1
Deidre
THIS IS ALL my fault.
If I’d been a better mother—more present, less focused on my career—maybe my sons would be sitting around the table I spent hours preparing, eating turkey and dressing. Maybe we would be celebrating the holiday together. Maybe they would have been happily paired up, building families of their own.
Maybe my house would be full of chaos and love instead of empty and silent.
“Why don’t you come sit down, sweetheart?” Ted rests one hand on my lower back. Normally, his touch would soothe me. Ease my stress and my worries. I might have been the one in the public eye all these years, but he’s been the one holding me up. Supporting me.
Loving me. Without him I would be nothing.
I thought my boys would see what we have and want it for themselves. That they would chase love as doggedly as they chase success. That building our family would be as important to them as it is to their father and me.
It appears I was wrong.
I turn to my husband. “Am I a bad mother?”
His head tips back enough I know he’s surprised by my question. “No. You love those boys unconditionally.”
“That’s not what I asked.” I do love my sons unconditionally. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t fail them. “I asked if I’m a bad mother.”
“Of course not.” Ted steps in front of me, blocking my view of the melting candles, cold food, and wilting centerpieces. “You’ve given them an exceptional life, DeeDee. Made sure they’ve had every opportunity to thrive.”
I want to believe him. Want to keep telling myself I did all the right things. Made all the right choices. But standing here in my empty house on Thanksgiving, it’s hard to deny I failed in at least some capacity.
“Then why aren’t they here?” I don’t ask for much. Do my best to let my sons live their lives. But maybe that’s yet another mistake. Maybe I gave them too much freedom growing up. Didn’t stress the importance of family. The value of having people supporting you. People to support.
“They’re busy, sweetheart. They probably just got tied up with work and lost track of time.” Ted continues attempting to placate me.
He’s always been the calm to my storm. The anchor of my ship. But who is anchoring my sons? No one. All they care about is work. Their business. Making more money. Expanding.
Not a single one of them has settled down. Got married. Created a family.
And I’m starting to think the fault for that lies at my feet.
“This is because they saw me always working.” I told myself it was okay because I could work while mothering them. That even if there were photographers and producers observing, I was still being a parent. I was still present.
But I was lying to myself. I showed them nothing was sacred. That family moments were also business moments. That every part of their lives should be mined for opportunity.
Did it make them successful as hell? In a financial sense, yes.
Personally? Absolutely not.
“You were working for us. You built an empire showing people how to improve their lives. How to find enjoyment in everything.” Ted brings his hands to my face, cradling my cheeks in his rough palms. “You are an incredible woman and you raised incredible sons.”
Incredible isn’t the word I would use to describe them—or me—in this moment.
I snort because there’s no way I can laugh right now, even bitterly. “Incredible sons who ignore their parents on Thanksgiving.”
“They’re not ignoring us, DeeDee.” Ted shrugs, like this genuinely doesn’t matter. “They just forgot is all.”
Somehow, that’s worse. Worse that they care so little about anything outside of their work that they don’t even notice it’s a damn holiday.
A holiday I explicitly reminded them of yesterday.
“I’m going to go find them.” I step away from my husband, scowling at what should have been a beautiful dinner as I pass. “I need to figure out how to fix this before it’s too late and they all end up miserable and alone.”
