She recoils slightly, eyes wide with startled hurt, and guilt immediately twists in my gut. But I hold my ground, chest rising and falling heavily. Everything I said is true, and this honesty, however painful, feels overdue.
The silence stretches between us, uncomfortable and thick with everything we’ve never said. It’s not my intention to hurt her, ever, but suddenly, the weight of holding it all back feels impossible. Especially now. My jaw clenches, frustration giving way to something deeper.
“You got to leave, Mom,” I whisper. “You got to walk away from all of it. And maybe it was easier for you, but I felt like…I don’t know, like it was my job to make things better somehow. To be the one good thing left in your lives after he was gone.”
Her face pales, eyes pooling with devastation. “Levi, sweetheart, we never asked…”
“Yeah, I know. But you didn’t have to.” My voice breaks sharply, a truth I’ve buried for years finally clawing its way out tooth and nail. “I saw how empty you both were. How broken. I thought if I could just bring enough sunshine into our house again, you wouldn’t feel the hurt. Or at least, you wouldn’t have to feel mine. So yeah, Mom, I held it together…because someone had to.”
My mother takes a shaky breath, tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t realize that was what we were asking of you. I never…wenever…wanted that burden for you.”
“Maybe not consciously,” I whisper, anger deflating into weary honesty. “But it was there, every day. You didn’t mean to put it on me, but I took it anyway.”
She pales, stepping back slightly as if trying to steady herself. “Levi, honey, we didn’t know…”
I release a slow breath, trying to temper the familiar ache rising in my chest. “I know, Mom. But that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? I never learned how to deal with any of this when I was a kid. Becausenoneof us knew how. Or even tried.” My voice is quiet but firm. “But I’m trying now. I’m untangling the grief I’ve spent years ignoring. And maybe,” I start, stepping closer, “maybe you could come with me to the grief class I’ve been attending. I was getting ready to head out before you got here, and who knows…it might help you, too.”
She scoffs, an involuntary sound, then claps a hand over her mouth, eyes widening in regret.
My chest tightens, voice wavering despite my best efforts. “Mom,” I say, unable to hide the hurt any longer. “Even now, after everything, you still think it’s ridiculous?”
“No.God, Levi, no,” she rushes out, dropping her handhelplessly to her side. Her voice cracks, as delicate as glass. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just…a grief class? Talking to strangers about something we couldn’t even talk about at our own dinner table?”
I hold her gaze until she looks away. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s exactly why we need it.”
The silence stretches out painfully, heavy with years of hurt and feelings long swept under a near-impenetrable rug. She shifts nervously, visibly wrestling with herself. Finally, she asks, “Are you sure you want me there?”
“Honestly? No.” The truth shocks even me. “But I can’t pretend things are fine anymore. For you or for me.”
Another suffocating pause settles over us, until at last she nods, shoulders slumping. “Okay, I’ll…I’ll come.”
I nod quietly, the decision settling between us.
Neither of us speaks as I flip the sign on the shop door toClosedand lock up. The drive feels painfully long, silence broken only by the rev of the engine and the muted sounds of Stonevale commuters passing by. Mom stares out the passenger window, her fingers twisted in her lap.
I’ve run out of realistic excuses tonotgo back to this class.
The first week, I claimed “scheduling conflicts.” A large soil delivery Naomi could have absolutely handled on her own, but it’s easier to believe my own lies. The second week, I insisted I was “too busy” because we hadn’t quite nailed down the garden ground-breaking flyer yet.
But with my mother beside me this time? There’s no turning back.
The class is already settling in when we arrive, and Irene’s eyes meet mine immediately, briefly registering surprise when she spots my mother trailing behind me.
“Glad you could join us,” Irene says.
We sit, the tension pulsing around us. I glance up at Mom, noticing her rigid posture.
“Grief doesn’t always crash into our lives,” Irene says. “Sometimes, it’s stillness, silence louder than the loss itself. And what happens when the noise of our grief no longer drowns out everything else?”
I shift uncomfortably. Irene’s voice stirs a thousand questions I desperately want to ask.
About Hayden.
About how he’s doing.
But I bite them back.
My mother’s hands continue to twist in anxious circles in her lap, eyes glistening and scanning the room. Perhaps for an exit.
