Hunter looks so much like her, and as she stares at me with warm concern in her eyes, I realize that he has her heart too.
I shrug. “I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. But I made such a goddamn mess of my life.”
She frowns. “Language.”
That drags a smile out of me. “I’m sorry.”
She grins back. “You know.” Turning so she can look at me fully, she reaches out and takes my hand. “If I had a son like you, I’d be so very proud. I bet they miss you as much as you miss them.”
My heart squeezes. “Your son is literally the most perfect human in the world.”
She hums. “Yes. And I’m very proud of him too. But we’re not talking about him. We’re talking about you.”
I don’t have any words, so I don’t say anything.
“Do you have a way to contact them?” Millie asks.
I’ve known their number by heart for my entire life. I’ve always been too afraid to reach out. They might not even have the same one anymore. They might not want to hear from me at all. I was awful to them. We fought, and I yelled. Told them I knew what I wanted for my life, and what I wanted was Damien. I wouldn’t be swayed. I wouldn’t be talked out of it.
The last image I have in my head of them is my dad rounding the counter to hug my crying mom as I stormed out of the house and into Damien’s waiting car.
Less than two years later, he was offered a position at another firm, and we left, moving to Cincinnati. The abuse had already started by then, and I didn’t know how to get away. And then, to make it worse, I was in a new city. I didn’t know anyone. All I’dhad back then was him and the memory of my dad consoling my crying mother after I ripped her heart out with my words.
Twelve fucking years. I haven’t heard their voices in twelve fucking years. Sure, they tried at first. Called me. Texted. I ignored them. They grew fewer and fewer, and then when Damien married me, he added my phone to his plan, and I lost even that.
“I have their old phone numbers,” I finally say.
Millie pats my thigh. “You should call them.”
“What if they don’t want to hear from me?” I whisper.
Her eyes soften. “I can’t imagine a world where they wouldn’t want to hear from you.”
Tears fill my eyes. “I was so mean to them. My mom, especially.”
She holds her arms open, and I fall into her embrace, needing it too badly to even attempt to act like I don’t.
Millie rubs my back with soothing motions, humming lightly as I cry silently into her shoulder. “You know,” she says softly near my ear. “I got in many fights with my momma growing up. That’s the nature of life. Hunter was a teenager once too, and he got snippy. We had arguments, but we always came out on the other side. Kids are meant to give their parents a hard time. It’s how we’re hardwired.”
I sniffle, breathing in deeply as I try to keep myself from openly sobbing.
“And then we wake up one day, and with all the wisdom of a person becoming an adult, we have a ‘they were right’ moment. Maybe not about everything, but about some things.”
Not letting go of me, Millie continues to rub my back. “Oh, if you only knew the number of friends my momma had to warn me about.”
I start to pull away, and she lets me go.
When she’s looking at me, she grins, and I wipe my face. “Momma called ’em fair-weather friends.”
I cock my head. “What does that mean?”
She lets out a tinkling laugh. “It means they only stick around as long as the weather is fair.”
Ah. That makes sense.
“Anyway,” she says, “eventually, you learn those things. It’s a rite of passage, almost. We have to live and learn and make stupid choices.” She pauses, eyes searching my face. “And sometimes those choices really hurt us. But you’re here, Theo. You made it out. Don’t let your parents be something that piece of shit man takes from you.”
My throat threatens to close up, but I force myself to smile. “Language, Millie.”
