and hilly countryside of the land of my birth. Bosnia-Herzegovina was a country of rugged, verdant beauty. And until darkness fell, I lost myself in the gorgeous views while trying to forget the slowly dulling heartache.

I’d decided it was time to find some permanence, and there was a strong possibility that my real home would never be in Southern California. Maybe my destiny lay here after all. I’d decided to give it an honest chance, anyway. Maybe the reason I’d never set down roots in the US was because I truly was Bosnian. After all, I had family here who cared about me deeply.

Maybe Bosnia was my future.

Seven long hours after boarding the bus in Belgrade, I finally arrived outside of Sarajevo. The last time I’d been here was nine years ago, and I’d let my older sister handle everything. But now it was just me…all alone.

I’d exchanged some money before leaving Belgrade and thus was able to negotiate a cab ride. The driver flirted with me and called me “American Girl,” despite the fact that I spoke to him in fluent Bosnian.

I supposed I had an accent now.

This only emphasized that feeling of never fully belonging in either place. Maybe because I hadn’t allowed myself to belong? Maybe it was time to let myself do just that.

You deserve permanence, and I want to be the man who gives it to you.

Maybe I did…but apparently, I didn’t deserve him.

Twenty minutes later, I handed the cab driver my money and popped out of the taxi. He unloaded my suitcase and set it beside me on the sidewalk. “Hvala,” I said, thanking him.

“You speak Bosnian very well, American Girl.”

With a sigh, I picked up my suitcase, entered the apartment building and then climbed the steps toward Mama’s apartment.

Mama and Maja were both home, having taken the day off from work to wait for me. When I showed up at the door, Mama and Maja pounced on me immediately with screaming, crying and kisses. Mama, with tears in her eyes, smooshed my cheeks together and said I was beautiful but way too skinny.

Maja introduced me to her fiancé, a tall, thin, dark-haired man with crooked teeth and a sweet, soft-spoken voice. They told me Sanjin was a beautiful singer in the church choir, which reminded me that I probably needed to attend church while I was here. It had been ages.

“Janjica, I can’t believe it. I can’t. You’ve come back to us at last,” Mama said.

Maja smiled at me, tugging playfully on a lock of my hair. “Sanjin has four brothers. We should introduce them. Maybe we’ll find you a Bosnian boyfriend, Janja, so you won’t go back to America.”

That sharp pang in the center of my chest made it a little harder to breathe. I sighed. “No boyfriends for me. But I do want to stay for a while.” Sanjin grabbed my suitcase and carried it up a floor to Maja’s room, where I’d sleep in the extra bed they’d borrowed for me.

That night, we stayed up way too late drinking wine, eating amazing food—ćevapi and somun, kebabs and flat Bosnian bread—talking and laughing. It felt so good to be here.