"Right now? No," I admit, shaking my head. My throat feels tight as I continue. "Hereallyhurt me, Mom. A year. A whole year of anxiety, fear that I was doing everything wrong, on top of taking care of the boys by myself, and fielding their questions about their father until they just stopped asking. He neglected us, he ignored us, he chose... he chose this."
She nods, understanding.
"But..." I shrug helplessly, smiling sadly through the pain. "I love him. I love him so much it hurts. Maybe... but I don't know. I feel like I've lost so much this last year, not only my husband, but myself. I don't... I don't know who I am."
Tears burn behind my eyes, my voice shaking, climbing higher with every word. "And I thought one thing about Atlas, and now I find out it's another, and I feel sosadfor him that he was struggling... but I'm also so mad at him because why did he pull away from me when I could have helped him?! I would have understood! I would have held him through it, I would have loved him through it..."
I laugh bitterly, clutching at my head, running my hands through my hair, and pulling.
"And then I think that I did something that kept him from talking to me, and—God, my mind is so tangled right now," my voice breaks, and I hitch a sob, "I love him, and I hate him. I want to kiss him, and I want to push him away like he did to me. I want to shake him and scream why?! Why couldn't you just talk to me?! Why punish your sons?! And I want to hold him and never let go and tell him that I'll protect him fromanything, but he just needs to talk to me..."
Diane pushes off from her chair and wraps me in her arms as I break into sobs, holding me through this.
Noah peeks his head around the corner, and I try to hide my face, so it looks like I'm just hugging Grandmom, not unraveling into her embrace.
"Noah, sweetheart," Diane says, her voice sweet and gentle, "why don't you go outside with your brother for a bit?"
"Is Mama okay?"
His concerned little face makes more tears spring to my eyes, but I try to quickly wipe them away and paint on a smile.
He walks over and wraps his small arms around my waist, and I clutch him, my baby anchoring me to the ground.
"I'm okay, baby," I tell him softly, rubbing his back. "I'm just having some big feelings right now."
"You always say it's okay for boys to cry, Mama," he says seriously, tilting his head up to look at me. "You always say that."
"I do."
"It's okay for Mamas to cry too," he says, squeezing me tighter.
A couple of my tears fall into his ginger hair, and I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead.
"You're the best," I whisper. "You know that?"
"Heavy," he says solemnly, quoting his new hero—Marty McFly. I laugh and kiss his head once more.
I laugh softly and kiss his head again. "I love you."
"I love you too," he says, smiling wider now.
"Can you go outside with your brother?"
"Can I bring my sketchbook?"
"Of course," I say gently. "How are you gonna draw me an autumnlanscrapewithout it?"
"Landscape, Mama," he corrects smugly.
"That's right," I nod, patting him toward the door. "Put your sweatshirt on. It's getting cold."
"Okay!" He calls, and moments later, I hear the front doorclose.
I take a few deep breaths, steadying myself, before turning back to Diane.
"You and those boys keep on keeping on," Diane says decisively, nodding once. "You follow through with this year. Atlas needs to heal—and he's the one who needs to do the work."
Chapter Seventeen
