Page 647 of End Game

“Hi, Mom.”

“Did you meet with Ben?”

“He told you?”

“He did.”

I roll my eyes, but don’t say anything except, “Yes.”

“And?”

I stop at a red light. “He apologized.”

Mom goes quiet. “Do you believe him?”

“I believe he is trying.”

Her breath releases softly through the speakers. “That is something.”

“It is.”

Another pause.

Then, very carefully, “Does that mean—”

She stops.

I wait.

“No,” she says instead.

I glance toward the phone mounted on the dash.

“No?”

“That was going to be me asking whether this changes family gatherings.” There is a faint frustration in her voice, directed at herself. “I don't need to ask you that.”

Something in my chest goes unexpectedly tight. “No.”

“Ben created this, Ronan.”

The light changes. I drive.

“We will keep figuring out holidays and birthdays and whatever else comes up. If things change someday, fine. But you don't need to decide when he's earned his way back into anything. And it’s not fair to punish you because of what he did.”

I grip the wheel slightly harder. I have spent months waiting for someone in my family to say exactly that without requiring me to explain it first.

“Thank you.”

“I should have said it sooner.”

“Yes.”

Mom laughs once, quietly. “You could occasionally let people off the hook.”

“I could.”

“But you aren't going to.”