Page 139 of Fall Fake-Out

A laugh slips out.

“What?” Mom turns toward me.

“I don't know. I’ve just never seen you get annoyed with Landrie before.”

Mom snorts. “That’s because you haven’t lived here.”

The answer surprises me enough that I stop to think about it. “Seriously? I always thought you two had the perfect relationship.” I shrug, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I intended. “I’ve actually been a little jealous of it.”

Her brows pull together. “Jealous?”

“Yeah.” I look down at the centerpiece ribbon in my hands. “Everything always seemed easier between you two. You approved of her choices. You were proud of what she was doing with her life. You understood each other.”

The room goes quiet.

For a moment, I wish I could pull the words back.

Instead, Mom reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. “Oh, sweetheart. “That’s not how it’s been at all. Landrie and I argue plenty.”

“Not like we do.”

“No.” She smiles sadly. “Not like we do.”

The honesty catches me off guard.

Mom sighs and leans back in her chair. “But do you know what the difference is?”

“I’m more difficult?”

“No.” She frowns. “I worry about you more.”

The answer is part comforting and frustrating.

“When Landrie makes a decision, I rarely lose sleep over it. But with you...” Her voice softens. “You moved across the country. You stayed in relationships that broke your heart. You tried so hard to build a life that wasn’t making you happy.”

My throat tightens. “Mom, I don’t want to get into it all over again.”

“No, let me say this.” Her shoulders fall. “You did all of that, and I couldn’t be there with you to help you. It’s been hard for me to let go, you know? And then, somewhere along the way, my worrying turned into trying to control you and your choices just so you wouldn’t get hurt again or so that things wouldn’t be so hard for you.”

My mom doesn’t usually admit things like that.

“I kept trying to fix everything. Push you. Protect you. Prevent mistakes before they happened.” A small laugh escapes her. “Fear parenting, I suppose.”

The phrase makes me smile because, now that she’s described it like that, I can see it perfectly.

“I thought if I could just help enough, advise enough, interfere enough, I could guarantee you’d be happy. But I can’t.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “But I’m learning something.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’re not me. You don’t need my life plans. My choices. My approval.” Her lips lift. “You need room to make your own decisions.”

Emotion presses unexpectedly against my chest. “Even if they’re bad decisions?”

“Especially then.”

I laugh.

Mom does too.