Ripper touches his bruise and grimaces. “I didn’t expect them to be such scrappers.”
“Honey, you can save that for later.” My mom’s hand on my shoulder stops me from rising from the table. “Bruce and I flew all the way here just to see you. I’m sure work can wait.”
“Yeah, maybe Roger can handle something himself for once,” Hannah says, plucking a petal off the peonies in the table’s center vase.
“Sorry.” I sigh, settling back in my seat. “You’re right.” I glance at my mom. “And this is a great surprise, don’t get me wrong, but how exactly did you guys come to be here?”
“Hannah called and invited us to be their guests atSaturday Night Livelast night,” says my mother, and my head whips to Hannah.
Hannah shrugs, dumping a handful of sugar cubes into her coffee. “Your mom is listed as your emergency contact on your employment paperwork. Roger’s secretary gave me her phone number. You should probably talk to her about violating your privacy.”
My mom takes a delicate sip of her water. “We would’ve come to the show yesterday, but it was Bruce’s goddaughter’s wedding and we couldn’t miss it. Your friends were kind enough to fly us here and put us up so we could at least have today with you before you head back west.”
I turn to the Saints, unable to decide if what they’ve done is an invasion of space or a ridiculously sweet gesture. Kenny in particular is grinning at me beatifically. “And why would my ‘friends’ do this?”
“It’s natural that he’s suspicious,” Hannah explains to my mother. “We’ve given your son a fair amount of shit.”
Kenny dips a finger in his latte foam. “More than a fair share, probably.”
“We abandoned him on the streets of LA once,” Ripper adds thoughtfully, and my mother’s smile slips.
“But the truth is,” Hannah says, her eyes finding mine. “We know he’s a good guy.” She pulls another petal off the peony and rolls it between her fingers. “And he keeps talking about how he misses you and wants to find time to talk. So we figured, why not bring you two together. Who knows, maybe there are some things you want to get off your chest.”
I still, eyes locked on hers. Hannah must’ve heard me that day in Ginny’s room, when I talked about how I regrettedgrowing apart from my mom. I thought she’d fallen asleep, but she’d processed what I said and arranged this brunch—this whole day—to offer me a chance to make amends. It’s surprisingly thoughtful, in the most micromanaging of ways.
Is this what it feels like to be managed by me? I can only assume it is as Hannah raises a coy eyebrow, watching the realization sink in. “That said”—she clears her throat and stands—“we’ll leave you to your day. Brunch is on us, which means it’s on Manifest. So go crazy.”
“But don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Ripper adds, and the thought of what a very low bar that is makes me laugh despite the new thickness in my throat.
After the Saints say goodbye, and everyone in the dining room stops turning to stare at us, I clear my throat and glance at my mom and Bruce, suddenly bashful and unsure where to start.
But before I can say anything, Bruce leaps to his feet. “You know what, I’m going to head to the little boys’ room. And then maybe I’ll check out the lobby. I saw a fascinating collection of . . . ” He pauses a moment, thinking. “Um, cherub statues. You know how I love those.”
As Bruce winds through the restaurant, I raise an eyebrow at my mom. “Cherub statues?” She smiles. “All right, maybe he isn’t the best at thinking on his feet.”
“Well.” The two of us are now alone at the table, sitting side by side. I take a moment to study her face, all the familiar features that have meant comfort and home to me. This is my big moment to apologize for all the distance I’ve created since she married Bruce, to tell her that I know it’s irrational, but I haven’t been able to shake this sense of betrayal since the day he showed up.
But before I can begin, she says, “What a treat to have this time with you. You rarely come to visit anymore.”
I react defensively on instinct. “You know work keeps me busy.”
She rests her chin in her hand and looks up at me. She still wears the small gold watch I got her for her birthday with my first real paycheck at Manifest, back when I was twenty-three. If I end up getting my promotion, I’ll replace the timepiece with something better.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” we both blurt.
I do a double take. “Hold on.Youwant to talk to me?”
She nods.
“About what?”
“Well.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’ve always kept an eye on the news for any mention of you or your bands. I like to print off the articles and keep them in a scrapbook. Because I’m proud of you and the work you’re doing.”
I find her hand and squeeze it.
“But I have to confess,” she says, “it’s been hard to stomach lately.”
I frown and release her hand. “What do you mean?”
