“Jocelyn, don’t take this on, babe.”
“What is going on?” I repeated, slowly making my way around the table toward Mum because she was freaking me out. I hated seeing Mum in tears. She wasn’t a person prone to crying.
Dad looked ready to pounce on her as soon as she’d let him. The fact that he didn’t do it meant he was holding back for a reason.
Mum’s shoulders slumped as she met my gaze. “There’s a lot to tell you. First and foremost, I suffered PTSD around the time I met your dad. I started having panic attacks brought on by suppressed memories of my family.”
My lips parted in shock. “You?”
“Me. And not only that … I started seeing a therapist who was my therapist for a long time. She made me realize that I was also suffering PTSD and feelings of failure over the death of … my best friend.”
Stunned, I gaped at her. I knew about Mum’s best friend Dru dying in high school. I knew because she’d told me when Amanda died. She’d been horrified we shared such a terrible bond of grief.
However, she hadn’t told me she felt like she was somehow at fault for Dru’s death too.
“We had a fight at a party over a boy. It was a kegger at the river. She was drunk … she was not in her right mind, and she wouldn’t come down off this frayed rope swing that hung over the water. She fell in. I … couldn’t save her.” Mum shrugged sadly. “It took a lot of therapy and your dad to help me rationalize that situation. I should have told you about it. All of it. About the panic attacks. I … I haven’t had one in so long …”
“In ten years,” Dad supplied hoarsely. “The day Beth turned fourteen.”
Mum’s lips trembled as she asked in awe, “You remember that?”
“I remember everything, babe.” And he was done keeping his distance. He crossed the room and pulled Mum into his arms. She didn’t fight. She melted against him, her crying soft, quiet.
It unnerved me to see her like that.
Mum was always so strong, so together.
Like I pretended to be, I realized.
Goodness, we were more alike than I knew.
Dad gestured to me with his free arm, and I didn’t hesitate. I practically dove into his embrace, wrapping one arm around him and the other around Mum. She pressed a kiss to my forehead as Dad bundled us close. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“You are not a failure,” she told me, her tone fierce. “You are a strong, kind, smart, wonderful daughter, and we are so proud of you. And we are here for you whenever you need us.”
After a long moment of holding each other, we finally let go with tearful wee laughs. Dad settled us back at the table before brewing more coffee.
“Will you tell me about your panic attacks? You don’t have to right this second, but maybe at some point?” I asked Mum, afraid to push her, but thinking it might be helpful. Just knowing she knew what they felt like was a huge relief.
“Of course. The last one was because you turned the same age I was when my family died. I couldn’t get rid of the dread, like we were going to be taken from you.”
“Mum.” I hated that for her, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
She covered my hand with her other. “I was pretty messed up with grief when I met your dad and Aunt Ellie. Between themand therapy, I did a lot of healing. But grief isn’t linear. Like you’re discovering for yourself. It hits when you least expect it. I’m just so sorry you’re experiencing that.”
“Was the recurrence of the panic attacks what made you finally decide to tell us?” Dad asked, setting fresh coffee down on the table.
“No. It was Callan.”
That visibly surprised my parents.
“I had a panic attack in front of him and everything came out. I told him all of it.”
Mum nodded. “You needed someone to talk to.”
“I think I neededhim. But he told me that I needed to talk toyou. To tell you everything that’s been going on with me. I think … I think he might be for me what Dad is for you.” I hoped this recent distance between us wasn’t second thoughts on his part.
