By the time I’ve finished my tasks, I’ve accomplished a little work and a lot of missing Gio. It drizzles on the walk back to my apartment, and on the way, I step directly in a puddle, break a nail while reaching for my favorite lip gloss in my purse, and drop said favorite lip gloss down a sewer grate.
When I arrive at my tiny apartment, damp, tired, and lip-gloss-less, I unlock two of my door locks and jiggle the knob before remembering I have three door locks. Then, I unlock the lastfuckinglock, drag myself through the threshold, take one look at the twin bed waiting for me, and immediately video call my mom.
I sigh in relief as soon as her hazel eyes and jet-black hair pop up on the screen. After a long day of drowning in my own emotions, the sight of her is like coming up for fresh air.
She grins, and our cheek dimples match. “Hey, Fashion Fairy.”
“Hey, Mom. I’ve missed you so much. How are—” I stare daggers at the food she just forked in her mouth— “Is that a cinnamon roll?”
She looks almost guilty. Her homemade cinnamon rolls are my favorite. Mom used to make them as a pick-me-up treat the morning after Daniel’s team lost a game, but, unfortunately for me, he’s retired now.
She swallows. “It’s not like you could eat them anyway. Even if you leave now, you won’t make it to Ohio before Roger and I finish the last of them.” Her eyes dart to the side. “Right, Roger?” She looks back at me. “He nodded.”
“Damn. EvenRogeris betraying me?” I put a hand on my chest like I’ve been wounded. “Tell him I no longer consent to your wedding. He asked me for permission, you know.”
Roger’s voice echoes in the background. “Andheregrets it every day since.”
My jaw drops. “Hey!”
“You can’t blame him, Tessie. You threaten to rescind your permission all the time for the most absurd reasons. The wedding’s already booked and it’s only eighty percent refundable. It’s… What am I saying?” Mom points at me. “Stop distracting me!”
I feign innocence. “What? I’m not distracting you.”
“Yes, you are. I was about to ask why you look like you just lost your favorite lip gloss, and then you started talking about things like cinnamon rolls and Roger—two topics youknowI can’t resist!” Her gaze narrows. “Tell me. What’s going on?”
“I did lose my favorite lip gloss,” I mutter. “Down a sewer grate.”
Mom squints. “...anemotionalsewer grate? In your mind?”
I shake my head. “No. Sorry. I just…”
Hesitation around Dad as a topic causes me to pause for a moment. Though we rarely talk about him, Mom’s always been open about the divorce. She’s never said a bad word about him, even though there aremanyto be said, and she’s never kept us from him. It turned out she didn’t need to actively keep us from him, anyway. He kept himself from us—me—just fine.
The idea oftellingher about my “relationship” with Dad has been sitting heavy in my chest for weeks. Like I told Gio, I need to reckon with all of this sooner rather than later. I swallow and straighten. “Dad calls me. From time to time. And I’ve… answered.”
I catch a small hint of surprise in Mom’s raised eyebrow, but she says nothing. Instead, she picks up her mug and takes a sip of tea.
Unable to look her in the eye for this next part, I stare at the floor. “But most of our conversations end with him wanting information about Daniel. Daniel’s contact info, if I could invite Daniel to lunch, tickets to alumni events, the like.”
When I brave a glance at my phone, I watch her set down her mug with a frown on her lips. “How do you feel about that?”
“Honestly? Not good. I’ve just always been hopeful for some type of a relationship with him. Daniel had years with him, and I guess I wanted to know what it’d be like.” I take a deep breath. “But now I’m worried that my own insecurities with Dad are hurting my relationship with Gio.”
She gives a small shake of her head. “I’m sure that won’t happen.”
Mom was so happy for me when I told her about Gio, about what he means to me now. She said she could “hear the sunshine” in my voice, that she couldn’t wait to meet him.
“It kind of already has,” I admit. “I left his shop earlier after a particularly awful call with Dad. I just got so embarrassed. Gio has this amazing father, and… I just felt so awkward.”
“Oh, Tessie. I wish I could hug you right now.” She sighs. “Do you want my advice?”
Mom’s always been great at asking before telling. She’s never one to jump in with her perspective first.
“I’d love to hear your opinion, yes.”
“Chris isyourdad. So your relationship with him will always be your decision, and I’ll support you no matter what you decide.” She releases a heavy sigh. “But… I hate to hear that you’re hurting. You shouldn’t surround yourself with anyone or anything that makes you feel miserable. Life is hard enough. Engage with people who make it easier.”
I take in her words. Staying in touch with Dad has never madeanythingeasier. He always leaves me feeling like I’m not enough. I’m not interesting enough, talented enough, or connected enough to keep him around. But I’m starting to realize that I’m not going to win a prize for maintaining a relationship with him. And I’ve been clinging to what-ifs rather than facing reality.
