“Red or white?”
“I’m not picky.”
I had an open red in the fridge so I poured us both a glass.
After we settled in, me with my feet tucked under me, my mom asked, “How are you holding up?”
“Not as well as I’d like.” I admitted.
“Go on.” That was Mom; she wouldn’t guess which of the clusterfucks surrounding my life was bothering me the most.
“It’s… all of it. But mostly it’s Dad and his sons acting like I’m fragile and can’t take care of myself.”
“His sons? I take it they’ve pissed you off.”
“Yes. No. Sort of. They’re overbearing and I don’t like it. I’m a grown woman for fuck’s sake.”
“Language.”
“Sorry.”
When Mom nodded her acceptance, the firelight tinted her gray hair orange.She has more gray hair every time I see her. Not literally every time, but her kids had a habit of getting intodangerous situations, and the stress of constantly fearing for their lives was taking its toll.
“I know they’re worried, but it’s too much. I’m not helpless and I served in the military longer than Jack or Jay, and for longer than Jamie was a cop.”
“Madi, you were a nurse, not infantry.”
Her words were a sucker punch to the gut. “You think I need them?”
“I didn’t say that; I just think you’re overstating what your military experience brings to the table in this context.”
She was right, but I didn't like admitting it.
“Maybe. But I’m not some delicate flower that needs to be coddled.”
“Did I ever tell you how your father acted after you and Jamie were born?”
“No.” I couldn’t imagine how it was relevant, but I wanted to hear the story.
“He was so overprotective, your brothers,”—she shook her head and laughed—“his sons, would seem downright uncaring in comparison. He wanted to wrap you both in bubble wrap and build a fortress around you.”
I laughed. Dad had a protective streak, but I didn’t remember him being insane about it.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously, and I didn’t escape his protective blanket. He asked friends at Weatherford PD to do extra drive-bys of the house. He didn’t want me leaving without him.” She sipped her wine. “God, the fights we had.”
I couldn’t picture Dad acting like that.
“He’s mellowed,” I said.
“He had to; he was driving me crazy. I felt like you do now, but his actions weren’t about me. He was afraid of losing us.”
She let that sink in.
I sipped my wine and thought about what she’d said. It sounded similar to what Meg said before we left for craft and booze night.
“What happened?” I finally asked.
