I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. What was I supposed to say? That I was lying in my childhood bedroom, feeling like a coward? That I’d spent dinner being told my life choices were worthless and I hadn’t defended myself? That I might be able to save things with my mom, but only if she stopped blindly following my father?
Fine. Family stuff is always weird.
Yeah. I get that.
My mom told me she’s been seeing someone. A guy named Frank. They’ve been together four months.
I sat up, reading the message twice. Angie was dating. After Patrick. After everything.
How are you feeling about that?
Weird. Good weird, I think? He seems nice. And she seems happy.
I told her about you.
My heart stopped. Then restarted, hammering against my ribs.
You did?
Yeah. About us. About how scared I am and how much I care about you anyway.
She said love is always a risk. That the question is whether it’s worth taking.
I read the messages three times, then set the phone on my lap and stared at the ceiling some more.
Tanner had told his mother about us. Had sat down with her and admitted he was falling for someone who played the sport that killed his father—had trusted her with that fear instead of hiding it. He'd chosen honesty over self-protection, had risked her worry and her disappointment because keeping us a secret felt worse than facing whatever came next.
And what had I done? Sat through three hours of bullshit. Let my parents believe I was still the version of myself they wanted, other than football. Proven my father right about me being too afraid to commit to anything real.
I picked up the phone again.
I'm proud of you. That took guts.
It felt like the right time. She told me about Frank, I told her about you. Fair trade.
How'd she take it?
Better than I expected. She's worried about me getting hurt—not by you, by the football thing. But she said love is always a risk.
She sounds smart.
She is. I'm lucky.
I stared at the words, at the casual way he described a mother who responded to hard news with wisdom instead of ultimatums. A mother who worried about her son's heart instead of her own reputation.
Yeah. You are.
The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Appeared again.
I wish you were here.
Me too.
Two more days. Then we’re both home.
Yeah. Two more days.
I set the phone aside and closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. All I could think about was Tanner at his mother’s house, sitting on some back porch or in some kitchen, having conversations I was too afraid to have. Being brave in ways I couldn’t seem to manage.
