“Claire called me the instant it happened,” his mother finally said. She wrung her hands repeatedly, and Winter watched the skin on her fingers turn light yellow from the pressure. “I couldn’t watch the video footage they kept showing on TV. They say there was an extortion scheme.”
He nodded. “That’s what I hear.”
His mother seemed to tremble. “I hope they lock them away for good.”
Winter struggled to take in her words, unsure what to say in response. “Me too,” he finally managed.
Another beat passed between them.
“I brought you some food,” his mother went on. “Pastries. They’re still warm, so you should eat them soon. Oh.” She frowned, her brows furrowing. “I forgot them in the car.” She started getting up from the bed. “Wo qù ná. I—”
“No, it’s okay,” Winter said, and she paused to look at him. “I don’t mind them cold. Thank you.”
“Of course. The shop was just around the corner from here. I should have gotten something else for you.” Her eyes darted around the room, settling on everything except for him. “I realized I don’t know what you like for breakfast. You did used to eat lemon bread.”
“I meant, thank you for coming all the way here,” Winter added. “To see me.”
His mother paled at those words. Her eyes widened a little, and in them, he could see the glimmer of hurt. “Why do you say that?”
He blinked. “Say what?”
She lowered herself back onto the bed and folded her arms. “I’m your mother,” she said after another silence. She sounded as if she were convincing herself. “A son shouldn’t have to thank his mother for visiting him.”
Winter let out a breath, guilt clouding his head. He didn’t know what to say anymore. “That’s not what I meant,” he started again. “I’m just glad to see you, Mom.”
She shook her head. “It is what you meant,” she replied, holding a hand up. “And it’s okay. I know I haven’t been a good mother to you.”
Winter felt his heart quickening. Five minutes in, and he was already screwing up their conversation. “No, Mom, that’s not true.”
She looked directly at him, and the expression in her eyes made him stop.
“I haven’t been a good mother to you, Winter Young,” she said again, slower and quieter. “And I haven’t been honest about that.”
Winter opened his mouth again, but the silence went on, and the chants from outside filled the space between them. They stared at each other.
At last, his mother broke their stare and looked at a spot on the bed. “Before Artie, I had a plan for everything. Good things require a plan, you know?” She glanced up at him, then quickly down again. “But after everything happened, I…”
She folded her hands in her lap and studied her pale fingers for a moment. Winter stayed quiet as she trailed off, his heart bleeding, unwilling to break the silence lest this version of his mother retreat back into her shell. For the first time since that night on the balcony, he could see a piece of her heart exposed.
“I’m not as strong as you are, baby bear. I can’t bear the weight of it. So I run.” She turned quieter. “I run and I run away from you. And I’m so sorry. But I promise I’m trying my best. I want to be here. I want you to know that, okay?”
He noticed she didn’t say that she would stop running. She knew she couldn’t, and he knew, too.
There was an urge in him to tell her that he wasn’t what happened in her past. That he was more than just a reminder of her pain. But the words remained unspoken. It didn’t matter how many times his mother left him, how many times she forgot him or neglected him. All that mattered to him in this moment was that she had come to see him today. His whole heart wrapped around this knowledge, this seemingly small gesture that he knew had been so difficult for her.
“I know, Mom,” he said gently. He fought to steady his voice as if his life depended on it. “It’s okay. You’re here.”
She searched his face, her jaw tight from holding back unshed tears, and nodded repeatedly in a small, quick motion. A glimmer of a smile appeared on the edges of her lips. “I’m really proud of you, baby bear. You’ve done so well.”
Now he was truly in danger of crying. He pulled himself back and held tight, as if this were all just one of his acts, and swallowed hard.
“Thank you, Mom.”
They fell back into their silence. This time, there was peace to it, and Winter caught himself counting the seconds out, relishing each of them and storing them away somewhere safe in his memory. Like the times when they used to ride the bus together, side by side, quiet. Like the times after dinner when they sat across from one another, their food half-eaten on the table, each of them lost for a few minutes in their own, better world.
Maybe it wasn’t closeness. Maybe it never would be. But at least, in these moments, he felt nearer to understanding her than he ever had. And he knew that, whenever she needed someone with whom to share her grieving heart, he would come to her side. Whenever she was overwhelmed by the parts of her brain that tragedy had broken, he would care for her. He knew she would never reciprocate it. But he would still be there for the scraps of her love for the rest of his life.
Then he heard his mother sniffle, saw her pull her handkerchief from her pocket and wipe her nose once before pocketing it. She looked at him again and smiled, and he knew her heart had receded again, eager to move on.
