Mom didn’t look surprised. "She told you to talk to me?"
I nodded. "Says she’s tired of being our go-between."
A flicker of amusement passed between us, but neither of us smiled.
“So…” I began. Where to start… But then, without thinking, I said, “I hated that you didn’t cry at Gran’s funeral. Or Dad’s.”
She stared up at me, and her mouth opened, but no words came out.
“I know that’s unfair,” I continued, “but it messes with my head. I mean, I miss them so much. But you… You just carried on. Whenever I’ve cried—or been…too happy, or too angry—you’ve always acted like I’m too much. Like my emotions are a weakness or a burden.”
She looked away from me. "I wanted to be strong for you."
“Mom…” I needed honesty.
She was quiet for a second, then nodded slowly, the effort visible in the way her neck muscles tensed. “I never meant it to come across like that. You aren’t too much.”
Something in her eyes made her look a little lost, and already, a part of me that wanted to apologize for telling her this. But I squashed it. Instead, I just said, "You made it seem like I was.”
“You’re right. I’ve never been good at expressing things. Or allowing myself to…wallow. But Luna, I didn’t feel nothing. I miss my mom. Of course I do. And I miss your father dreadfully. But…this is just my way of surviving.”
I looked down at my hands. “I told myself you missed them, but…I never really saw it.” I thumbed at the fraying edge of one of the patches on my skirt. “Ashley says I shut you out. Do you think I might have learned that from you?”
“It’s a mother’s job to protect her children.”
“I know, but I’m not a child anymore.” I reached out and squeezed her hand, something that wasn’t really typical for us.
But it felt right in this moment. Needed.
“I just want…”
What did I want?
I knew we couldn’t change the past, but maybe we could change how we moved forward.
“I want you to be real with me. And I want you to let me be real with you. You keep things from me, like you’re afraid I can’t handle it. Like I’ll fall apart. Yes, I feel things. I show it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable. And…you don’t do that with Ashley.”
She shifted, then winced slightly. For a second, I thought maybe it was the conversation—until I noticed the way she pressed her hand to her hip.
Maybe it was both.
Either way, I never wanted to see her hurting. Not physically. Not emotionally.
I stood and plugged in the heating pad. When she leaned forward, I tucked it behind her back. She exhaled as the warmth kicked in, her shoulders easing just a bit.
“I’m sorry, Luna,” she said softly. “You girls have always been so different.”
“But different is good sometimes? Right?” I needed to know she was hearing me.
“It is.” She smiled faintly. “I know I haven’t always been fair to you.”
“No,” I agreed. “You haven’t.”
She stared out the window and then sighed. “Gran was always better with you. No matter how hard I tried.” But then she shook her head. “It’s not that you were too much—it’s that you weren’t afraid of anything. And that scared me half to death. Always so impulsive, just like my mother. And creative. And colorful. No wonder you got on so well.”
She smiled faintly, but then it faded.
“When you left home at eighteen, I didn’t think you really understood how hard it could be.” Her gaze dropped for a moment. “Your dad—the eternal optimist—insisted you’d do just fine.” She gave a quiet breath of a laugh, small but fragile. “That left me to do the worrying.”
