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Leaving the wine, I passed my mom, and she let me.
“Ramses.”
Almost let me.
Her hand folded around my arm, shifting me and I made it easy because I respected her.
“I wish you wouldn’t be so upset,” she said, eyeing every surface of my kitchen but me. “I was just trying to protect you.”
“Protect me.” I panned her way, a nod as I propped a foot back to the wall. I shook my head. “You know, I told Brielle when we found out she was my professor and you were her friend—which neither of us knew either, by the way. Not at first.”
Her lips moved over the other, her sight to the floor.
“I told her we should give you the benefit of the doubt.” I eyed her. “I told her you’d be fine, and there was no reason to keep our relationship from you.”
“Well, I guess we’ll never know.” Her head lifted, her frown deepening. “Because you did lie to me. She lied to me and had my son lie.”
“Of course, that’s all you heard.” My hands tucked under my arms. “Of course, that’s all you see. Because if you saw anything else, you’d notice, for the first fucking time in years, I can breathe again. I function again after all that shit with dad, everything with December and all that…”
Because she knew about that too, aware. Mom and I had never been totally open about it, but she’d known I had feelings for my friend. Ones I couldn’t do anything about when we’d been in the thick of it. December had chosen someone else in the end.
My jaw moved. “I feel again, and I don’t have to pretend I do.” I nodded. “I actually do. For the first goddamn time in a long time, I do, and that’s because of her. Because I love her. Because it’s real with her.”
Mom’s throat worked, her expression shifting. She may have known all this if she’d given either of us a chance that day. If she’d trusted me. If she’d trusted her.
Rubbing my hand over my mouth, I pushed off the wall. “I get it. I’m your son. It’s harder for you to listen when it comes to me because in your eyes, I’ll always still be your kid.”
Her head shook, tears blinking down. Real tears.
I hadn’t seen my mother cry in years.
Not even through the divorce. She’d held them back. Stayed strong. Her fingers squeezed her arms. “I didn’t protect you, Ramses. For years, I didn’t. Not from your father.” She covered her mouth. “I can’t help but think what happened at Brown was my fault.”
She would take on that responsibility. She would take on that pain, but she didn’t have to.
I bought her in close. “You’re the first one who told me Dad’s mistakes are his, and mine are mine. I have fucked up. I’ll probably fuck up a lot more.” She laughed in my hands, and I smiled at her. “But you need to let me, and you have to trust her. She’s your friend.”
“You really love her?” she asked, and I nodded. Her lashes shifted away. “And she loves you?”
“She does.”
And though that one was hard for her, Mom did look up at me. She braced the side of my face before her fingernails flicked my hair. “Did she make you cut your beautiful hair?”
Chuckling, I shook my head. She would focus on that. But that, I could take. That, she could judge. I’d take whatever she gave, as long as it left her open. As long as she tried.
I suppose it was harder for her when it came to me. I’d always be her kid. But Bri, she was her friend, and she should give her the benefit of the doubt. Bri was already hard enough on herself. Had already lost enough. I didn’t want her to lose my mom, too.
I hugged her. “Give her a chance,” I urged. “Trust her. Trust me.”
She hugged me back. “Did you go see your father?”
Surprised by what she asked, I pulled back. “Yeah, why?”
“Because I’m on his do not see list.” She touched my face but didn’t seem mad. “Is finally being able to see him have to do with her, too?”
Maybe. At least these days, it all seemed to connect. When weren’t the decisions in life affected by everything that snowballed from her? We were like organized chaos, all over the place but intentional at the same time. We might always be that way, and I’d certainly never be bored with her.
I made my mom promise me something that night in my kitchen, and she made me do the same. I promised to always be real with her, honest with her if she’d let each of us gain closure in our own ways. If she allowed us both to live our lives and experience both sins and victories. She did that, and I might entertain more of James’s dad jokes. Hell, I’d even call him fucking father when it was time. I’d do whatever she wanted. And surprisingly?
