Today, though, my mind is on Wills and Sophia. A whole new generation of Murphys.
It’s also on my fuckface father who I cut out of my life more than seventeen years ago without a backward glance or a second thought.
And it’s on my mom.
Mom, who failed in so many ways, while also giving us what she could. Mom, who raised three of us, all the while being the dutiful wife, the philanthropic volunteer, and the woman who was safe for us.
Almost.
My mother has Primary Lateral Sclerosis, a neuro-muscular condition that if left unguarded could have dire consequences.
We’ve walked through hell as a family in the last two years. Ayla’s accident, the amnesia, Cian and Sariah’s journey, and Dad. He’s enough drama on his own.
But Mom had all that while dealing with a degenerative condition and hiding it.
I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. To believe she wants what’s best for her kids and grandkids. The fact that in my visits to my brother and sister and my new niece and nephew I haven’t seen her means something. Is it that she’s avoiding groups or just me? Is she avoiding us as a unit? Or worse, avoiding her grandchildren?
God help her if she hasn’t visited her grandbabies because my father is unwelcome. If she’s avoiding them because of that man?—
Benefit of the doubt, Liam. Benefit of the doubt.
I press the button on the side of my helmet and wait for the beep. “Call Mom.”
It rings and rings, and I’m fairly certain it’s going to roll to voicemail when I hear her. “Liam?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Are you on that bike?” Her voice registers that tone of disapproval that used to let her get her way.
As if I give a shit one way or another for her approval. I moved out at eighteen and never looked back. But she’s still my mom.
“I am. How are you?”
“Are you safe, Liam? You know I worry.”
“Asshole drivers are the same whether I’m on my bike or in my SUV, but yes, I’m safe.” I rev the engine so she can hear the pipes. “But how are you?”
A deep sigh comes through the line and swirls around my mind. “I’m okay.”
Is that physical or mental? “Yeah? You feel okay?”
“I feel fine. You worry too much. You all do. Stop fussing.”
“Then why are you just okay?”
“Your father is…”
I don’t want to know how my father is. I don’t give a fuckhow my father is. But I’d be foolish to stop the free flow of information about a topic that can so easily derail my family.
“Well, he’s hard to live with, right now.”
That’s saying something. He’s never been easy to live with and, left alone at his whims and again after the last year, I can see where it could be worse.
“Are you safe, Mom?”
“Of course.” Her back is up. “Don’t you dare insinuate that?—”
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m straight out asking. I care if you’re not safe to be alone with that fucker.”
