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On Tuesday morning, I slip out of bed as quietly as possible, leaving a naked Boyd sleeping on his stomach with a sheet wrapped around his waist. I take a minute to just stare at all that delicious tan skin before I make my way over to the main house.
Patty told me she had my favorite coffee in her kitchen and I should come over to share a mug with her this morning instead of brewing the second-rate Keurig pods she keeps in the guesthouse.
When I slide the door open from the back deck, I’m unsurprised to see she is already up and sipping on her own cup of coffee. She gives me a smile as I walk in.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning.”
I was hoping her suggestion would lead to a chance to talk to her. I really like Boyd’s mom. She’s smart and funny and genuine, the perfect kind of person to bounce a few thoughts off of before I make the trip back to Boston tomorrow and have to confront my mom about the fact that I came to visit Ken and lied about it, as well as what he and Linda revealed to me.
“How’d you sleep?” she asks as I pull down Boyd’s favorite mug and fill it with the freshly brewed coffee on the counter.
I give her a sleepy smile, crossing over to where she’s sitting and pulling out a stool of my own to sit on. “I love that bed. It’s magical. I usually struggle to fall asleep, but every night I’ve been in it, I’ve completely conked out.”
“Good, I’m glad. I know things haven’t gone super smoothly for you since you’ve been in town, so I just want to make sure you know you’re welcome here for as long as you need.”
I bite my lip to hold back my smile. Patty is such an absolute sweetie, always trying to make the people around her feel welcome.
“Thank you, I appreciate it. My flight home is actually tomorrow morning, though, so you don’t have to worry about me taking over your guesthouse.”
Patty laughs. “Well, the offer stands all the same.” She takes a sip then eyes me. “You looking forward to heading back east?”
I nod, trying to find the right words to explain it. “I am. You know, I came out here to try to figure a few things out, learn a little more about where I came from and the man who created me. I feel like I got my answers.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, and what answers are those?”
“That I know where I came from and who created me. I’m from Chelsea, Massachusetts, and the woman who built me into the person I am today is back there waiting for me to come home.”
Patty gives me a warm smile. “Are you and your mom close?”
“Very,” I say, my tone firm yet wistful. “She’s always been my hero.”
There’s a long pause, and I can see Patty assessing me.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, realizing that if I’m going to talk to her about my mom, I need to hit on it now, while everyone is still asleep, and the longer I wait, the more risk I take that someone will come bumbling into the kitchen for some coffee and interrupt us.
Patty nods. “Of course.”
I eye my mug, my gaze avoiding hers.
“I lied to my mom about coming here. I was worried I’d hurt her feelings or that she wouldn’t approve, but it was something I was doing for me.” I shake my head. “Now, I’m mad at her, because I learned some things from Ken and Linda that kind of…change my perspective about my life and my childhood. I’m just nervous about talking with her. It’s not only about being honest with her about the fact that I came here anymore. It’s bigger than that, and now I have to confront my mother about how she lied to me.”
I pause, struggling to explain it the right way.
“I guess I’m just wondering if you have any suggestions on how to talk to her. You seem like an awesome mom and…I don’t know. I just wanted your thoughts.”
When I finally look up, Patty gives me a sad smile, her empathy for my situation rolling off of her and enveloping me in something warm and safe.
“Well, it sounds like the main issue is just reminding yourself of why it’s important not to put people on pedestals,” she says. “Nobody is perfect, even your mama—especially mamas. Almost all of us bust our asses to take care of our kids and give them good lives, but we are human, just like everyone else. We make mistakes, we say things we don’t mean, we yell and fight and cry. Every mother has regrets about how she has mothered her children.”
Her eyes kind of glaze over and look off to the side as she recalls her own memories of motherhood.
“You know, when we’re kids, we see our parents as these perfect, all-knowing superheroes who can do no wrong. Then we grow up and have children of our own and we realize they were completely lost and just making it work, doing their best, and making mistakes. Now, I don’t know your mother, but if she raised a woman like you all by herself? I’m going to assume she did a pretty good job.”
I blush, my eyes dropping down to stare at my hands wrapped around my mug.
“So whatever it is you two need to talk about…however it was that she let you down or lied to you…just remember that she’s imperfect, but she loves you, and you love her. Everything will work itself out. It just might be a little bit bumpy and uncomfortable while you sort through things.”
