Forgiveness.
“It’s good to have you home, Riles.”
“It’s good to be home.”
“Ihaveaquestion.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
After breakfast—one I’d whipped up while telling my mom all about my time working as a short-order cook at a diner in Texas—we’d moved out to the back porch. While the sun has climbed steadily higher in the sky, I’ve shared tales of my vagabond existence, never staying in one place for much more than a year and working many varied jobs. And my mom has been surprisingly curious, even at times amused by my stories. She sure had a good chuckle when I described my boss at the alligator farm where I’d worked briefly in Louisiana, and the kooky patrons of the alien museum in New Mexico, too. I also told her about harvesting grapes in Napa Valley and how I was on a road construction crew in Sacramento. I did club promotion in LA and residential construction in upstate New York. I was a bouncer in Vegas and even trained for search and rescue in a remote town in Northern Washington that had a program working with ex-cons.
There were many more jobs in many other states, from big cities to small towns. I feel a little sad, reliving it now, beinghome and thinking about the transient nature of my life. Sure, it was fun for a while—especially after my incarceration. Once I’d completed my parole, I was desperate to move. To celebrate my freedom. To get the hell out of the place, the city, that had been my downfall.
I guess you could say I had wanderlust, though it wasn’t inspired by anything so guileless as a need for adventure. Instead, I suspect after those first few years following my release, my need to move from place to place continuously stemmed more from my desire to avoid my past than anything else. I was running from my problems and have been for a long time now. And yeah, it was a life filled with interesting characters and many new challenges. But it was a lonely life, too. I’m only now realizing how much.
No more, though.
The day I got that email from my mom telling me about Aidan’s wedding—when I hadn’t even known there was someone special in his life—was the day I woke up and realized I’d missed out on too much in the name of shame. I should have been preparing my best man speech, not wondering if my mother’s passing mention of the nuptials even constituted an invitation. Given Aidan’s reaction to my appearance yesterday, I have my answer to that question, but my relationship with my brother is just one more on the list of the many wrongs I’m finally back here to right.Hopefully.
“If you knew I was in prison the whole time,” I ask, “why did you keep playing along? Whenever I emailed you—”
“Which was not often,” she interrupts with a reproachful look, and I raise my hands in surrender.
“Access to a computer or internet was never guaranteed. Even after I got out,” I defend. “Plus …” I hesitate. “In the spirit of full disclosure …” I trail off again, but my mother gestures for me to continue. “Well … I had to maintain the wall I’d built up at that point so I could carry on the charade—useless as it apparently was,” I mutter that last part.
She huffs out a breath.
“But I didn’t know that at the time,” I continue, shaking my head. “I was fully committed to being the estranged son in order to avoid questions about school, why I never came home, my lack of graduation … take your pick.”
She gives me a sad but understanding smile, and I’m finally able to ask the question. “So, every time I made up some bullshit about where I was and what I was doing, you just rolled with it. Why?”
“I didn’t just roll with it, Riley. Ihatedit. But you chose repeatedly not to come home when you had the opportunity. You chose not to seek help when you got into trouble at school. I was hurt. Devastated. And then, later, I was resigned to it and trying to respect your wishes. It was clear you didn’t want my support.”
“It wasn’t that.”
“Then what was it?”
I bow my head. “Shame, Mom. I was—am—ashamed. I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t come home to my little brother, who looked up to me, and tell him how badly I’d fucked up. I couldn’t walk around this town full of my admirers and tell them that not only did I fail on the basketball court, but I also failed in school and got kicked out. I got addicted to drugs and spiraled until I was living like a bum and breaking the law. I had everything going for me when I left, and then I blew up my whole life.”
My mom is silent, and I hate the pity I see in her eyes. At least it’s not disappointment, but I know that’s there too, under the surface.
“See?” I gesture at her. “That. That right there. That look on your face. I would have done anything to avoid it back then. And it took me over a decade and a half to work myself up to facing it now.”
“Oh, Riley,” she whispers sadly. “I won’t deny I was disappointed, but more than that, I was scared. Heartbroken. I felt like I’d failed too.” Tears well in her eyes. “I failed you as a mother if you didn’t feel safe coming to me for help.”
I sigh again. “It was never about that. It was all me, Mom. Please don’t take on any of the blame.”
“Well, I do. I have,” she says matter-of-factly, wiping at her face. “But the good news is you’re here now, and all of that is in the past. So let’s just agree to move on from here, okay? We both screwed up …”
“No—” I start to protest, but she holds a hand up tosilence me.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Riles. We both have regrets about how things were handled.” I nod emphatically, and she continues, “But we’ve talked now. It’s all out in the open, and we can let it go. It’s a fresh start from here, yeah?”
I stare into her hopeful eyes and feel the mirrored emotion rising in my chest.
“Yeah. Sounds good,” I murmur, and my mom nods like it’s been decided. She reaches over and pats me on my knee.
“Good.”
