“Colby is with you?” She might want me to follow rules and be the perfect team member and the coaches’ favorite in every possible way, but when it comes to Colby, she’s all right with me dabbling in the gray area. Hell, she’s all right with marriage.
“She’s going to Seven Oaks with her dad, to visit Meg.” I lift my gaze to meet my mom’s as I blow on another spoonful of soup. I wonder if my eyes showcase the same regret and ache as hers.
“Of course. I didn’t think . . .”
“I saw Rick,” I add.
My mom puts down the apple slice she was about to eat and utters, “Oh.”
I rest my spoon in the bowl, the metal clanking against the porcelain. I sit back in my chair, pressing my hands into my eyes as I stretch. I let my palms drop to my lap as my head tilts to the side.
“He invited me to join them.”
My mom sucks in her bottom lip and nods. She may be the only person on earth who understands why this isn’t such an easy request for me to navigate.
“I think he really wanted me to say yes,” I say.
Her mouth tucks into one side, almost a smile but not quite.
“Rick thinks of you as a son,” she says.
“Yeah, just not good enough for his daughter.”
My mom’s head falls closer to her shoulder, and she slides an open palm across the table. I exhale, letting my shoulders drop as I scoot in close and lay my hand in hers. There’s somethingcomforting about the way her thumb and pinky graze the sides of my hand. Mine is twice the size of hers, yet she’s the strong one.
“You were young. He was hurting. He has always loved you, and you know he still does.”
She rests her other hand on top of mine, enclosing me in her warmth. I sink into her gaze for a moment, my mind toggling between the past and present.
“Why did Dad have to be such a fuckup?” I finally say.
My mom’s hands flinch, and she pulls away.
“I’m sorry,” I say, instantly regretting my words. Sometimes my thoughts boil over, though, and they simply escape.
“He wasn’t always that way. Your grandfather was violent, and your dad was sweet and kind. But he had a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. He did the best he could.”
When I was in high school, I used to get in fights with her over the way I felt she made excuses for my dad. As I’ve matured, though, I better understand the nuances of life. She’s right about a lot of things. My grandfather was an abusive alcoholic. My dad was a sweet one. But she’s wrong about one thing. He could have done a lot better. He should have.
We finish our meal in silence. I feel like an asshole for interrupting my mom’s Hallmark day just to make her feel bad about my dad. He’s really the only person who can hold himself accountable for his mistakes, and he’s dead, so . . .
After walking her back to her workstation, I hug her, holding on for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She rubs her palms along my back.
“Don’t be. I love you.”
“I think maybe I’ll go to Seven Oaks. Maybe . . . it’s time.” My lips tremble with fear at the mere thought, so I hope when I get there, I can get out of the car.
“Good.” My mom steps back, holding my elbows as she stares up at me. She always looks at me as if I’m a work of art. I feel deeply unworthy every time.
“You’re a good man, Jayden. You are not your father, and you are not your brother. You areyou.I love you.” She moves her hands to my cheeks and lifts up on her toes, pulling my face to her so she can kiss one side of my face.
“I love you too, Mom.” I nudge the vase on her desk; two petals have already fallen off one of the flowers. I did the best I could.
NINE
COLBY
