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I glanced back at her, and Mom just nodded rapidly, licked
her lips, and tried to speak but failed. She nodded some more, and I nodded back.
She took a partial step forward—nervous and hesitant. I didn’t move. I was immobilized by what was happening—the house, the smells coming from it, and my mother coming closer to me. There were too many emotions inside of me fighting to claw their way to the surface, and I just couldn’t move.
She stood right in front of me, and she moved her hands to my shoulders. Then her palms rested on the side of my face for a second before she wrapped her arms around my neck and held me to her.
Part of me wanted to push her away, to make her pay for all the suffering of the past, but I couldn’t. I’d spent so much time rejecting her, the reaction was as natural as breathing.
No, not as natural as breathing—as natural as punching. As natural as lashing out. As natural as taking out all my frustrations on another person’s face.
All of a sudden, I knew.
It wasn’t just her. It wasn’t just him.
Some of it was me, and I was going to have to take responsibility for it.
For me and my actions.
I had to do it.
It was the only way to bury the past and move forward with my life.
With Tria.
With our baby.
“I’m sorry!” I cried out as I encircled her with my arms. I held her so tightly I heard her gasp before I loosened my grip and tried to be more careful.
“I’m sorry, too, Liam,” she said. “I’m so sorry for all of it. I never meant…we never meant for any of this to happen…never wanted you hurt…”
“I didn’t know, and I wasn’t thinking…I was just stupid, and I didn’t know what to do…”
“I know, Liam…son…I know…I’m so sorry…”
“Mom…”
“My son…”
Time evaporated. We stood in the doorway right about an eon, and then shifted to the little sitting bench in the foyer where I used to take off my snow boots. We moved to the couch in the living room at one point, still just holding on to each other, barely talking and trying to remember who we once were.
Dad came home at six o’clock, just like he always had when I was growing up. He must have already known I was there because he started looking around as soon as he walked in the door and then tentatively approached us.
His eyes were wary as they watched me, and my own nervousness tried to take over.
“I need to go,” I mumbled. “Tria will be wondering where I am.”
“Damon called her right before he called me,” Douglass said. “He told her where you were.”
“Well…um…” My tongue lost its ability to form syllables as my excuses evaporated. I looked back at Mom, who offered me a half smile.
“Would you stay for dinner?” she asked. “We could call Tria—have her picked up to join us.”
“I…I don’t know,” I admitted. “This is…a little much.”
Dad nodded though Mom still looked disappointed.
“Will you join us at Michael’s on Sunday?” Dad asked. “It would…well, it would really mean a lot to me…to all of us.”
