“It’s Thanksgiving.” That explains a lot. Why she’s here and madder than a hornet. Why Randall was so fucking outraged when I asked for that report.
“Yeah.” My mother scoffs. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“I totally forgot.” I bring a hand to my head, squeezing at the tension building across my forehead. “I’ve had a lot going on, and work has been insane?—”
“That’s not an excuse. Work is always going to be insane.” My mother huffs out a humorless laugh. “I obviously taught you boys how to focus on your careers, but somehow managed to leave you thinking that was all there was in the world.”
“I don’t think work is all there is in the world.”
“Well you surefuckingact like it.” She lifts one arm, waving it around in a motion that sends clumps of dirt and vegetation sailing around my entryway. “You and your brothers. You’re all self-centered workaholics who can’t be fucked to think about someone else.”
I want to argue with her. Want to plead my case.
But I’m not sure she’s entirely wrong.
I really wish she would stop using the F-word though. It’s creating an unexpected amount of trauma I’m not sure I’ll get over anytime soon.
“We just want to make you proud, mama.”
My mother’s eyes snap to my face. “I don’t need you to tell me it’s my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault.” I have great parents. I know this. My mom is one of the most beloved women in the United States,maybe even the world. Everyone knows her name. Recognizes her brand. Hell, ninety-nine percent of the population probably even own one of her many endorsed products.
But she was still always my mom. Cooked me dinner. Tucked me into bed. Showed me the importance of hard work and family bonds.
That’s why my brothers and I all work together. Because family is everything.
“We wouldn’t be where we are without you.” It’s meant to be a compliment. To make her feel better. To make her see she’s not at fault for mine—or any of my brothers’—shortcomings.
But it doesn’t seem like she takes it that way. If anything, my words seem to make my mom more upset.
The line of her shoulders squares, and her jaw sets. Eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, she stares me down. “I’ll keep that in mind moving forward.”
Without another word, she turns and marches out my front door, leaving it open behind her and me staring slack-jawed in her wake.
5
Walker
THE WEATHER IS fitting. Cold. Dark. Dreary.
Fucking mournful.
Just like me.
I pull in a deep breath, lifting my eyes to the metal roof over my head when the rain picks up, each drop echoing as it hits the building erected when my aunt and uncle bought this property twenty years ago.
I lean forward on the bench I’ve occupied at least once a week for all those twenty years, placing the flowers I brought across the engraved stone that spells out the duration of my mother’s life in letters and numbers. “Happy birthday, mom. I still really fucking miss you.”
My throat goes tight and I feel like I’m twelve again. Like I just lost her yesterday instead of twenty-five years ago.
“I thought I’d find you here.” My Aunt DeeDee’s voice doesn’t surprise me. She’s here almost as much as I am. Visiting with her sister.
There aren’t many people I’d be glad to see right now, but she’s one of them. Because I’ve got a question only she can answer.
“It’s never going to get easier, is it?”
I thought eventually I’d be able to move on. Move forward. That my mother’s death would stop haunting me.
