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As an adult, I learned those tears weren’t because of my behavior. She was sad and sorrowful for the things she couldn’t do for me. She was crying because of her position in life. She cried because she felt like she was letting me down.
Those tears stopped after her and Micah finally got together. He never gave her a reason to cry, and the only time I’ve seen her eyes well up since was during happy times—at my wedding, the day Aria was born.
That’s not accurate. She wept desperately when Lana died, and I know it’s because she loved her so dearly. Mom never had another child after me, and she welcomed Lana into her arms from the very first meeting, proclaiming her as the daughter she always wanted. I always chuckled when thinking of that day because I was so glad I was already head over heels for the girl since Mom declared that there would be no other woman for me. We had found our one. We were done searching, she’d said as if she were a part of that mission.
“I’m not ready to move on,” I declare, my back straightening a little, although the weight of what feels like a lie pushes down on me harder. “She’s just here.”
Mom’s soft smile fades from her face as her head begins to shake. “You’re an adult, Harley, and you know I try to stay out of your business, but I would urge you not to get involved, even into a physical relationship with Ali until you have a very open conversation with her.”
I blink at her, wondering just how she knows anything, even Ali’s name. I haven’t mentioned the woman to either of my parents.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Mom snaps. “We’re all adults, and from the looks of it, you two were about to have sex in the middle of the living room.”
“Lucy,” Dad chides.
She waves him off, flittering her hand through the air. “No. It has to be said. Em told me all about that girl, and you know Em is a great judge of character. She’s fond of her which means she’s a kind soul, and that’s not even taking into account her recent trauma. You can’t drag her into your bed, or do what you were doing against the wall, without letting her know that you can’t give her more than that. Women are different from men. We don’t—”
“Mom,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose, a little embarrassed, as if I’m a teen having the talk with her for the first time and not a thirty-one-year-old widower father.
“There’s nothing embarrassing about sex, Harley.” Dad sighs because he knows how she goes off on a tangent. “Just maybe not in the middle of the living room.”
Dad scoffs, making me wince even further because the sound makes me think that he’s disagreeing with her, and my parents having sex threatens bile to rush up my throat.
She smacks his chest with the back of her hand, confirming my suspicions, and I make a gagging noise. Dad grins like an idiot, always proud when he can embarrass me in such ways. Mom giggles like a teen, making me insanely happy that they aren’t going to be staying in my house. The walls are too thin for a visit like that.
“It won’t happen again,” I assure both of them. “With Ali, I mean.”
Dad rolls his eyes, and Mom does that blinking thing again, both reactions telling me they don’t believe it any more than I do.
“You never were a liar, dear.”
I turn away from my parents, desperate for a minute free of scrutiny, and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, sure that getting her taste off my lips will make me more believable.
“Time is the only thing that’s going to end the suffering you feel, Harley,” Mom says, even as my back is to her. “And there isn’t a person other than you who can determine how long that takes. Fighting it is natural, but don’t fight it too hard. We both just want to see you happy, with someone else or without. My heart breaks every day for you.”
I can’t help her pain, even though I’m desperate to make sure she no longer feels it. I honestly think she’ll hurt for a long time, just like I do. I can acknowledge her loss easier now after that conversation with Kincaid a week ago.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell her, my eyes brimming with tears.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, a sob catching in her throat as she opens her arms wide.
I rush into them, letting her love soothe me the same way it did so many times while I was growing up.
I’m a man’s man. There’s no doubt about that, but I’d never deny being a momma’s boy either.
