“And even more, I am sure youdoknow where I live, since I guarantee you had Uncle Tino check the MLS when I bought the place, and he gave you the listing. I’m sure you and Aunt Katewere combing through the online listing, hemming and hawing about all of the problems.”
Silence fills the line before she sighs.
“I was just curious!”
I laugh and shake my head. Although I’ve been out of the house for years and years, some things never change, and my mom’s need to be in my business is one of them. Thankfully, these days she does it from afar. “So what you’re telling me is you’re never gonna let me see this place for yours?”
‘There’s no guest room yet, Mom. But I’m working on it. I’m thinking you could come here for the holidays.”
“The holidays? Like these holidays? The photos I saw looked like at least a year of work, if you were doing it alone.” And she would know, since she still works for my dad’s company, scheduling the jobs. She never liked to get her hands dirty with the work, no matter how much my dad teased her about it, but she was always great with the business side. I hesitate to answer, knowing that if I say what I want, it means she will never be off my ass.
For some reason, I find myself saying it anyway.
“I’ve had some help,” I say. “So I might be able to get things moving a bit faster. Some of the guys who live up here have been pitching in, and one of my clients is actually here for the summer, so she’s been helping a lot.”
“She?” Mom says, picking up on only one word, inevitably.
“Mom,” I say, though I know the warning falls on deaf ears.
“Please tell me it’s Willa,” she says.
“What? Why?”
“Because you two have been toeing around one another every single time I go to one of those events with you.”
I let out a loud laugh, shaking my head.
“No, we have not,” I say, though she’s been to enough events as my date, always so excited to see the glitz and glam, that she’sseen Willa and me in the same room more than enough times over the years.
“You have! Every time she’s there, you always have an eye on her, know what she’s doing, anticipating what she might need.”
“I do that for all of my clients,” I argue, something I’ve always argued internally, but something that, lately, I’m wondering if it was really some kind of justification, some excuse I didn’t want to look too closely at.
“You don’t do it for those boys of yours,” she says, and I know she means the members of Atlas Oaks. A classic suburban mom to her core, Mom treats anyone she deems a friend of mine as if they’re just a neighborhood kid, even if they’re multi-platinum rock stars.
“It’s not the same, and you know it. The media is harder and far less forgiving on her than they are on the band,” I say, though the excuse feels hollow. “Anyway, yes, it’s Willa, but don’t get your hopes up. We have a strictly professional relationship.”
“Sure, you do,” she says, and that single word tells me all I need to know. I open my mouth to argue, to continue to tell her that it’s not the case, that she needs to nip whatever idea she’s stirred up in her mind, but before I can, she’s speaking again and throwing me back when she does. “You sound happy,” she says. “You sound…at peace.”
I don’t miss the surprise or the relief in her voice.
I tip my head back to take in the trees of my yard, and I sink into the chair once more, bringing my coffee to my lips for a small sip. “I am.”
Time passes, though it’s not uncomfortable, before she speaks again.
“I worried, you know. About you. Heading down the path you were. I’d seen it once before, and I’ve been worried.” She doesn’t know about my health scare, doesn’t know that for a moment, I also thought that I was headed down that path, and it’s whatpulled me back, and right now, I’m glad she doesn’t. I’m glad I didn’t add any more stress to her plate. “But you seem better. Healthier. You sound like you’re balancing better. I hope you can hold onto that.”
“I’m…I’m trying,” I admit. “I’m well aware that dad worked like crazy when I was a kid, and we both know how that ended.”
“Stubborn man just like you, worked himself to the grave.” I smile at her familiar refrain, still annoyed by my dad in death, as was their way. “He wouldn’t want you to make that same mistake. He’d want you to choose happiness.” That knife twists in my chest, but before I can respond, she continues. “I’m proud of you and all you’ve accomplished with your career, Leo, but it’s not all there is in life. You can have all the success in the world, but what does it matter if you don’t have anyone to share it with?” Her words echo the ones I thought that day in the ambulance, but again, I keep that to myself.
“Mom, I’m happy with the way things are for now,” I say, even if the lie tastes sour on my tongue. Six months ago, it was true, or at least, I had told myself it was. And even three months ago, it was true. Once I had my plan in place, once I started taking steps towards finding my peace, towards restructuring my priorities, I was happy with what I allowed myself to have. But in the last month, I don’t know if I believe it anymore, if I believe I’m happy with the way things are, especially when it comes to my relationship with a particular sunny blonde.
We’re friends now, but is that enough?
Eight years ago, a month ago, a week ago, I told myself it was the only way for us to both have what we wanted, but maybe I was wrong all along.
As if responding to my thoughts of her, I hear the familiar sound of tires on gravel out front and stand, walking into the house and setting my cup in the sink.
