They’re certainly eccentric. I have to wonder if they’ll be doing another grand gift for Val and Stella. They already gave my sister a fully loaded pink Jeep Wrangler as a‘congratulations on getting engaged to our son’gift.
I know Stella wants Mom there too. I haven’t even seen her in weeks. We live on the same property, and I never see her. Granted, I don’t seek her out, and she refuses to set foot into the big house. She says it has too many memories, but I think it’s something else entirely.
With a heavy sigh, I head back downstairs and out the front door. It takes me a few minutes to walk to her little house at the very back corner of our property. She’s sitting in a rocking chair reading a book, and I have to stop myself from giving up before I even try.
“Oh, Nick,” she says as she sets her book down in her chair after standing up to greet me. She glances around, frowning. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead as a dull ache sets in behind my eyes. Her scent is a much too sweet apple and lemon combination. It always gives me a headache the second I breathe it in. I’m going to need to dunk my face in a bowl of ice after this.
“What's wrong?” She crosses her arms over her chest but quickly shifts, and it looks more like she’s hugging herself. I try not to be too harsh with her. I know she’s delicate. Weak, in a lot of ways.
“This Saturday is Stella’s bridal shower. Wedding shower. Engagement party—whatever.” I shake my head; it's not an important detail to fixate on. “The point is, it's the first partyto celebrate her engagement to Val. His parents will be there. You already missed dinner last weekend, and it was noticed. Especially by your daughter. Not to mention Thanksgiving dinner. We invited you to both,” I say, stuffing my hands into the front pockets of my jeans.
“I only bring down the mood.” Mom shakes her head, turning away from me. “Stella doesn’t want me there.” She says quietly, like she’s convincing herself rather than giving me an excuse.
“You know that's a fu—” I snap my mouth shut before I say something I’ll regret. I’m protective of Stella, and knowing she’s hurting because of my mom is making it hard to treat her with a delicate touch. I have my father's temper, but I work really hard on being nothing like that fucking loser. “That’s not true, Mom. Stella has wanted you to be a part of her life,allof her life. You’re the only mom she’s got.”
“Yeah, a real shitty one.” Mom gets snippy, but I know it’s a defense mechanism. A frustrating one that irks me and always has. Rhian is the one who has the most contact with Mom, because he’s…everything I’m not. Forgiving, kind, patient. Diplomatic?
I tip my head back, staring up at the cloudy blue sky, searching for the right words to say. For the strength to do this for Stella. Rhian is the one who invited Mom to the other events, and she still didn’t show.
So maybe a delicate touch isn’t what she needs.
My brothers and I might not pull punches with each other, and Stella has more than proven that while we might have soft spots for her, she doesn’t need us to treat her any differently.
Mom, however… Well, our relationship went from avoidant to nonexistent. Sure, she lived in the house with us until Dad died three years ago, but she wasn’t exactly involved. Not really.
Especially after I turned fifteen and figured out how big I was compared to Dad. The day I started throwing punches backchanged everything. He was still a fucking dick, but he stopped hitting me and figured out I wasn’t going to let him touch my siblings either.
As for Mom, I protected her from him and made it clear that if I saw a mark on her, I’d snap his neck. Then he died three years ago, and she somehow checked out even more. At least when she was around us.
I glance around the little area around her mini house that she made her own. There’s an ashtray that I made for her in pottery class when I was in high school. The weird little metal flower plant that Rhian made her with scraps from around the farm when he was ten.
Once I see those, it’s like everything else becomes more obvious. All around her are memories of her children.
The rocking chair was a gift from Benson, who made it in his woodworking class when he was a senior. Hanging from the awning that covers her front door and small window are several wind chimes that Stella has been making since she was three.
She and my sister were probably the closest, but once my sister turned six, their relationship shifted. I can’t say why it happened, because I was busy trying to raise the three of them when it was clear my parents wouldn’t. Or, in Mom’s case, couldn't.
She and I are similar in some ways. And even though I don’t understand why she is the way she is, it’s clear, looking at the place she calls home, that she did, and does, love us.
“Your daughter needs you, Mom. You weren’t perfect, and I’m not going to lie and tell you that you didn’t fuck up. You know you did. But despite that, Stella wants you in her life. She wants you to be a part of the happiest time of her life, and every time you miss a dinner or skip a party, it chips away at her heart.” My tone isn’t gentle or soft.
The time to be delicate with her has passed. Now she getsno-punches-pulled-tough-love.
“Stop chipping away all the things about her that make her happy. Stop choosing comfort and avoidance. Stop choosing yourself. Because, despite what you think you’re doing, that's exactly what it is. Every time you hide here, you choose yourself over your kids, and they still need you.” As I speak, she turns around to look at me, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“You’re right.” She sniffs, giving me a sad smile, before nodding. “You’re right. I convinced myself everyone was better off if I just…hid here.” She gestures around us. “I’m so sorry, Nick.” Her voice cracks, and I think she really means what she’s saying.
“Prove it. It’s not enough to say you’re sorry. Not anymore. Prove you mean every word, and on Saturday, show up for Stella. And then again, and again, until all the tears she’s cried over you, wishing her mom was there to support her, are replaced with happy ones. With happy memories. Don’t make us wonder what we did wrong to deserve your absence.” I whisper the last words as my throat tightens, and I have to swallow hard to relieve the pressure.
“Can I hug you?” she asks as the tears she was holding back start to fall. I can’t answer, so I nod, holding her back just as tightly when she wraps her thin arms around me. “I’ll do better, I promise.”
For my siblings' sake, and maybe even for myself, I hope she keeps her promise.
Chapter Nineteen
Stomping my way to the front doors of Taron’s bar, I fix my face before stepping inside. My dress looks like a disco ball, hugs my curves perfectly, hits mid-thigh, and shows off my cleavage the way I like. I wore my sparkling silver platform heels to match, in hopes they would improve my mood.
