“But you hadwork.” I emphasize that word, punching it out.
She’s quiet, her lips mashing as her eyes flit to her lap, her mind seeming to sort through how to respond. Her lips part with a breath, and it takes her a few more seconds to look at me again.
“Your dad told me to go. Every time. Your dad asked for the divorce, and not because he was bitter or angry, or because we didn’t get along. He wanted to force me to pick me. Because he knew I wouldn’t.”
My mouth hangs open, and I laugh once without sound.
“That makes zero sense.” I shake my head and rack my brain for the any evidence I have that supports her version.
“I know it doesn’t. And I probably shouldn’t have gone along with it. It took some convincing, for sure. In fact . . .” She pulls the mud photo out again and flattens it on her thigh.
“This was about the same time I was offered the Chief of Staff job in Tulsa. The new mayor was a friend of mine from college. She knew I was trying to break into the politics and PR world, so she reached out with an incredible offer.”
I don’t remember my mom ever working in Tulsa.
“You didn’t take it?”
She shakes her head, confirming so.
“Your dad was the new coach, and he was so excited about it. And you guys were young. I would have had to spend weeks away and weekends in Tulsa, or we would have had to move. I couldn’t do that to your dad, and I didn’t want to leave you. So I turned it down.”
My gaze drops to the floor as I consider how that decision squares with everythingIknow about my mom. She’s always been selfish. I can’t imagine her turning down something so huge. It doesn’t jive with who she is.
“Your father didn’t know I had the offer,” she adds. My gaze flashes to her face, and her expression is resolute, mouth a solid line, eyes unflinching. “And when he found out about it, and that I turned it down, he felt . . .”
“Guilty,” I say.
My mom nods.
“Among all the other emotions in that family of feelings.” She sighs and shifts so she faces me more head-on. I do the same.
“I told him it wasn’t a big deal, that I would take the next one. And the woman who did work for Lianna—that was my friend, the mayor—she ended up running for congress a few years later. She won.”
“Allysa Saunders,” I hum. I remember my mom helping with her campaign. We had posters all over the house, and I liked coloring the letters in. I probably wasted a dozen of those things with my markers. My mom never got angry at me for it, though.
“Yep. Alyssa wanted to take me with her, but your dad had just won state. So, I didn’t tell him.Again.”
“But you ended up in Washington around then. I know you worked for Alyssa,” I contradict.
Her gaze falls again, and a sad laugh leaves her lips with a tiny breath.
“I did. Your dad pays more attention than any of us give him credit for. He figured it out, and when I insisted I didn’t want to take the job, he saw through my bullshit and asked me for a divorce.
“That was probably the first real fight we ever had. But your dad knew I would never leave this—him, my girls, Sweetwater—unless he forced me to. And he knew I would have probably resented him for it one day. My work gives me so much joy, Renleigh. I know it’s hollow sounding, but you never knew your grandmother.
“My mom? She was a housewife, and my father was so stifling. She had this incredible mind, and she tried to volunteer for community groups just to use her voice. He never let her. He made her small. And I was so afraid of feeling the way she did.Your dad was the opposite of my father, though. And he’d rather make life hard for him than limit my potential.”
She pauses with a soft laugh, shaking her head before looking up at the ceiling.
“I know how self-centered it all sounds, but the way my self-esteem blossomed when your dad pushed me to pick myself. It was . . . addictive. I became the person I sketched out in my mind when I was a teenager, the strong personality my mom buried. And even though we weren’t still legally married, I had this man—my best friend—who rooted me on the whole way. Who was the best girl dad around. Who loved his life in Sweetwater, and coaching those boys, so much he knew he couldn’t give that up to move to Boston, or Washington, or Houston.
And you and Linds . . . you had friends here. You were happy. It worked. And maybe it only worked for me, and I’ve made all of that up to justify the life I’ve led. But you girls turned into incredible people. I’ve done enough for me now. It’s your time, you and Lindsey. Though your sister is going to need some help.”
I gurgle an irritable laugh over my sister’s situation as my mom leans into me.
“She’ll get through it. She’s better off,” I say, shifting my gaze to my mom’s.
“She is,” she agrees. “And now, it’s my turn. I should have taken it sooner. I didn’t realize how much like me you are.”
