“Good, Mom. Really." I lean against the counter beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. "I know you didn't know he was coming back. You don't have to explain or apologize or?—"
"I didn't," she says quickly, and there's almost frantic urgency in her voice. "I swear, Nate. I had no idea. If I'd known he was planning to?—"
"Mom." I turn to face her fully, put my hand over hers where it's still gripping the sink. "Hey. It's okay. And honestly? I'm glad he came."
That seems to surprise her more than anything.
"You are?"
"Yeah." I squeeze her hand gently. "I think I needed to hear hisside. To understand what happened back then. He told me about the prison sentence. About Scott."
She closes her eyes, and pain flickers across her face.
"He told you about that."
“That Scott made sure he couldn't come back for us even if he wanted to? Yeah he did.” I keep my voice level, but I can't quite keep the edge of anger out of it.
"I'm so sorry." Her voice breaks slightly. "I'm so sorry you had to carry all of this. That you didn't have?—"
"Stop." I turn her to face me properly, hands on her shoulders. "You have nothing to apologize for. You did what you had to do to protect us. And you did protect us, Mom. You raised me to be something other than what Scott tried to make me."
Tears are streaming down her face now.
"But if I'd been stronger sooner—if I'd left earlier?—"
"Then maybe Scott would've killed you. Or me. Or both of us." I pull her into another hug, and this time she really does cling to me. "You survived him. You got us both out alive. That's strength I can't even comprehend."
She's crying against my shoulder now, really crying, and I just hold her.
When she finally pulls back, wiping at her eyes, she looks at me with wonder.
“I can’t believe he’s here.”
I brush a tear from her cheek. "How do you feel about it? Him being back?"
She takes a shaky breath, leans back against the counter.
"We were kids," she says softly, and there's so much tenderness in her voice it makes my chest ache. "Before everything went wrong. Before Scott showed his true colors. We were just kids who thought love was enough."
"You loved him."
"I did." Her voice wobbles, but she doesn't look away from me. "God, I loved him so much it terrified me.”
"You're allowed to still love him, Mom. You know that, right?"
She looks at me then—really looks at me—and my mother is visible. Not the woman who survived Scott's abuse. Not the woman who raised me and Jake alone while trying to protect us both.
Just Lydia.
"I don't know if those feelings even matter anymore."
"They matter," I say firmly. “They always matter. And you deserve the chance to figure out if he still feels the same way too.”
I sound like Ollie.
I slide a folded piece of paper across the counter.
“It’s his number."
