The doorbell rings just as I’m plating the roasted chicken. I wipe my hands on a towel and head toward the door.
Joshua stands on the porch with a crooked smile and a stack of books tucked beneath one arm. There’s an easy confidence about him I envy, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Hope you’re hungry.” I step aside to let him in.
“If I wasn’t before, I definitely am now. It smells amazing.”
“Nothing fancy. Just chicken, potatoes, and some sautéed vegetables.” I glance at the books as he sets them on the coffee table. “What’s all that?”
“Baby books. Mom kept everything.” He chuckles softly. “Thought you might want to see them. No pressure, though.”
Pressure. The word lingers between us more often than not. Pressure to make up for lost time. Pressure to connect. Pressure not to screw this up.
“I’d like that,” I reply and mean it. Hell, I’m the one who should have asked to see photos from his childhood. “But food first.”
We settle at the table, and for a while, the only sounds are knives and forks. He murmurs a few quiet compliments between bites, but I can’t help feeling uncertain. This is the first time we’ve truly been alone together. All our previous encounters have been in public with plenty to distract me from the truth that I don’t know what to say to my own son. Every move feels uneasy, like navigating a minefield in the dark.
“When we first spoke,” he begins after several protracted moments of strained silence, “you mentioned you did an ancestry kit to learn more about your mom’s roots?”
I nod, reaching for my glass of wine. “My father never talked about her family. After she died, he shut it all out. Wouldn’t answer questions. Wouldn’t keep photos up. It was as if she never existed. When he passed away a few years back, it felt like the right time to learn more about her. An ancestry kit seemed like a good place to start.”
He nods in understanding, since we both did it in the hopes of getting answers. “How did your mother pass away?”
I swallow hard, the ache I’ve been carrying since childhood returning. It’s dulled over the years, but it never goes away. And it’s not out of grief.
Instead, it’s out of regret. Blame.
Guilt.
“House fire,” I admit softly.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine…” He shakes his head, his sympathy more than I deserve. “My mom had cancer, so I had years to prepare, even if it didn’t make it any easier. But losing your mom so suddenly like that?”
“It was a long time ago.” I manage to sound neutral, despite the years I’ve carried the burden of her death.
“Do you have any other family?” he asks cautiously. “Besides your dad?”
“A brother. Miles. He’s three years younger. Lives in Florida with his wife and kids.”
His eyes light up. “I have cousins?”
The word hits me harder than I expected. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“I guess you do.”
“How old are they?”
“Lacey is the oldest. She’s six. And Nicholas just turned three.”
“I’d like to meet them one day. If that’s okay,” he adds quickly.
I give him a smile. “Of course.”
That will require finally telling Miles about the son I never knew I had, something I haven’t done yet.
“Are you two close?” Joshua asks, bringing a potato up to his mouth.
“Not as close as we were when we were growing up. The downside of getting older, I suppose. Still, he knows he can always call when he needs me. And I can call him, too.”
