"No!" I say instantly, cutting her off. She snaps her mouth closed.
"I... I appreciate the offer, Mom, but I need to do this myself," I say, my voice firm, before it softens. "Do you understand?"
"I understand, honey," Diane says, smiling as she lays her hand over mine on the countertop. "I am so proud of you."
I shake my head. "For what?"
"For telling me. For actually doing something about the mess my son is making. It's very brave to admit when something is wrong. Most of us won't admit we have a problem until it becomes too late to fix. You're not waiting, you're moving—and that's something to be fucking proud of."
"Thank you, Mom," I whisper, and she leans forward,pressing a kiss to my forehead.
"Oh," Diane sighs, weary and wicked all at once. "Just wait until I tell Emmett. He's going to put the fear of God in Atlas. And then I'll have my turn with him..."
Chapter Six
Wendy
An hour and a half later, Liam, Noah, and I are sitting in our favorite pizzeria, Antonia's, stuffed with pizza and mozzarella sticks.
When I pulled into the parking lot, Noah let out an excited, ear-splitting squeal that made both me and Liam burst into laughter.
Gino, the owner—who named his pizzeria after his beloved wife—spots the boys the second we walk in and greets us like family. He's a good friend of Emmett's from school and knows the boys well, especially the fact that they're little cheese addicts.
Before, we'd get our food—a cheesesteak for Atlas, a half-pepperoni/half-cheese pie for me and the boys—and all four of us would squeeze shoulder to shoulder in a booth.
Today, the three of us sit in a corner booth under the signed picture of Frank Sinatra. Gino loves Old Blue Eyes, as evidenced by the Sinatra memorabilia on the walls and the crooning of "My Way" over the speakers.
Noah chatters about his new art project as he draws in his sketchbook between bites of pizza. Liam talks about his coach switching him from Shooting Guard to Power Forward after he shot up 5 inches over the summer.
"Just like LeBron," Liam says with a smug grin, taking a huge bite of his pepperoni slice.
"Oh, are we NBA-bound already?" I tease, taking a bite from my own slice.
"First college—Duke or UNC," Liam corrects me, deadserious. "National Championship, then the NBA Draft—first round, Sentinels, of course."
"You've got it all figured out," I say, the words warm with pride. "Don't forget about your Mama when you're rich and famous."
The silence stretches after that, and it feels a little heavy. Noah's still distracted by shading, but Liam looks at me a little sadly, his brown eyes—his father's eyes—melting before he glances down to the table.
"I could never forget you, Mama," Liam says, his tone uncharacteristically serious and full of emotion that he tries to force down. His voice cracks in half with his next words. "Wouldn't even be there without you."
His words make me feel seen in a way that I haven't felt in a while. That my sonseeswhat I do every day, that it doesn't go completely unnoticed.
I'll have to have a conversation with them soon, about divorce, about their parents not being together anymore. But for now, I'll take my son's words, hold them close, and take comfort in them.
When the time comes to have that hard conversation, I'll be prepared, and they'll know that no matter what, they will always have me.
Nothing will change. Not really.
"Thank you, baby," I whisper, reaching across the table to pinch his cheek.
The heaviness of the moment breaks, and Liam groans, brushing my hand away like a true teenager embarrassed by his mother. All is right in the world once more.
"Mom, I'm not a baby anymore."
"You'llalwaysbe my baby," I affirm, grinning and pointing at him. "Even when you're making the big bucks in the NBA. Especially then."
He can't help it—he smiles, shoulders loosening as he takes another bite.
