“Hi, Mom.” I don’t lean over and kiss her cheek like she’s used to. I put my arm around Becca and pull her in tighter, signaling strongly where I still stand, with my wife.
Becca meets her eyes. “Mrs. Hughes.”
There’s an awkward pause, waiting for my mom to continue. Then she exhales, readying herself.
“We always say we want the best for our kids,” she starts hesitantly, voice more measured than I’ve ever heard it. “But sometimes … we think we know exactly what that looks like.”
No one interrupts. Holly goes still beside us, unsure how to react. My mom looks at Becca, not unkindly, but not trying to soften it either.
“Rebecca, you and I are different,” she says. “And I think that … felt threatening to me. I spent a long time believing our differences meant one of us was wrong.”
Becca doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence, only listens, letting her get the words out at her pace.
“I need to admit something to you, I may have gently pushed Mandy on Sam.” Her voice doesn't waver, but it tightens slightly. "That was my desire. It was never his. And I made choices that reflected that, in ways that were not fair to either of you, or to your marriage."
The fair noise presses on around us. Bells ding, and someone wins a prize at a booth nearby, letting out a shout.
I look at my mom. "You made Becca feel like she was never going to be enough for this family." I wait until she meets my eyes so that she can see the truth and rage inthem. "I should have never allowed that, but I need you to know that ends here."
Mom holds my gaze, blinking rapidly, attempting to compose herself. “I understand.”
Turning to Becca, she straightens, attempting to compose herself. “It doesn’t excuse how I treated you,” my mom adds. “But I know now that Sam is lucky to have you.”
It’s not dramatic or emotional. Hell, it isn’t even really an apology. But it’s honest. And that’s more than I expected. I am about to call her out on it when Becca jumps in.
"I don't need an apology," she says. "And I don't need us to be close. But I do need you to understand that the dynamic you created—the dinners, the comparisons—that is done. Not because Sam asked you. Because I’m telling you it is."
Becca pauses, adding almost as an afterthought, “I could also use fewer passive-aggressive comments.”
My mom’s eyes widen while Holly holds back a laugh. Then she gives a small nod.
“That’s fair, I can work on that.”
It is not remorse exactly. It is Mom assessing the situation and seeing what she has to lose. That’s probably the most honest thing she has ever said to Becca, and we all know it. And just like that, something else is shifting. It isn’t fixed, and it will never be perfect. But not what it was either.
Holly exhales loudly. “Okay, wow. That was … way more mature than I was expecting.”
I snort. “Don’t ruin it,” I tell her.
“Too late,” she says. “I’m already ruining it.”
Becca laughs, and I feel it in my chest more than I hear it, the normalcy we were reaching for. We stand there for a second longer, the noise of the fair wrapping back around us.
“Go,” my mom says finally, nodding toward the booths. “Enjoy yourselves.”
I take Becca’s hand again as we step away, her fingers fitting into mine as they’ve always belonged there.
“Your mom didn’t insult me,” she says under her breath.
“Big night,” I reply.
She bumps her shoulder lightly into mine. “I’ll take it.”
I glance at her, then down at our hands. Then back up at the lights strung across the fairgrounds.
For the first time in a long time, nothing feels like it’s about to fall apart. It isn’t us falling back into what we had; this is us choosing each other again and knowing exactly what it costs.
39
