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67
I cried for a good five minutes. Finally I sat back and dried my eyes. Mom got up and brought me some Kleenex, then poured out some more wine for her – and a glass for me.
“Just for the record, Kaitie-bear, I think you traded up,” she said as she handed me my drink.
“Ryan?”
She nodded.
I half-sobbed, half-smiled. “Yeah… yeah, I guess I did.”
Mom stared into my eyes as though searching for something. I had to look into my drink, because I didn’t want her to find it.
“Sometimes,” she said gently, “after you’ve been on a rollercoaster ride, it can take awhile to fully appreciate a really, truly good man.”
I looked up at her, a bit annoyed. “I appreciate Ryan.”
“I know.”
“I love him,” I said… and remembered my phone conversation with my mother while I was still in South Dakota.
Your boyfriend? I’m so looking forward to meeting him! What’s his name?
I remembered which name I had started to say.
“I
love
Ryan,” I repeated, almost too insistently.
“Okay,” Mom said, and left it at that.
“Speaking of which, I had better go see how he’s doing.”
“Okay.”
“Do I look alright?”
“You look beautiful,” she said, with real affection.
I smiled. “I mean, do I look like a sobbing wreck?”
“Well, it’s a good thing you weren’t wearing mascara. But you look fine.”
“Okay,” I said, and stood. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“…thank you.”
She stood up with a smile and hugged me, and we stayed like that for a long time, our arms around each other.
“I love you, Kaitlyn.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
I meant it. But I also meant,
I forgive you.
And
Please forgive ME for not forgiving you sooner.
68
As I walked towards the stairs, I passed by my dad’s office and saw the light under the door. I was still emotionally raw from my talk with my mom – but it was like a thorn had been plucked out of an infected wound, and the sore had been cleansed and bandaged.
It felt like our relationship was healing.
Emboldened, I decided to take the plunge and do what I’d never done before: talk to my father openly and honestly.
I knocked hesitantly on the door.
“Come in,” came the muffled reply.
I opened up and peeked in. “Hi, Dad. Do you have a moment?”
He was sitting at his desk. At the sound of my voice, he turned around in his swivel chair and smiled. “For you, maybe even two. What’s up?”
I sat down in his worn-out leather recliner, the place where he relaxed after a hard day’s work with a drink from the bottle of scotch he kept hidden in his bottom file drawer – something he thought my brothers and I didn’t know about.
“I was just talking to Mom,” I said.
“That’s nice,” he said, sounding mildly bored. “What did you two talk about?”
My heart was beating rapidly.
“Um… a little bit about Ryan.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
“What do you think of him?” I asked, if for no other reason than to buy time.
“He seems very nice,” was his noncommittal reply.
“…anything else?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t gotten to know him very well yet.”
And whose fault is that?
I thought.
Not Ryan’s. HE tried.
But I kept that one to myself.
“We talked about some other stuff, too,” I said nervously.
“Mm-hm?”
