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Great. So she wanted to make up with me by talking about theweather?
It wasn’t enough. Still, the little boy in me wanted to accept any crumb. I fought the urge to beg her to love me again.
I sipped my cola to push down the lump in my throat.
Determined not to let the open wounds between us scare me out of the kitchen, I stood my ground. The last few weeks for me had been as tough as the microwave dinners Dad and I had been eating alone, while Mom downed her Valiums and hid away from me in her office.
There were only so many times my father could say, “Give her time. She loves you,” before his credibility grew tissue-thin and then ripped apart.
“And tomorrow will be ninety-nine,” she said softly, tearing off a piece of cheese and then leaving it on her plate. Her eyes met mine with a pleading expression, and I forced myself to go even colder, unwilling to give her what she wanted if she wasn’t even going to try.
Mom broke eye contact and then, hesitantly, as if she expected me to grab it back, slid Adam’s letter across the Formica. I thought about taking it from her, but what difference did it make? I was gay, and she’d made it clear how she felt about that. The letter couldn’t make anything worse, and if she was scandalized by what she read, then she deserved it.
I sipped my cola, the fizz burning the back of my throat as I watched her open the envelope and begin to scan Adam’s gangly scrawl.
“So he’s your boyfriend?”
I nodded. It was a complicated situation, and not a happy one, but, yes, for lack of a better term, he was my boyfriend. Sort of. Mostly. Well, he was mine and he was someone else’s too. It sucked.
“And you’re in love with him?”
“Yeah.” I ran a hand over my hair.
Mom stared at me for a long time.
I refused to talk first, but I conceded to her attempt to connect by collapsing onto the stool across from her and staring right back.
Finally she said, “We need to talk.”
“I know.” My heart thumped hard and the sweat on my back went cold.
“I don’t know where to begin,” Mom said, pushing a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear. She looked older, tired, and her plain gold wedding ring hung loose on her thin finger. “Actually, I do know where I should start. Peter, I’m so sorry.”
“You’re going to need to be more specific than that.”
She smiled a little wryly, but her breath came fast, her hands shaking. “I guess there are quite a number of things for me to apologize for, huh? First and most importantly, I’m sorry for denying the truth to myself for so long.” Her voice softened to a near whisper. “I knew you were gay. Deep down, I knew.”
I squirmed on the stool, my jaw clenching as anger and remorse jammed up in me. How different my life might have been had we been honest with each other?
She darted a seeking glance my way before going on. “Secondly, I regret using Valium as a crutch to deal with my fear, and for the way I shut you out of my life. I was—Iam—your mother, and I didn’t do my job, Peter.”
I swallowed hard. Words nowhere to be found.
She let out a slow breath. “Your dad told you about my brother, George. About the way he was killed.”
I nodded.
Mom’s lower lip trembled, but she steadied herself. “What happened to him was horrific. Brutal. Inhuman.” She shook her head, and my own gut knotted remembering the gruesome details my father had shared with me about George’s death. “But I’ve allowed that event too much command over my life. And the worst thing of all? I let it dictate our relationship.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “I realize now what that’s cost me.”
Her words hit me like small rocks, sharp and painful.
Mom made an effort to calm herself. “I’m seeing a new therapist. I saw one when you were small, but I stopped. That was a mistake. My new psychologist and I are going to work through my issues, and I’m going to stop taking so much Valium.” She pressed her lips together, her chin wobbling. “Actually, I’ve stopped taking it at all. It’s time I learn how to cope in more productive ways.”
I was grateful that she was getting help and resentful that I was the reason she needed it. Couldn’t she just love me? Was it really so hard that she needed to pay someone to hold her hand and walk her through it?
“What does your regular doctor say about giving up the Valium?” I asked. Our family doctor had prescribed the medication for my mom’s anxiety for as long as I could remember.
“Your father and I agree that Dr. Vreeland’s advice hasn’t been good for me. I’m switching family physicians too.” She picked at her string cheese before meeting my eyes again. “I will stop letting my fear hold me back from knowing you, Peter. And I’m going to do a better job at being your mom.”
