Momma's Kitchen

Momma's Kitchen

After nineteen years of being alive and Terry is finally going to meet her birth mother but is the mother she's dying to meet better than the one who raised her or even the woman who is like a mother to her and knows her better than she knows herself?


Literary fiction


Niki roxx! (United States)

Momma's Kitchen
Ch.1: The Meeting
I lift the small coffee cup to my lips. The waiter passes by me. The waiter is Nancy and she is casually walking back and forth so that she can keep an eye on me without making it obvious. She knows I'll be furious if I find out that she's checking on me because I asked her not to. "I'm twenty-one now and I can take care of myself!" I told her earlier. Being twenty-one I don't need anyone to check on me but I know she's only checking on me because she cares so I disregard her as she walks past me. Plus Nancy's not just anyone; she's like a mother to me. I look into the diner window. I can make out my reflection looking back at me and I remember despising my plain Jane look growing up. My lackluster curls, emotionless blue eyes, and average frame; but puberty had done well for me. My reflection now boasts glossy curls spiraling from root to tip, my blue eyes now change from blue to green along with my mood and in the ninth grade I hit a growth spurt. I also remember how my good looks became more than just a source of self pride for me after that life changing call around the time of my nineteenth birthday. When I look at my reflection, I see much more than a girl that's come a long way. Yet still, beyond my reflection in the diner window I can also see out on to the highway (Route 98) situated next to the dinner.
The glow of the lights on the highway is bright over the speeding cars. I check the time on my watch, shift in my seat, then tap on the table. Nancy walks past again. I've been in this diner for as long as I can remember. It seems like I've lived my whole life here. It was here that I found out the truth about my identity and reason for existing when I was seventeen. I remember being mad at Nancy because she'd known the whole time. Nancy being a heavy set person had always been bigger than me. I remember after I read the letter her chunky arms had embraced me as the hot tears stung my eyes.
According to the adoption agency my adopted parents had done nothing wrong they had the right to decide whether or not they wanted to tell me; but by law I had to receive an official letter from the adoption agency, when I was of age to no longer be in foster care. The following day marked the day of my eighteenth birthday and at eighteen they were no longer responsible for me and I was no longer my adopted parents' problem.
I remember running away that day but my foster parents wasted no time to call the police and they found me five miles down Route 98 and hauled me back home. Now I'm sitting in the same diner over two years later waiting to meet my real birth mother. She called me on my nineteenth birthday and told me she hoped we could meet up one day and ever since we kept in contact. That call made the reality of the fact that I was a foster child more real. After that day when I looked into the mirror I looked not only at myself, but figured I was also possibly looking at my mother, or even just her physical traits. Yesterday she scheduled a meet for us here in Momma's Kitchen for 8 pm. Although it is now 8:30 I'm still waiting patiently because she had mentioned that she probably wouldn't make it till after nine because of traffic.
My nerves are starting to make me jittery and I can't keep still anymore. Nancy passes by with a coffee pot. Her brown arm stretches towards me.
"More coffee?"
I shake my head and for some reason she takes this as an indication to pour more into the cup and sit down across from me.
"Be patient,” she tells me as she smoothes out her apron and rests the coffee pot on the table.
I nod, and take a sip of the coffee she poured for me. Strangely the coffee is very comforting to me, although I had initially refused having more. Nancy always did know me better than I knew myself.
"You know how it is,” Nancy tells me with a nod as she chuckles.
I let out an awkward giggle. I knew exactly what she was talking about. There was a joke among the staff, regular costumer and truck drivers who were frequently in Momma's Kitchen. The joke is that Momma's Kitchen was from a different part of the universe because in it you lose track of time and even if you are keeping up with the time it always seems to move a lot slower than usual. Momma's Kitchen is like a trap door you can use at any moment to escape from reality. I look back at the clock; the hands were leisurely moving around the clock.
“It must have been Mars,” I mumble.
“Oh, your way off!” Nancy replies shaking her head.
“It was Jupiter. The restaurant came from Jupiter and landed in this exact spot.”
I can’t help but laugh. Then reality seeps back into my mind.
“What if she doesn’t like me? What if my real mother doesn’t like me?”
“What’s not to like? You’re beautiful, smart and caring.”
“There has to be something about me she can’t stand, or else she would never have put me up for adoption.”
Nancy’s eyes widen.
“How could you think such a thing? Life is full of twists and turns and a lot of times when people don’t know how to handle situations they’ve been thrown into, they look for the easy way out; and trust me, the easy way is not always the best way. The easy way caused your mother to miss out on twenty wonderful years of her daughter growing up.”
“Twenty years,” I repeat the number to myself.
“It’s been so long! Do you think she will recognize me?”
“What mother wouldn’t recognize her child?”

Competition: Friendly feedback, Round 1



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