“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m saying I didn’t fight hard enough. I told myself it was for you, but it was also because fighting your father felt impossible. There had already been years of it, and I was exhausted. I couldn’t take any more of the arguments and the manipulation. So I gave in. I thought there would be time. I thought I could fix it later.”
My jaw clenches. “And?”
“And I blinked.” Her voice cracks, and tears run down her face. “And you were grown.”
My throat tightens and fills with a painful lump that keeps me from responding.
She wipes her cheeks as if she’s angry at herself for crying. “I called. I tried to visit. Your dad told me you had practices, games, travel, that distractions would mess you up, that you didn’t feel like talking to me. It was always something.” A shaky breath slips out of her. “I should’ve gotten in my car anyway. I should’ve shown up anyway.”
I thought I was over this. I thought that nothing this woman could say would affect me anymore. That I was numb to her and what she did or didn’t do in my childhood. It’s obvious now that I’ve been carrying around a thousand-pound sack of issues where she’s concerned.
I don’t say anything because I don’t trust myself to speak right now.
She reaches for a tissue on Decker’s coffee table. Of course he has fucking tissues in his condo.
“I’m not crying for your pity.” She blots her tears. “I’m crying because I lost you. And I did it while telling myself I was doing the right thing.”
I sit back, stretching my arms over the armrests of the chair, my hands flexing on the leather.
“But I came here because you’re about to have a baby. And I don’t want you to make the same mistake that I did.”
“I’m not you.” My words lash out like a whip.
She flinches, but I don’t take it back. It’s the truth. It’s the whole reason I’m here talking to her today. I’m not her, and I won’t ever do what she did.
A sad smile tilts her lips. “You’re not. And I don’t want you to be.”
She stands, but she doesn’t move away. She just looks at me as though she’s trying to memorize my face after years of not seeing it in person.
“I know I’ve made a mess of our relationship. I might never earn you back.” Her voice drops. “But I’m still your mother, and I still want the best for you.”
A bitter laugh threatens, but I swallow it down. “How do you know what’s best for me?”
She frowns. “Because from the outside, you don’t look happy.”
I hate that she’s right. That I’m that transparent to her.
She steps closer. “You can tell yourself you’re fine. You can tell yourself you’ll figure it out later. That’s what I did. And later turned into months that turned into years.” She lifts her chin as if she’s forcing herself to stay strong. “All that hurt you have inside you—because of me, because of your father”—she presses a hand to her chest—“it poisons you. It leaks in and contaminates things you don’t expect. How you act. How you think. How you give love. How you receive love.”
My stomach turns over. Because I already know that. I’ve felt it every second since I walked out on Callie.
“I heard that you and Callie aren’t together right now.”
My body goes rigid as if she just lodged her finger in an open wound. She has no right to know what’s going on in my life. Fuck Decker.
Her expression softens. “When I saw you with her—from afar—you looked… lighter. Like you’d set down some of that weight you carry around.”
I stare at my hands.
“If you love her, go to her and tell her. Show her.”
My mouth opens, ready to argue. Ready to say it’s complicated. That she doesn’t know the whole story, and she never will. Mostly, to point the finger at her.
She cuts me off before I can. “Don’t go to win. Apologize without defending yourself.” Her voice breaks. “Choose her even if you’re scared she won’t choose you back. Let her see all of you.”
My chest burns as if I just walked into a smoke-filled building.
“I’m leaving town tonight. And I won’t be moving to Chicago.” She gives me a small, sad smile. “You deserve space. You deserve to become the father and partner you want to be without me in your face as a reminder of everything that went wrong.”
