I shook my head, not bothering to point out that he certainly wasn’tmyfellow anymore—if he ever had been.
Mom took a meditative sip of tea. “You know, Mary, there is no version of this story where you don’t make mistakes.”
“What story?” I rubbed my forehead to smooth the lines I could feel forming. I’d probably wake up with gray hair, too. “My first dance, you mean?”
“Your life,” she corrected. “It’s the nature of existence. To err is human. We screw up, and then screw up some more.”
“But I don’tlikebeing in the wrong.” I jabbed a hand at my midsection. “This is the worst feeling in the world. Ihateit.” Dad’s warm hand landed on the back of my head. I took a deep breath before continuing. “I tried really hard not to do all the dumb things you’re not supposed to do, and Istillmessed everything up. It’s not fair.”
“We all have to face our fallibility at some point,” Mom said. “If we didn’t, it would be too easy to turn into sociopaths.” Dad cleared his throat, their private shorthand fortake it down a notch.
She took a deep breath before continuing. “Remorse forces us to take a hard look at ourselves. It gives us the strength to grow, and the courage to do the right thing next time—or at least try. Speaking of which.” Mom sat forward, smacking the arm of the sofa with an open palm. “I think you know what you have to do now.”
I scowled at her. Unlike my mother, I couldn’t flip the switch from despair to resolve at the drop of a hat.
“Sometimes we have to admit our mistakes,” she went on, brimming with conviction. “However painful that may be.”
Dad and I gave her matchingcome again?looks.
“What?” she asked. “It’s good advice.”
“Yes,” Dad agreed. “Although a bit ...mmm.”
“If you have something to say, I wish you’d say it.”
He coughed. “I suppose I was thinking ... ‘physician, heal thyself.’”
Mom started to puff herself up like a turkey.
“It’s true,” I said quickly, relieved to be discussing someone else’s flaws. “Apologies are not your strong suit.” We all knew when she was sorry; there was a very particular look her face got, sort of chastened and uncomfortable. But it was always implicit. She wasn’t one to say the words.
“Nonsense.” Mom made a shooing motion with her hand. “I’m woman enough to admit when I’m wrong. It just doesn’t happen very often.”
“Or ever,” Dad said, not quite under his breath.
“That’s ridiculous. You just don’t recall.” Dad’s faulty memory had long been her argumentative ace in the hole.
He set down his mug. “By all means, refresh my memory.”
“I can think of one right now.” She gave him a smug look. “On our second sabbatical in England, when we took that side trip to Yorkshire.”
“I remember the trip,” Dad said. “We carried the twins in packs on our backs.”
“Then you should also remember the argument we had about visiting Haworth. I said it was too late in the day to set out and we’d never make it in time, because it was the off-season and they were sure to be closing early. You insisted we go anyway.” Mom crossed her arms. “The rest is history.”
“I’m afraid I don’t recall the argument,” Dad said mildly. “It was a lovely afternoon, though. Didn’t we stop for a cream tea afterward?”
“Exactly.” Mom inclined her head. “Because you were right, and I was wrong.”
His brow furrowed. “And you acknowledged that fact, in so many words?”
“Of course!” She gestured at me. “Mary heard me.”
“I wasn’t born then,” I reminded them.
Mom cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m talking aboutright now. I believe my exact words were ‘you were right, and I was wrong.’”
“Just to be sure I’m following,” Dad said, “you mean to tell us that this evening you apologized for something that happened twenty years ago?”
