Page 175 of Made Better Together

“Can’t you ask Landon? He’s closer to the airport,” Johnson says to Grace.

“He and Rori are at the children’s hospital this morning for the Waves Foundation gift-giving event. They should be here right as she arrives, but it’s too close to call.”

“Avery and I need to stop by the Surge owners’ team luncheon around then,” Rawley explains.

In other words, I’m stuck. Rawley shoots me a look of sympathy. Not that it does me any good.

So much for buffers.

“Okay, I guess it’s on me then.”

During the drive to the airport a couple of hours later, I check in with myself again.

There’s no churning in my gut.

No tightness in my chest.

No fear in my mind.

This isn’t going to be pleasant, but the EMDR therapy has done what it’s supposed to do.

You can do this, Connor.

When I pull into the short-term parking area, I send her a text.

CONNOR: Tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll swing around to the curb to get you.

A few minutes later, a return message pops up.

MOM: None of my children could bother to greet me inside the airport?

The faintest twinge of guilt rises up—but it’s not rooted in any deep anxiety, just a surface reaction. One I’d have to such a comment from anyone.

CONNOR: The day was too hectic for anyone else to come, and this way I can meet you right in front.

She doesn’t respond to that, my next message from her is simply “Ready” seven minutes later. I circle around from the parking lot, and once I spot her with her roller bag, I pull up.

Getting out of my car, I approach her but decide against a hug. “Hello, Mom.”

“Hello, Connor.” That’s it. That’s all I get.

“Here, I’ll put your luggage in the trunk.” I open the passenger door for her and bring the bag around the back.

After I close the trunk, I take stock. We’re at another checkpoint: being in her presence. But yeah, I feel calm. In control of myself.

She’s quiet as I get back in the car and start us on the journey to Grace and Johnson’s.

“I’m glad you could come,” I say a minute later, trying to set a positive tone. “It’ll be nice to be together for Christmas.”

“Well, I knew it was my motherly duty. None of you seem to bother coming to Alabama anymore.”

No response to that comes to mind, so I stay quiet. The silence continues for a few more minutes.

I guess that’s the best-case scenario?

Then, as we get to our highway exit, she glances over, studying my face. “You’re still wearing those glasses? You look your best with contacts. More polished. More powerful.”

“Mom, no one cares that I wear glasses.” I temper my tone. She says made-up shit just to be critical.