“Ah, shit.” Georgia’s voice wobbled. Dell looked over to see her covering her own face with shaky hands. “I’msorry, Dell. Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to say all that.”
Dell wanted to go to her. Wanted to stop being angry at her.
Wanted to stop breaking her heart.
But it was still snowing, and she was still recovering from a stroke, and he didn’t know what else to do.
He’d just opened his mouth to make another point when she dropped her hands and, with a tear-streaked face, looked right at him when she sang, “We ain’t angry at you, love.” A line to a song Dell wished she didn’t know. He knew it had been a mistake, introducing Georgia to Noah Kahan.
He rubbed a hand over his face, turning back toward the window. Turning his back on his mom.
“You know the history of the McClearys,” Georgia went on, as if she had not just caused Dell physical pain. Of course he knew the history of the McClearys, having heard Georgia’s and his grandparents’ stories many times before, having seen the photo albums and family trees. McCleary was his mother’s name; he had changed it as soon as he was old enough to do so himself, leaving behind the name of his father, whom Dell didn’t even remember. Dell had never once thought about that old name again.
“We came in through the island, like everyone else,” Georgia said, repeating the story anyway, as Dell knew she would. And Dell couldn’t help but turn back to her, to finally walk over to her and sit at her side, in gratitude that her speech and her memory had recovered enough for her to tell this story once more. “But the crowds of New York overwhelmed us. So we started the slow trek west, but the coal mines and steel factories of Pennsylvania and the Midwest suffocated us. So we started north instead, until your great-granddaddy came here. Where the trees were big, and the view was clear.”
Georgia reached out a hand, no longer tremoring, and clasped it over his.
“You just needed to keep on goin’, Dell,” she whispered. “You went until you found even bigger trees. Ain’t no McCleary who could get mad at you for that. Including me. Please believe me about that, honey.”
Dell sighed.
“You would like those bigger trees, too,” he said, stubbornly.
“Oh, Dell.” Georgia sighed in return. “I’m sure I would. But I’ve tried to tell you so many times. You know I’m a Yooper, through and through.”
Dell had known, in some corner of his body, that every time she had, indeed, told him this before, she’d meant it. Even as he built an entire structure on his property in Oregon for her, that part of himself knew he was pursuing a useless dream.
But all the other corners of his body had needed to do it anyway.
“Mae’s parents are from North Carolina,” he said. “But they moved to the Oregon Coast, so they could be closer to their kid. So they could retire by the ocean instead of”—he gestured to the window, where the snow came down ever fiercer—“this.”
He hated himself a little, as soon as he stopped talking. Didn’t want to compare Georgia to Jodi and Felix, like some kind of parenting contest. He knew Jodi and Felix weren’t better parents than Georgia.
Because Georgia was the best.
But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Jodi and Felix, ever since he got on the plane to come out here. He’d spent so many minutes of recycled air in the middle of the sky being just so fucking angry about it.
“Well.” Georgia shrugged. “I’m happy for them. But I’m not Mae’s parents. I’m me. And this is who I am.”
And something about the way Georgia said this, so matter-of-fact, made it finally, finally stick. Like a stitch in Dell’s side, sharp and insistent, but with an inevitable dulling waiting in the future. Some folks were able to move easier. Some had deeper roots. Maybe there wasn’t anything superior about either choice.
“I would like to meet Mae’s parents, though,” she said after a moment, voice turning thoughtful. “I know I can come out there and visit more, as easily as you could visit more here, too. I do apologize for that. You just know how I feel about planes.” She waved a hand again. “Flying death traps. But I’ll be better about that, now.”
Except—dammit, couldn’t she see she could barely complete a children’s puzzle?—shecouldn’tvisit just as easily as he could. He tried to picture her driving all the way to Green Bay or Great Rapids, sitting alone on a flying death trap, all the way to Oregon. What if another stroke struck her while she was driving? While she was sitting in the plane? What if the other passengers only thought she was sleeping? What if no one knew until it was too late?
Dell closed his eyes and took another deep breath.
No more fighting.
“You came when I needed you,” he managed, after a moment. She had been there, at the hospital, after he’d been shot.
“I’ll always be there when you need me,” Georgia said. And then, tilting her head, as if remembering she had almost just died, “Well, I suppose as long as I can, physically. But the thing is, honey, we’re both grown people. I love you, with my entire heart and soul, but I don’tneedyou in the way you think I do. Just like I know you don’t need me, either. I’m still always a phone call away when you experience a trigger, when you’re having a rough day. You can get through the rest on your own. Sakes alive, Dell, you’ve been self-sufficient since you were fourteen.”
And Dell couldn’t help but laugh. And somewhere in the midst of it, he started crying.
Without a word, Georgia drew him in, wrapped a too-thin arm around his shoulder.
“Oh, hon,” she said. “It’s gonna be okay. Except,” she added, “if you don’t get the hell out of my house soon.”
