Mom swats my hands down. “So you’ve had luck in your life. Why are you acting like it’s a bad thing? All your success, the accident. You know how much worse that could’ve been? You could’ve died.” She shakes her head. “So no, your luck isn’t a bad thing. I, for one, am grateful for it.”
“I’m grateful I was okay, too, Mom,” I say. “But that was a really hard time.”
“It made us stronger,” Mom says.
“I needed you.” My voice is a low whisper, but my words are clear. I only have to say it once. “I felt so alone.”
A small gasp comes out of Mom’s mouth. “And we got through it.” She closes her eyes. “Help me understand. Would you rather be unlucky? Would you rather not have good things happening to you?”
“Maybe I’d rather it be neither,” I say, scanning over the shelves of books and the vases of flowers. I can sense my focus is drifting, probably so I can avoid confronting this truth. “And everything isn’t just happening to me.” I feel hesitation as this comes out.
Because if everything isn’t happening to me, how do I explain everything in the past month that has felt like that? If I’m claiming to not have been a recipient of good luck, then maybe I haven’t been a victim of bad luck, either.
“I’ve never rubbed my luck in any of your faces, but it’s kind of feeling like you all think I have. When you attribute my hard work to luck, it devalues what I’ve worked for,” I add, gaining confidence. “It erases who I am, in a way. There are opportunities I made for myself over the years, hard decisions I had to make.”
“Ah,” she says, murmuring to herself. “So this is where it’s coming from. You’re stressed.”
I rub my hand along my neck. “Yes, I am, but that’s not why I’m saying this.”
“How can you be stressed when there’s so much to be grateful for?” Mom asks.
“I’m stressedandI’m grateful,” I say. “I can’t help but have emotions. Neither can you, and that’s okay. But never processing those emotions? We’re not doing ourselves any favors when we do that.”
Mom grabs her cup and holds it firmly between her hands. It’s unlikely I’ll break through to her in a single conversation, but at least I’ve said my peace.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say here,” she says.
“This isn’t a test. I just wanted to tell you that.”
“Okay.”
“And one more thing. I didn’t try to win the lottery.” I feel the need to clarify. “I wasn’t looking for an easy out.”
Mom looks confused. “Isn’t anyone playing the lotterytryingto win?”
“It was about a girl.”
She smiles. “Earlier on the deck. You and Hazel… you shook us, I think. Don’t be too mad at Jane. She’s also stressed.”
This gets my attention. “Is she okay?”
“She… well, she doesn’t want to be part of your father’s company anymore,” Mom reveals. “I think maybe she sees you doing what you want, and she’s jealous. Your sisters, they’ve never had your luck—” She holds her hand up. “They’ve never felt like they could make decisions in the way you have.”
While I was so adamant about figuring everything out on my own, my sisters followed the path our dad laid out for them.
I hear Maxwell’s voice in my head.Mindset. Expectations. Listen to your gut. Be open to new experiences.
“Jane doesn’t need luck,” I tell Mom. “Neither does Eva. They can make their own.” I start to stand but drop back down in the chair to say this last part. “Please tell Warren I’m sorry, too. Maybe go easy on him. It sounds like he might be struggling with saying goodbye to a career he loves.”
“Warren loves his work, yes, but he’s the one who’s talked about retiring,” Mom says. “It’s time.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not still hard.” I stand and squeeze Mom’s shoulder. “See you in the morning.”
“Goodnight. Oh, and Logan?” Mom whispers. I turn from the archway entry. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Hazel won the raffle. I hope she likes golf.”
I laugh dryly. “Well, isn’t that just my luck?”
She smirks and flips back to where she left off in her book as I head upstairs to the guest room that Mom’s made up.
