“Of course not,” she says. She grabs my hand and holds it. Her hand is cold, so I cover it with mine. We’ve rolled the windows up and the heat is on, but Liesel still shivers. “Did your mom ever get help?”
“She did Telehealth for a while, but she wasn’t at a place to be able to accept it. I don’t think she ever has been. Every few years, she’ll say she’s going back to therapy, but it’s never stuck. She’d be able to make a little progress—like walking up and down the stairwell, making it to the car or mailbox. But every time she made progress, something happened. Dad got into a fender bender. I got a black eye playing basketball with friends. A strange dog would run up to her. And she would spiral.” The lump in my throat has dropped to my chest, a weight that keeps me more rooted to the seat than any blizzard could necessitate.
“The last time she seriously tried therapy was when I was drafted,” I say. Liesel strokes my hand with her index finger. “She’d sworn up and down my whole life that nothing would keep her from getting to my first game in the Majors. I wanted so badly to believe her. I worked extra hard, thinking it would be enough incentive for her to finally get over the hump. She andmy dad planned the drive from New Mexico to Phoenix. I was starting to hope for the first time in a long time. But she had a panic attack fifty miles outside of Las Cruces, and he had to turn around.”
Liesel wipes her thumb across my cheek and peers into my eyes. “She’s missed out on so much. So have you.”
“Yes and no. I feel like a loser complaining about this when you’d do anything to have your mom here.”
“Don’t do that,” she says firmly. “Don’t dismiss your feelings. My pain has nothing to do with yours. You can’t stop yourself from hurting because you think someone else is hurting worse. What you’re describing sounds really hard.”
“It is.” Guilt hits me for saying that. “But it isn’t, too. My mom isamazing. She celebrated every win, every hit, every play with me the second I got home. She asked me to recount every second of every game, and she would laugh, boo, and cheer like it was happening for the first time. Everyday life was a reason to celebrate for her. She bent over backwards to make sure I felt like the most special kid in the world. I can’t blame her for being sick. I’m in awe of her for making the best of it.”
“But it still hurts.”
“Yeah, but her intentions matter. No one could have tried harder than my parents to give me a happy life. I refuse to fault her for trying her best.”
“Your friend said he saw her in the grocery store. Could she?—”
“No.” I shake my head hard. “No way. I can’t believe it, and I can’t go back to hoping and being disappointed all the time. I love my mom and I accept her for who she is. I won’t let unfair expectations hurt me or my relationship with her.”
Our hands are clasped over the center console. Her hands are both warm now, and that warmth spreads up my arms and into my chest. I’ve only ever planned to talk about this to one woman.
I’m glad it’s Liesel.
That tells me everything I need to know about her.
“Well, crap,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
“My crush is officially back.”
My lips stretch extra wide, and my chest swells. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Itisa bad thing! You’re a tough guy to resist, Cooper Kellogg. All that emotional depth and maturity, and a perfectly good reason for that cocky persona? Ugh. How could I not feel something?”
“You forgot the jaw. I have a great jaw.”
“I take back the cocky part. It’s not a persona.”
“Fair.” I chuckle. “Iamcocky.”
“But you’re not the jerk I made you out to be. You had a choice between being emotionally vulnerable on camera?—”
“You mean whiny.”
“Whiny on camera,” she corrects with a glint in her eye, “and being devil-may-care, and you chose the one that would make your mom happiest. So I repeat: crap.”
I squeeze her hands. “Because liking me is so horrible.”
“Kind of. Now we have to figure out what to do about Doug and my family.” She leans forward, and a lock of her hair loosens from her clip and spills down her neck. I sweep it aside, my finger skimming her neck and cheek as I tuck it behind her ear.
“We? You’re so sure there’s awe, huh?”
Her eyes widen and she yanks her hands from mine to cover her face. “Oh my gosh, do you not like me? Did I misread this whole thing?”
“No! I like you!” I tug her hands back to mine, threading my fingers through her delicate ones. “I very much like you. You didn’t misread anything.”
