Instead she gently rocks me back and forth on the floor while I cry. All the stress and anxiety of the last week has caught up with me at once.
After a few minutes, my sobs subside and the tears stop. Valencia gently smooths the back of my head and down my neck. When I’ve calmed down, she leans away from me but still keeps an arm around my shoulders.
“What’s going on?” she asks. Her voice is calm, without an ounce of judgment or anger. “Did something happen at therapy?”
“No.” I wipe at my face. “I...” What can I say? Their retired FBI agent neighbor knows I’m not her son and I freaked out? If she isn’t mad now, she’d be furious then. And there’s a deep, selfish part of me that doesn’t want this moment between us to end.
Her comforting voice. The way she holds me like she doesn’t know how to fix me but wants to protect me from everything that might be hurting me. Because that’s how I feel right now.
The way she’s looking at me, there’s no way she could have hurt Nate. Because right now, if I told her Grant came to talk to me at the library and that’s what freaked me out, she would probably drive to his house and burn it to the ground.
The thought makes me laugh.
“I don’t know. I felt...” I can be honest about this at least. “Trapped. I got home and I felt so trapped and claustrophobic, and I needed to get out of here.”
She picks up one of the protein bars from the floor. “We ran out of these over the weekend. So you’ve obviously been feeling trapped for some time now.”
I nod. “I’m sorry.”
“Come on.” She pats my shoulder, then stands, groaning as her knees pop. “Sorry, I was starting to lose the feeling in my legs.” She sits on the edge of the bed and gestures for me to sit next to her, so I do. Valencia reaches for my hand and clasps it between both of hers.
She takes a steadying breath as she stares into the distance and I brace myself.
This is when she should start yelling. But instead she turns to me and speaks calmly.
“I know that I can never understand what you went through over the last ten years.”
Her words are supposed to make me feel better, but they don’t. She’s still talking about the lie. It’s always the fucking lie.
But, as usual, instead of coming clean I let her continue.
“However, I can tell you whatIwent through.”
Oh, please don’t. But there’s a lump in my throat that blocks the words.
“The worst part for me was not knowing. I woke up every day for months wondering if that was the day they would find you. Some days—and I’m not proud to say this—I wondered if we’d hear worse news. Then soon it became every other day. Or once a week. Eventually, I didn’t think I’d ever hear anything again. But I never stopped thinking about you. Every night before bed I’d talk to you inmy mind and tell you what was happening in our lives. And what I hoped was happening in yours. Pretending you were somewhere else, alive and happy and living your life.” She gives a sad laugh and pats my hand. “Maybe that’s not healthy, but you can ask your therapist about that.”
I have no idea if it’s a healthy coping mechanism or not, but I can’t blame her either way. And now as I watch her speak, I believe it’s impossible for her to do anything to hurt either of her children.
“Getting you back was the happiest day of my life since you were born.” She reaches out to put a hand on my cheek. Meanwhile, the imaginary knife in my gut twists my intestines like a forkful of spaghetti.
Tell her tell her tell her.The words repeat in my head over and over, but I can’t do it. Not after what she said.
“In college I read this quote by a woman named Bessie A. Stanley—of course, it’s attributed to Emerson because why would we give a woman writer the credit? But anyway, I kind of took it to heart. I don’t remember all of it, but I remember ‘To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.’ She says it in the context of success, but I think it’s more about why we’re all here. And I know my purpose in this world has always been to be your mother. You and Easton both. Because nothing—nothing—makes me happier. I am so proud of you both, every day.” She smiles, but tears spill down her cheeks. “I know I missed out on ten years, but even now I can see how you haven’t changed. You’re still the sweet, kind, and so damnfunnykidyou were ten years ago. You get that from my mom, by the way. Your dad and I are not funny.”
I laugh. I can’t help it, but I do. I take the time to wipe my own tears from my face and look away from her.
Valencia waves a hand at the duffel bag, clothes, and food still strewn across the floor. “I’m not going to pretend I understand what’s going through your mind. But I want you to know that I love you. For always and always.” She takes another breath. “And now I know you can take care of yourself. So I willaskyou to please stay. Give us a chance to make you feel more welcome here.”
She gets off the bed and starts packing up everything in the duffel bag again. I’m about to ask what she’s doing, but she’s already done and zipping it up by the time I get the nerve to say anything. Then she holds it out to me.
“You can keep your bag packed and ready to go.” She looks like what’s she’s about to say next is going to hurt, but she steels herself and says it anyway. “And... if you decide you need to leave, I just ask that you tell me. You don’t have to tell me where you’re going. Though maybe you can... keep in contact. But if you can, if it’s possible, I’d like you to try and stay?”
I stare at her, not understanding. She said how badly she wished for me to come back every day—shit, no, she said how badly she wished forNateto come back every day. But here he is—at least as far as she knows—yet she’s willing to let him go?
The duffel bag feels heavier when I take it. “Why?” is all I ask.
Her cheeks puff up as she lets out a big breath. “I guess I’m hoping you’ll stay. But also because I mean it when I say I love you. I wantyou to be happy, and to feel safe. And considering you were on your own for eight months, I think you know better than us what makes you feel safe.”
