The Conference
Harper
Luke left fifteen minutes ago. I made him promise to come back, but I don’t know if he’ll keep it. Then again, he’s snuck in before when my mom was home. He doesn’t have to sneak in this time, but he still might not.
Mom keeps glancing at me.
“What?” I finally hit pause on the show we started. It’s not that good. It’s one everyone hypes, but maybe it just starts really fucking slow.
“You doing okay?” She glances down at my hands and the blanket I’m squeezing the life out of.
I release my stranglehold on the blanket and sigh. Luke said my mom knows about his father, but it still feels weird. All our childhood we’re told to tell an adult and they can help us. But his father is too powerful.
“I wish Luke didn’t have to go back to his father.” I smooth out the wrinkles in the blanket. What can I do if he gets hurt again? How will I even know? Will Luke tell me?
“The world is a complicated place. This whole town is a complicated place.” She blows out a breath. “If I could havereported it, I would have, but there are some very rich men who control everything.”
She looks out the window and there’s a sadness I don’t normally see in her eyes.
“We always figured we’d make enough money and leave this town.” The wistfulness in her voice isn’t lost on me.
I swallow. Maybe she misses my dad. Maybe that’s why she never talks about him.
“When I was showing the guys the motorcycle, I had this... memory of a guy squatting next to it. He gestured for me to come over.”
Mom smiles and stands. She goes over to the bookcase and pulls out a book, seemingly at random. She flips through it as she walks back to the couch and sits next to me.
“Your father left when you were so young. I was so angry at him. It didn’t matter if he left accidentally or on purpose. He was supposed to be here. We were supposed to leave together.” She stops as the book falls open to a page with a picture in the crease of the book. “You and I just carried on and he got further and further from my mind.”
She turns the picture over and moves it so I can see it.
“Sean.” Her finger lingers over the corner of the picture.
He stands with his arm draped around Mom’s shoulders. She looks up at him with what can only be described as stars in her eyes. His eyes are warm brown. His tousled hair sandy blond. His beard is neatly trimmed and reddish. The smile on his face is inviting and kind.
“I’ve never seen this picture before.” My fingertips hover over his black leather jacket.
Mom sighs. “He was the love of my life, and when he left us, I didn’t want to think about him. If he didn’t want to be part of our lives, I wouldn’t let him keep us from living.”
She still loves him. It’s easy to see. The softness of her eyes. The smile that keeps tugging at her lips. The sadness that clings to her words.
She holds the picture out to me. “Is this who you saw?”
I take it and study the face. “I don’t know. Maybe. It was more of a feeling. Like I lost something.”
When I hand her back the picture, she draws in a deep breath. Her brown eyes are shiny, but she doesn’t cry. It’s strange. To me, it’s a picture of a man who meant something to her and should mean something to me. But I don’t have an emotional connection to him. Not the way she does.
“It’s weird to think about what might have been. If he’d taken us with him.” Mom runs a finger over the picture before closing the book.
I don’t have anything to offer. I don’t remember him. She didn’t bring him up. And I never had anyone in my life who was a father figure to me after him. What if we had moved away? What would it have been like to grow up without the horsemen?
My stomach twists. No hiding. No Eli. No Caden. No Jack. No Nico. No Luke.
“He wouldn’t have been happy with you having one boyfriend. Let alone five.” Mom chuckles and stands to put the book away.
“Why are you?” It pops into my head and out of my mouth before I can even consider it.
She freezes with the book partially on the bookshelf. For a moment she hovers there and then she puts it away and comes over to sit in the chair facing me. Her face is carefully blank.
