“I just…I never saw it coming. You two were always so happy together.”
“We were, Mom, but it didn’t work out. Let’s leave it at that.”
She lets out a resigned sigh. “Okay, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know, Mom.”
We work in silence until the smell of my mom’s cooking reawakens my stomach. The slice of pizza I had before feels like a million years ago.
I set the table as she puts the dishes with vegetables and mashed potatoes on the table and takes the casserole out of the oven.
“Who’d have thought my Thanksgiving meal would be a real meal? Now, this is something to be thankful for,” I joke.
“Riley?” Mom asks as I grab the drinks. “I promise I’ll put it to rest now, but I just want to know. Are you happy?”
I look at my mom in her white cashmere sweater and jeans, her short blonde bob haircut and her nice soft skin. She doesn’t look her seventy years by any stretch.
We’ve always been very close, and considering I’ve spent my life on a football field surrounded by alpha male-type guys, I enjoy talking to my mom. She has a way of making me feel balanced.
“Am I happy? I’m working on it. For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself first, which feels good. I just don’t know what happy looks like yet.”
She comes up to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“You’ll know when it happens.”
There’s a cynical part of me that thinks it’ll never happen, but another part of me hopes my mom is right. After all, I’ve already spent most of my life in a relationship based on a lie. I’d love the chance to find out how it feels to be with someone who is with me for me. No lies.
“Is dinner ready yet? Or are we waiting for next Thanksgiving?”
Mom and I laugh at Dad’s yearly line.
“It’s ready,” we both say.
The food is wonderful, which is to be expected. My mom has always been a wonderful cook. We catch up about all the things happening back home on the West Coast, and I tell them about my new life here in Windsor.
“I know you love me, and I’m your favorite son and all, but coming all the way from San Diego for a meal is a bit much. Who’s gonna fess up?” I ask.
Mom smiles wide and looks at Dad.
“Your mom has been pestering me to go on one of those floating bathtubs since I retired, so I guess we’re giving that a try,” he says.
“Mom, care to translate?”
“We’re going on a month-long Christmas cruise. We’re setting off from New York next week, and we’ll end up in the Caribbean for Christmas. We were hoping that you’d join us in St. Barts. You have vacation days over Christmas, don’t you?”
I stare at each of my parents in turn. Two people who’ve barely traveled out of state because they claimed there was no need to go anywhere else when they had the beach on their doorstep are now going on a month-long cruise.
“I…don’t know what to say…this doesn’t really sound like the kind of thing you’d do,” I say. “I mean, is it safe? Do you have good travel insurance?”
“Riley John Dempsey, don’t make me show you how strong my hand still is,” my mom threatens.
I stand from the table, collecting all the plates. “Sorry, Mom. That was out of line. I think it’s a good idea and you’ll have loads of fun. I can’t join you though. I’d planned to go to the cabin I bought by the lake in Stillwater.”
“You mean that old rackety place in those photos you showed us months ago?” my mom asks with concern. “Is it even heated?”
“Yes, Mom. It has a fireplace, and I have enough wood. Thank you for acknowledging that I’m a grownup and can take care of myself.”
She raises a brow. “Was that pizza on your coffee table your Thanksgiving dinner?”
