Mom’s eyes find Dad’s. “Archie’s right,” she declares. “As much as they need to respect and trust where we’re coming from, we need to respect and trust them back.” She heaves a breath in, then out. “I don’t want to worry so much anymore. I want what he said we can have.” She points at my beautiful, incredible, wise,seriously freaking hothusband. “I want to enjoy life. I want– I want to learn how to set aside anxiety. I want our kids to be able to be out of our sight for more than twelve hours without me thinking they’re dead. I want to bebetter.” She lays a hand on his cheek. “We’ve messed up so much,” she says. “I don’t want to mess up any more.”
Fred sniffs, holding his eyes open as wide as he can in an attempt not to cry.
Dadwilts.
“You haven’t messed up,” I say, willing him to look at me. When he doesn’t, I call for him. “Dad. Youhaven’t messed up.”
His head turns toward me, eyes hitting mine and bouncing away. “I have,” he disagrees. “And the only one who doesn’t seem to know it is me.”
“You–”
Archie squeezes my shoulder, stopping me.
I twist my head up to him.
“He has,” he murmurs, then smiles softly at my resulting frown, tapping the edge of it with his finger. “Forgiveness is not ignoring what’s been done. It’s allowing them the space to do better. You do him an injustice by sweeping it under the rug, forcing him to sit in his guilt. Give him his opportunity to make amends.”
Well, I hate the sound of that.
He huffs not-quite-a-laugh. “Your way is sweetness and grace to an angelic extent,” he allows. “But my way helps to prevent the spread of festering resentment on your part, and guilt with no place to go on his.” He sweeps a hand over my hair, tucking it behind my ear as my lips turn down. “I’m sorry. I’m being bossy. I mean only to give you advice, my darling. However, you know your family best, and if you believe that forgiving and forgetting is the better path, then we forgive and forget.”
“No,” Mr. Prim says, and we turn startled eyes to him. “I would like the chance to make amends.”
“I don’t need amends,” I reply. “If the only thing you do istryto trust and support my choices going forward, I’m good.”
“Ineed them,” Dad says. “Your mother can choose what form of forgiveness she would like, but I would appreciate the opportunity to make it up to you.” He looks at Fred. “And you. In whatever way I can.”
“Me, too,” Mom declares, grabbing Dad’s hand. “Both of us, together. We make mistakes as a team, and we fix them as a team.”
My heart squeezes, and the inkling of hope in my chest grows a little, winding around my veins and spreading.
“A team,” Dad agrees, eyes misty.
Fred clears his throat. “Well. I guess that’s fine then,” he mumbles. “Don’t know why everybody had to get all weepy about it.”
Wiping a tear from my cheek, I snort.
Mom cracks a smile, though small, but Dad’s determined face doesn’t change.
“We’re going to do better,” he promises. “And we’re going to make up for all of the years that we didn’t.”
“Okay,” I acknowledge softly. “If that’s what you need.”
“It is,” he replies with a firm nod. Mom concurs.
“All right,” Fred concurs with a casual wipe of his sleeve that is absolutely definitely not meant to clear any weepiness.
Dad stands and approaches the window, peering out at the backyard below it. “Our first step toward making amends,” he says, “will be intercepting Archie’s family downstairs before they can make off with the cake.” He turns, walking swiftly to the door. “They’re packing up the food now, so we must be quick.”
Mom jumps to follow him, muttering about asking for the recipe as well.
Fred and I lock eyes, and he blinks.
“That went well,” he says. “Your husband’s cool.”
“My husband can hear you,” I reply. “He’s not decoration.”
Fred’s eyes crinkle. “Yes, he is. He’s all over your room at home.”
