“You’re right,” I say, feeling a little sick now. “I don’t.”
“Every time you hear those cathedral bells, you must remember that I’m counting on you.”
I swallow another groan, knowing that she’s cursed me with this one. Iwillhear those bells and every hour remember I am a liar. And a disappointment. I’ve always been a disappointment.
Dammit, Ma.
“You are my prodigal son,” she says sweetly. “I’m dreaming of the day when I can slaughter the fatted calf.”
I wonder for a moment what it would be like if she just accepted me as I am. Her second son who is smart, and accomplished, and independent, and questioning, and, sure, a little rebellious. Who is passionate about rocks, just not the rock of the church. I think about asking her,Mom, would you still love me if I renounced Catholicism?
But my throat goes tight at the thought because I know she doesn’t have the capacity for that. I am the prodigal son. I have been since I started questioning the concept of papal infallibility in fourth grade.
The pope doesn’t make a mistake? Give me a fucking break.
But I let my mom dream of slaughtering the fatted calf on my behalf. And I make a joke instead.
“Mom, don’t talk about Drake like that.”
Her startled laugh untwists my guts a little. “You little hellion. That’s just baby fat,” she says, rushing to my youngest brother’s defense. “He’ll outgrow it.”
“Just kidding, Ma.” Judging that she feels like she’s fulfilled her maternal duties of correction and coercion, I take my chance. “But I gotta go. Got a lot to do tonight.” I know better than to tell her where I am and what needs doing. She’ll just get fired up all over again.
“Well, while you’re doin’ it, I want you to do some thinking.”
I cringe. “About what?”
Her sigh comes over the line. “You know I was never happy that you and Zoe decided to live together.”
That’s an understatement. I grunt an acknowledgement.
“But I was fond of Zoe, and I know in my heart she loved you even if she allowed you to taint your soul with a mortal sin.”
“Ma—”
“Listen, now, Lark,” she admonishes gently. “I want you to promise me that you won’t set up another girl for heartbreak and humiliation like that.”
“Mom.I didn’t set Zoe up.” I bite out the words. But even though my spine has turned to steel, my stomach twists. No matter what I said or did, I still feel guilty.
Iamstill guilty.
“Can you promise me?”
I pull the phone away from my ear and scowl at it. “I don’t even know what you want me to promise. Not to fall in love? Not to get serious with somebody? Because that’s—”
“Don’t live like man and wife until you’re ready tobeman and wife.”
I scoff. I can’t help it. “Don’t worry, Ma. I’m not planning on moving in with a girlfriend anytime soon.”
“That’s not a promise, Lark.”
Jesus Christ.The woman is relentless.
“Mom, I think what you’re missing here is that I’m not the kind of person to make promises like that.”
She sighs, and this time, I hear defeat and disgust. I’m not crazy about either, but at least she’s giving up. For now.
“You’ll come home for Sunday dinner? After Mass?”
