He came up to me and touched my face. It felt warm to the touch. I raised my hand, wanting to hold his, but it just went through him.
“I have but only a few moments,” he said, his voice far too steady for what was an unusual and bizarre... dream? Alternate experience? Reality? “Allow me to ask. What are you doing?”
I scrunched my face.
“Listening to—”
“You know what I mean, Cole. I understand your fear of facing my question, but you understand what I mean.”
Shit. I know I do.
“I’m running away again,” I said. “I’m a failure. Lane has grown. Lane, as usual, wins. But this time, I don’t resent him winning.”
My father walked to my side and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. And then, with that deep baritone of his, he laughed. It was a kind and gentle laugh, but it was a confusing laugh all the same.
“What does winning have to do with anything?” he said. “I told you both I loved you equally, and I meant it.”
“But I always thought—”
“You create a story in your head to drive you, but you know the truth,” he said. “You do not need to compare yourself to Lane in any way. You only need be.”
I... I…
I suddenly felt so free. Just hearing those words made my skin feel lighter, like I was really floating in place. A tingling went through my torso and my limbs.
“You are enough, Cole,” my father said. “You are enough.”
“I want to believe that,” I said. “But…”
“Cole, my son.”
There it was again, the internal voice. But this time, it was not my father.
“Mom?”
“Turn around, Cole.”
I looked back to the bed, and there she was. Mom.
I had never spoken to her in my life. I hadn’t had the chance to.
She had died giving birth to me.
I had seen enough photos and videos of her, though, to know what she looked and sounded like. She had long brown hair and piercing brown eyes; some mistook her for Italian, though she was actually closer to Scottish in heritage. She had a look that could have easily been used to cast judgment or make people feel on guard, but every time I had seen her, she looked happy and empathetic.
“Mom…”
She was wearing a white sweater with blue jeans, but I barely paid attention to what she was wearing. I was so in shock by her presence... that…
“You are so hard on yourself, child,” she said. “You say you will never love again, but I have always loved you. You know this to be true.”
I…
I did.
I had just never allowed myself to feel that love.
“You believe yourself to not be good enough, fearing that you will hurt the other person or, most of all, yourself. But you must let go of this belief. You only need be.”
