Erik came back in with buster at this point. I was not happy, and he could tell. He came straight to me and crouched in front of me.
“Miranda?” He asked, taking my hand.
I looked up at him. I had tears in my eyes. He brushed a few away. “Guess what?” I asked with a sad smile on my lips.
“What?” He asked, brushing away more tears.
“My mom took the note,” I whispered, looking down At my hand in his.
“Did she say that?” He asked softly. He was brushing my hair back now.
I nodded. “She said she threw it away. She said you don’t deserve me.“
“Well, now we know.” He said. He shook his head slightly. And he kissed my hand. “Did she say why?”
Then I looked up into his eyes. “She is….” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “She doesn’t like….”
“You can tell me later, Miranda. You do not have to tell me now.” He said softly. He had moved onto the couch as he spoke. He wrapped an arm around me.
“She is racist.” I gasped. I was sobbing now—my mother, judging people on where they were born. I couldn’t believe it.
“I say it’s more likely she didn’t want to lose you. Or did she say something about race specifically?” Erik asked after another kiss.
I shuddered. “She mentioned where your dad was born.” I gasped.
He wrapped his other arm around me and kissed me. “Don’t cry about it, Miranda. She’s a different generation.”
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