My mom places a hand on my arm as I steer the car toward the parking lot.
"Just drop me off up front, hon."
I look in the rearview mirror and let the car slow to a crawl. "You don't want me to walk you in?"
She bats a hand in the air. "I'm perfectly capable of walking in by myself. You go do whatever it is you need to do and just pick me up after."
"Are you being a teenager? You're embarrassed of me so you want me to drop you off where your friends can't see you with me?" I crack a smile to let her know I'm joking.
She laughs. "Precisely."
I do as she asks, rounding the circular driveway and stopping the car at the entrance. "I'll pick you up here when you're done."
She gathers her bag and pauses with her hand on the door handle. "You're going to make a good mom one day."
A lump immediately forms in my throat and again I’m thrown by her random sentimental statement. Has she been talking to Pastor Greg or Owen? No. Somehow I know that they would never tell her. My mom is just in a sentimental mood for some reason.
"I learned from the best."
She gets out of the car, and I watch as the automatic doors slide open and she walks through, the hospital swallowing her.
You're going to make a good mom one day.
The words have hit home. With that one sentence, my mom has reopened the possibility that I could become a mother, and it's nearly too much for me to bear.
Instead of leaving the hospital, I pull into the parking lot, sliding into a space, and cut the engine. I lean back, melting into the seat, and prop my arm on the door.
Me, a mom one day? Do I deserve it? Do I want it?
Yes and yes. All this time, I've been punishing myself for a choice made long ago. It was a choice so huge, it eclipsed all others. But what if it's time to stop punishing myself? The bravest thing a person can do is forgive, right? I've always believed that, but I'd never extended it to me personally. Never realized just how much I was withholding it from myself.
But what if I don't have to anymore?
Owen and I have been given a second chance. Can we make it count? Will the universe, God, whoever it is pulling strings, be so kind as to give us a take two?
My mind races. Excitement takes hold in my belly, in the place where maybe a life could be growing. My fingers flutter over my flat stomach.
Owen and I are new—but not really. We've hurdled the beginning of a relationship already. We're more than ready to have the talk, the one where we figure out if we're willing to go the distance.
I know I am, and I think—
Wait. What the hell?
Thirty yards away, my mom and Owen exit the hospital, walking out of the same door I watched her walk through five minutes ago. They stop, he points across the street, and she nods. Together they walk down the sidewalk, press the walk button at the small intersection in front of the hospital, and cross the street.
I back out of my space and drive in the direction they've gone. My mind's reeling wondering what the heck they’re doing. I'm stopped by a long red light and I don't see where they've gone, but I have an idea. A line of shops sits directly across the street from the hospital. I bet they've gone into one. Butwhy?
The light turns and I make my way across the intersection, taking inventory of each store as I cross the street, and pull into a spot in front of a dog groomer. To the left is a sushi restaurant. To the right, a coffee shop.
Maybe my mom's appointment was pushed back and Owen took her for a coffee while she waited. That's probably it. The bunched-up muscles in my upper back uncoil. Of course Owen would do something so kind for my mom.
I laugh softly, embarrassed at my worry. Why did I jump to the worst thoughts? They're not keeping anything from me. They're getting coffee, for heaven's sake, maybe even a danish. I know how Owen likes to indulge my mom.
Honestly, I wouldn't mind a danish right now. I grab my purse from the back seat and decide I'll join them and tell them how silly I was, acting like a detective. They'll laugh.
I pull open the door to the coffee shop. It's tiny, just enough room for the counter and machines, and seven tables with two chairs each. Mom and Owen are at the back, up against the wall. A picture of Italy hangs on the wall above them.
Owen's hand covers my mom's palm. They are so engrossed in the conversation they don't see me approach. My excitement fades as something darker, a sense of foreboding, overtakes my happy feeling. I’ve just read Owen’s lips, and he said,Faith, I’m so sorry.
