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“No, no.” She rubs at her eyes. “Don’t apologize. You can take all the time you need. I know I called too much—” Her voice cracks.
“No,” I shake my head.
“I did,” she nods. “I hated how much my mom hounded me growing up, and I didn’t want to make you feel—”
“You didn’t,” I say fast. “You made me feel loved.”
She exhales a tender breath. Smoke billows behind her head.
“Mom—is that smoke?”
She whips around. “Oh…shit.” The video is blurry and out of focus as she deals with the crisis off-screen.
Beckett and Charlie have been talking quietly amongst themselves, but they overhear smoke and look to me.
“I think everything’s okay,” I tell them. “Is everything okay, Mom? Mom?”
“Yeah! Just burnt the quinoa.” She reframes herself in the video. “Your dad has been struggling with going vegan.”
Me too. I can’t find the words, though.
“And I’m trying a new recipe that he’d definitely cook better than me. But I can’t burn the avocado, so hey, he’ll have something edible to eat.”
I try to smile, but the weight of the rift still lingers. “I couldn’t…I didn’t listen to your voicemails.”
She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “That’s okay.” She nods a lot, but I can tell that hurt her.
It hurt to say. “I love you, and I’m just scared of what you have to say.”
“Your dad told me everything.” My mom can’t keep still. She jumps on the counter, jostles the camera as I assume her feet swing. “What he did, how he reacted—it was so, so wrong. I wish I would’ve been at the quarry with you all.”
“Me too,” I say out loud this time.
She takes a short breath. “I don’t agree with him. Your dad and I are different people, and I’ll always love and support him, but that also means telling him when he’s wrong.”
Panic rips at me. “I don’t want this to come between you and him. Please don’t fucking fight over this—”
“We’re not fighting,” she assures quickly, then jumps off the counter. After rounding a bunch of potted plants in the house, she ends up at the window nook. “One thing I’ve learned about him is that you have to be patient. He needs time. That’s all. In the meantime, you have me.” She offers the prettiest smile, and I can almost feel her hug.
I breathe easier, knowing I haven’t lost my mom. “I couldn’t go through this if you reacted how he reacted too.” My dad told me to call my mom. I realize now that he knew I needed her.
Maybe he even knew she’d support me.
“You don’t have to wonder what that’d be like because it’s gone, poof. Vanished.” She mock gasps. “I never saw it. The strangeness of it all.”
We share a warm smile.
And gently, I ask, “How much time do you think he’ll need? Weeks, months…years?”
Goldilocks, a Golden Retriever, jumps on her lap. “I wish I could give you an answer. But the truth is that I don’t know.” She meets my eyes. “He just wants to protect you.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Mom. I don’t need him to fight all my battles. And me dating Akara and Banks shouldn’t be a battle in the first place.”
“Totally agree.”
I inhale strongly, but her understanding can’t completely mend the wound my dad created. Can I be at odds with my dad for more than a couple weeks? Not having him in my life is gut-wrenching. I want to tell him about my new job, and my swim times on the rooftop pool.
My mom whispers, “I love you, Sullivan. I want you to know that.” Her eyes are glassed with tears.
Mine redden and burn, and I say deeply, “I really, really love them, Mom. It’s World Series kind of stuff.”
Her smile bursts across her face, eyes glass now with happiness. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I believe it’ll last, and that should be enough, right?”
“Indubitably,” she says with a cute nod.
I’m about to update her on the coaching gig at Warwick University, but I check the time. Only a few minutes left with Beckett. “Can I call you later? To talk more?”
“I’d love that. You know I’m always here. Free. Just buzzing around. Trying not to burn food.”
I laugh.
She blows me a kiss. “Take care, peanut butter cupcake.”
“Bye, Mom.” I blow her a kiss back.
We hang up.
“I’m not taking the piano,” Charlie says to Beckett in mid-conversation. I didn’t hear a lot, but I’m guessing this is about Grandmother Calloway’s wedding present to their older sister. “Our apartment is crammed enough with Tom’s shit.”
“Jane says you play it every time you’re over there,” Beckett says, “so obviously you enjoy it.”
“It’s a nice piano,” Charlie says, “that I enjoy there.”
Beckett suddenly notices me off the phone. “How was that?”
“Bittersweet. My dad is the bitter part. Mom is sweet.” My phone buzzes.
