“I don’t want your money or your help, Patton. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then whyareyou here?”
She doesn’t answer for a few long beats, her chin trembling as she tries to compose herself. She might think I’m being cold and dismissive—and maybe I am—but she doesn’t know me well enough to know the wounds I’ve worked hard to mend. She hasno idea how much internal strength and positivity I needed, day in and day out, without any biological family to speak of, to find myself. Tobelievein myself.
Though I didn’t do it alone, not after I met Nisha. She was there every step of the way . . . until she wasn’t. But we’ve worked past that, and I’m never reopening those scars; not when we’ve finally moved forward.
Abigail nods at the seat across from me, sniffling. “Can I sit down?”
Before I can respond, Rach peeks around the corner. “We’ll stay open for a while, so take as long as you both need.”
I catch her wide brown eyes over Abigail’s shoulder before she quickly busies herself, wiping down an already spotless counter. I don’t doubt that the two women are listening to every word of this family drama unraveling in their restaurant, but I trust them enough to know it won’t leave these walls.
Placing the plate on the table, Abigail uses the distraction to slide into the seat across from me, even though I never explicitly gave her permission.
My heart pounds like a stampede of wild horses inside my chest, my grip tightening around my cup as my gaze drifts over her.
For years I imagined what it would be like to see my mother again. At one point I even wrote down the questions I’d ask, aside from the obvious“Why didn’t you come back for me?”But I can’t seem to recall a single one right now.
She looks down at her hands on her lap. “I want your forgiveness, Patton. I’m not expecting your love?—”
“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page, then, since I have none to give you.”
Her sharp intake of breath is like a prick to my chest. I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Maybe she deservesmy words, maybe she doesn’t. But despite everything,thisis not who I am. I’m not this harsh or callous, this resentful or cutting.
I’ll never defend her actions, but I also won’t let them turn me into someone who clings to the past. Especially not when I’ve worked so hard to move forward.
Am I still hurt after all these years? Of course. But I’ve also learned that choices compound until one bad decision leads to another, and suddenly, you’re so far down the rabbit hole, you can’t find your way back to daylight.
I know because I’ve been in her shoes. Where her drug was meth, mine was ambition. I chased its high until it consumed me. Until I lost the one woman who saw me for who I was. To her, I wasn’t the guy on dumb billboards or overrated red carpets, but the man she gave her heart to, the one who vowed to protect and honor her, but didn’t.
The thought has me wishing I could turn back time, not just to swallow my harsh words to my mother, but to see the path I was on. The one that led to the dissolution of my marriage all those years ago. The one that led to Nisha and me being apart for so long.
“I didn’t mean that,” I say, my voice softer, my shoulders slowly releasing the tension gathered in them. “I . . . I don’t know what you were going through at that time, but I also don’t know how to sit here and pretend the last twenty-six years didn’t happen.”
She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I know. I’m so, so sorry, Patton. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the biggest was not being the kind of mother you deserved. I was really messed up at the time. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a regret I’ll live with for the rest of my life.”
She brushes her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m not asking you to pretend. I know I can’t undo the past or give you back your childhood . . . or all those moments I missed. But I amasking you to find it in your heart to forgive me.” Her shoulders hunch. “And if you can’t, I understand that, too. I probably deserve that.”
My gaze catches Rachel’s from behind the counter before she pretends to remember something, scurrying off toward the double doors.
I look out the window next to the booth. “Why didn’t you come back for me? After you got out of jail, I mean. I . . .” I trail off before clearing my throat, my voice softer. “I waited for you every day, Mom.”
“Oh, Patton.” My mother drops her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking with her quiet sobs. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about hearing you call me that.”
For a moment, I think about reaching across the table to grab her hand, but I’m not ready—honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be. So instead, I tighten my jaw and look up at the ceiling, holding back my own tears.
Her sniffles subside before she lifts her face, red-rimmed eyes bouncing between mine. “I did come back for you.”
My brows draw together. “What?”
“It was by pure chance that I found you, actually, since the state denied me your whereabouts, even after I petitioned. About three months later, I wandered into a county fair where kids from a local performance arts center were doing a play.” A smile tugs on her lips. “I knew it was my boy the moment I saw you up there, playing the Scarecrow fromThe Wizard of Oz. You were so talented, even back then.”
“Clearly not talented enough for you to want me back.”
The words are out before I can stop them, bitterness crawling up my throat. I’d just told myself I was going to move past the resentment, yet here it is, rearing its ugly head again.
She flinches at my tone. “Ididwant you back. You were my son. You still are. I had every intention of approaching you andyour foster family. But then I saw how happy you were . . . how your foster parents showered you with hugs and praise right after the show. They looked genuinely glad to be a part of your life. There were other kids there, too, high-fiving you for such a good performance. I’d never seen you so happy, so well taken care of . . . certainly never with me.”
