Wily’s eyebrows pucker. “All the time? You mean you never have fun with your kids? You never enjoy their company?”
He lowers his voice, and I lean in close so we can whisper to each other. “Of course I have fun sometimes. My girls are gorgeous and funny and…” I shake my head. “But it’s hard work, you know? Grady makes it look so easy, and I feel like I’m constantly struggling.”
“It’s not easy,” Wily admits. “Some days are really hard.”
“Yeah, right.” I roll my stinging eyes. “Your angelic children would never think to just take off without telling you.”
“Kendall’s three,” he deadpans. “I can imagine Seb doing that to us when he was three.”
“But he didn’t. Because you guys are there and alert and engaged.” I huff. “I’m distracted and too busy taking phone calls.”
“Hey, stop that.” Wily’s big hand curls around my pigeon wrist. Giving it a light shake, he encourages me to look at him, and as soon as our eyes connect, he gives me an emphatic look. “It was not your sole responsibility to find Harley.”
“But I told Nylah I would. And maybe if I’d actually followed through, I could have seen them leaving or?—”
“We can’t change any of that now,” he cuts me off. “And there are seven other adults in this house who missed them sneaking out as well. This is not all on you.”
I let out a watery scoff, dipping my chin and blubbering, “Kendall probably gave Harley the idea to go in the first place. That kid can be such a little rat bag. She’s got a mind of her own.”
“Just like her mama, huh?” Wily teases me with a wink.
I blubber out a laugh. “I was never allowed to have a mind of my own.” My expression crumples. “And that’s probably why I let her get away with so much. Because I never want to be the type of parent who puts all this pressure on my kids. I want them to be free to be themselves and express themselves in a way I never could.”
“Blake…” Wily pauses to smile at me. “You’re nothing like Mom or Dad.”
“That was the goal.” I sigh.
His left eyebrow arches. “They’re not the world’s worst parents, you know?”
“Yeah,” I softly whine. “But I never felt like I could breathe around them. I was always checking myself. I still do. Any family function, there’s this underlying tension riding through me. And I don’t want that for my girls. I want them to be happy and free.”
“They are happy.” Wily glances across the room at Nichelle. “And free.”
I nod but end up sniffing as more tears fill my eyes. “Too free.” I swallow. “My three-year-old thought it’d be okay to just leave the house without telling me. What’s she gonna be like as a teenager?”
“Wild and reckless?” Wily shrugs.
I gasp and whip a look at him.
He smiles at me, but it’s not as teasing as the one before… because there’s an element of truth to what he’s saying.
Licking his lips, he shuffles beside me before taking my hand. “Kids need boundaries. Theywantthem. It makes them feel safe. I mean, sure, they push against them all the time, but that’s just their way of figuring it out for themselves, you know?”
I sniff, a tear trailing down my cheek.
“We’ve only got a really small window where we can provide those kinds of restrictions, and it’s our job to train them and show them the way so that when theyareindependent, they know how to handle it.” He lets out a soft sigh, like he’s reluctant to give me this lecture, but I squeeze his hand, for some reason desperate to know what else he has to say. “The real world doesn’t let you do whatever the hell you want. If kids grow up in a house of constant yeses, they won’t know how to handle the nos. You know?” He gives me a wincing smile and I close my eyes, bobbing my head as a few more tears fall. “They’re still going to adore you, even when you don’t give them exactly what they want.”
I swallow. How do I explain that it’s not about that?
Licking a tear off the edge of my mouth, I give it a try. “I’m not scared that they won’t love me. I just don’t want them growing up feeling stifled and controlled. I don’t want to squash them.”
Wily lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t think you could. Ever since you lost your way in college and broke free from all that pressure, you’ve really become your own person. Mom and Dad accepted that.”
I sniff and nod, although I still don’t know just how much they’ve accepted it.
“You’re not like them. And Grady’s not like them.”
“He’s a way better parent than me,” I admit. “He’s always telling me off for being too soft with the girls. He’s sick of being bad cop all the time. But I just…” I cringe and look at my brother, the only person in the house who could ever really get it. “I don’t want to tell them off all the time. I don’t want them to feel like if they put a toe out of line, they’ll be a big disappointment to me. I want them to know that they’re loved, no matter what.”
