“You look brighter this morning. You were exhausted last night. Give me a minute and I’ll come and make breakfast.”
“I can make my own breakfast,” I reply, because she doesn’t have to run around after me, and I suffer a look that tells me she knows that but wants to do it. I ignore it and launch into what I want to say instead.
“I want to tell you something and it won’t be easy.”
She looks up from her pinning, concern on her face. “Is it work? You said the meeting went well.”
“No, work is fine. It’s something that happened a long time ago.”
She puts down her sewing, giving me her full attention, and I squirm a little at that.
“Back when you and dad were getting divorced, I didn’t handle it well, pretty badly in fact. I was confused and angry and I took that out on someone else. I thought I was different from everyone else and their happy families, so I bullied a kid who really was different. For a few months I made his life a misery. I’ve hated myself for it ever since, but I’ve been trying to make it up to him since I came back for the reunion. It’s one of the reasons I came back. I was a bad person back then. I shouldn’t have listened to my dad.”
Her sharp intake of breath at the mention of my dad is almost a hiss, but she can probably infer the nature of my bullying.
“That man,” is her only response as I go on to tell her more of what I did—the name calling, general shoving, making him drop stuff in the corridors. When I’ve told her I sit back and wait for her response.
“I’m sorry,” she says looking sad. “I should have realized what was happening and that you weren’t coping. I failed you.”
“No, Mom.” I leave my chair and kneel in front of her, reaching for her hands. “None of it was your fault.”
“Why didn’t you come to me when you were struggling, instead of your father?”
“I was never in doubt of your love, Mom, but I thought Dad was leaving because of me. I thought if I was like him, he wouldn’t leave.”
“Oh, baby.” She scoots forward in her chair and envelops me in a tight hug. “It was never about you.”
“I know that now,” I say when she releases me.
She cups my face with her hand. “You might have done bad things, but you are not a bad person, Reece, believe that. Your father on the other hand, he’s a terrible person.”
“Yeah, I know that,” I say quietly. I learned it the hard way.
“It’s good that you want to make it up to them.”
“Well, it’s not going so well at the moment, but I’m going to try again today.”
“You’re a good person, honey, they’ll come around. Can I ask who it is?”
This is the moment I’ve been dreading. I take a deep breath.
“Holden Pearce.”
“Oh, Reece!” The disappointment in her tone is enough to make me feel about an inch tall and I drop my eyes. I know how highly she regards him and with good reason. I slowly look up at her and see something else in her face—shame.
“I’ve been in his store at least once a month since it opened, and to think all that time he was looking at me as the mom of his bully.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“No, Reece, it’s Holden you need to say sorry to.” Her tone is almost scolding, but it’s milder than I deserve.
“I have, Mom, and I’m going there now to try again.”
“Good. I felt he was always a little distant toward me and now I know why. Poor guy.”
“Well, so far he hasn’t really accepted my apology.” At that the corners of her mouth twitch, as if in admiration that he’s not giving in easily.
“If you want it enough, he’ll forgive you. He’s a good man.”
