So I picked up my phone, and called my mom.
It rang three times. I almost hung up—it was after midnight, she had to work tomorrow, she needed sleep—
"Baby?"
Her voice. Warm and worried and exactly what I needed and couldn't handle all at once.
"Hey, Mom."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I just—"
"Liam. What's wrong."
Not a question. She knew. She always knew. Could hear the shape of a lie in my voice before I'd finished telling it.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
"Baby, talk to me."
"I'm fine. I just—" My voice cracked. "I needed to hear your voice."
Silence on the other end. She was waiting and listening. It was the kind of patience she'd perfected raising a son who never talked about anything until he was already falling apart.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"In my car. Parking lot."
"At this hour?"
"Yeah."
"Why aren't you in your dorm?"
I couldn't answer.
"Liam." Her voice got softer. "What happened?"
Everything. Everything happened.
"Emily broke up with me," I said.
The words came out flat. Not even close to the truth but the only piece of it I could give her.
"Oh, honey."
"Tonight. At this event. She just—" I stopped. "She ended it."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's my fault." The words rushing now. "I messed it up. I've been messing it up for months. She deserved better and I couldn't—I wasn't—"
"Hey. Slow down."
I pressed my palm against my eyes. Hard.
"I don't know what I'm doing, Mom." My voice getting tighter. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be or what I'm supposed to want or—"
