How I Met My Mother

I might as well sleep on this flight. An eight hour flight across the world seems like a vibe. And it is, unless you’re forced to do it.

I’m on a once in a lifetime luxury flight to France. The food and drinks are amazing. The seat is so comfortable and spacious. In any other situation I would be snapchatting the whole experience. I would literally be drooling over the carpet and praying the flight isn’t a dream and that it’ll never end. I mean come on. I’m a single girl going to the city of love in her twenties. DREAM COME TRUE! But all I feel is disdain and if I could I would find the nearest parachute and jump off this plane.

The woman next to me, her name is Elena Maximoff. She is by far the most beautiful yet disgusting person I have ever met. By chance, or so I thought, I bumped into her in line at a coffee shop. It was all too cliche. I was walking into my favorite coffee shop, casually late, on my way to work. And as I was answering a text from my best friend about our next girls trip–the girls trip that we are always planning and never go on. I walked right into Elena. She took my breath away. And not just because I knocked the wind out of both of us. But there was a regal air about her. She was tall and dressed classically in a crisp suit with professional yet stylish footwear. Her icy blonde hair swept down her back in perfect loose almost white ringlets. Her blue eyes glowed the clearest hue of baby blue. And her flushed cheeks complimented her perfect skin. She was angelic or like a doll even. I don’t know. She was just too beautiful; It hurt my eyes. And then she looked up and saw me.

She was stunned the second she looked at me, almost like I was when I saw her. At the time, I didn’t know why. I was tall with long legs that everyone wishes they had. But other than that I was bland and average. My hair is sandy. It’s dull and can't decide if it wants to be brown or blonde, like my dad’s. And I have honey brown eyes. They’re almost amber. A weird shade of brown but interesting–I guess.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry,” she stammered in the most unprofessional way I’ve ever heard. I was shocked. I had expected elegance, not distress.

I didn’t get why she was apologizing to me for bulldozing into her so I said, “ no it was my fault.” And then continued to ask if I could buy her coffee.

She looked to the door and then back to me and replied too quickly, almost as fast as she seemed to want to leave “Oh it’s quite alright. These things happen. Let’s say it’s no one’s fault. If you’ll allow me, I’ll purchase our drinks.”

Listen, I’m not saying “no” twice, so I accepted the offer. She paid for our drinks and while we were waiting she offered that if I wasn’t in a rush she’d like to sit together “beverages always taste better in good company don’t you think?” She said. I agreed because who cares? I was going to sit down with my latte anyway. And believe it or not, I tend to be a people person.

We found a table by the window. Flowers lined the perimeter of the cafe on the outside. They framed the bottom of the windows and hung from the overhang. It was peaceful. We made small talk and people watched. Then all of a sudden she blurted out “you look just like your father” and hurriedly looked away.

I almost broke my neck swinging it around to look at her. I didn’t know what to say. So I stared. Maybe she wasn’t really talking about me and my father. People do that. I know sometimes people see what they want to see when they are going through something. They see someone with similar features to their loved ones and are enamored with resemblances. I didn’t know what was wrong with this seemingly well put together middle aged woman, she couldn’t be more than 50. But she was clearly a wreck.

Fast forward, it ends up that she wasn’t as crazy as I thought. She did know my father. She knew him quite well. Because she’s my mother.

I’ll tell the rest of the story later. The flight is almost over and I want to prepare myself to make the best of whatever this is. In short, Elena is actually my long not-so-lost mother. I was raised by a single father who never told me much about her. He never said anything good or bad about her as it was. But then again he only mentioned her when I did. She never wanted me. He didn’t say it in those words but I got the message. And when he realized that would never change, he packed us up and left. That was twenty-four years ago when I was two. Years later we hadn’t looked back, until now.

All of a sudden I noticed movement next to me. Elena, a woman who I never thought would look disheveled –not that I’ve known her longer than twenty-four hours– is a fidgeting mess. She clearly couldn't get comfortable, and was shifting in her seat. She pushed her hair behind her ear about five times before I almost rolled my eyes to the back of my head. The stewardess eventually brought the wine she ordered. And she literally gulped it down. She breathed a few long breaths, straightened her shirt (as if that would do anything at this point), and fixed her hair for what I hope to be the last time in the next 30 seconds. She then turned to me and said words that I never knew I needed and said,

“I’m sorry”