“Mom?” My brow wrinkles. “What are you doing here?”
“We said we’d talk this weekend.”
I gape. “On the phone.”
She makes a dismissive gesture. “Plus, we said the next step was a trip. Charlie’s with me, but I sent him to explore the neighborhood, so we could chat.”
In nine years, she’s never been here. Not for any of my graduations. Not for Aunt Bea’s funeral. Not even for a random vacation.
“May I come in?” Her tone is tentative but hopeful.
Without fully processing that she’s at my door, I step aside and motion her in. “I assumed when you said a trip, it would be something we’d plan, together.”
She stands in the foyer and shifts from foot to foot. “I didn’t want to wait to rebuild with you. It’s already been too long. Also, there was a tiny bit of me worried that chat this weekend wouldn’t happen, so I?—”
“Decided you knew what was best for me again.” My mouth purses.
“This is the behavior that you’ve been talking about.” She rubs at her temples.
“It is… I know you mean well, but you can’t just decide what’s best for me, for us. This isn’t the relationship I want with you.”
The irony of my words isn’t lost on me. In this argument, I am Rowan, which means in the other I was my mother.
She steps closer. “But you do want a relationship with me?”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted… But not one like this.”
“What kind do you want?”
“One where we’re a team. Like what I had with Aunt Bea and what I want with Rowan.” My voice cracks with the ache that twinges in my chest.
“I want that too.” She wrings her hands.
“We can’t just want that kind of relationship. We have to make it, together.”
“Alright. How do we start?” Hope fills her question.
“We talk. We ask each other what we want, and we actually listen… Me included.” Hot tears roll down my cheeks, knowing this is what Rowan wants. For us to be a team, but instead I pushed him away.
“Honey, I’m so sorry, please don’t cry…” She places her hands on my shoulders.
“It’s not you.” I swipe at my face.
“Is it this?” She reaches and grasps my right arm. “Are you in a lot of pain? This looks bad.”
“It’s fine.” I pull my arm away.
She raises her hands. “I know… I know, you don’t need anyone’s help.” Her words push into me like a dagger.
“I do need people,” I croak.
“We all need people, therightpeople,” Mom says, a shake in her voice.
My gaze meets hers.
“I know I haven’t been the right people for…well most of your life.”
“Mom.”
