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Mom sets the spoon on the rest and comes to stand beside me. She rubs my back, trying to soothe away my pain. She remembers, all too well, my rebellious days after we moved to California. The torment I endured and inflicted on everyone around me.
“What can I do?”
I turn to her and hug her again. When I release her, I relay my plan to her. And I tell her what happened in Clearwater with Alyson and Layla. How both of them behaved as if their needs and desires supersede mine—even with me in the epicenter.
The fire in Mom’s eyes is like nothing I have seen before. Even with all the shit I put her through, she never showed this side. At least not to me. Her cheeks burn bright red as she balls her fingers into tight fists at her side. Right now, Mom is as livid as I am. If not more.
“I’m moving back, Mom. But I have a lot of work ahead of me.”
The fire leaves her eyes and is replaced with a gentle smile. “Please tell me what I can do to help. Of course, I’ll miss you, but I understand. Your heart never left Florida, honey. Not once.”
Since Dad passed away two years ago, Mom and I have grown much closer. For a little while, I let go of the anger and resentment I held toward her. Once I understood she had no choice—take the promotion or possibly lose her job—my forgiveness was easier to dole out.
“True. But I messed up, Mom. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.”
Mom walks over to the stove and turns off the burner. She grabs two bowls from the cabinet and portions us both some food. We walk over to the small, four-seater dining table and sit. She sets a bowl in front of me before speaking.
When her eyes meet mine, they are serious and determined. “Gavin… Don’t stay away and wonder what if this or what if that. If there is one thing losing your father taught me, it’s that life is much shorter than we give it credit for. You have to do things now, while you still can. There are so many things your father and I didn’t get to do together. Things I will never get to do with him. And I’m fully aware he’d want me to keep living my life. To find someone else who brings me happiness. But I’m not ready for that. It’s too soon. Maybe one day…”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “When you’re ready, Mom. It’s okay if that doesn’t happen for many years to come. Or if it happens sooner than you expect. Anyone who says otherwise is an asshole.”
“Gavin,” Mom scolds. I shrug her off. “Anyway. You and Cora are young. You have what looks like a lifetime ahead of you. But I thought the same with your father. So, I chose to work hard and save for us to do everything after retirement. But we can’t predict the future. I never thought I’d be spending my retirement without your father. It’s a hard pill to swallow. And it’s not something I want for you. To live in regret. So whatever I can do to help you, let me know. Because your happiness matters more than anything else in my world.”
I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, Mom. You always say what I need to hear. And after I sort out all the details tomorrow, I’ll let you know.”
Silence rings around us a moment, but soon Mom and I fall into easy conversation. She talks about work and some new software they are developing to detect specific heart defects in the womb. Some new, experimental noninvasive technology. I listen to every word she says, but a lot of what she tells me is gibberish. A strange blend of medical terminology and techie talk. But it’s my mom, so I pay attention to every detail. I smile at her excitement.
When she finishes her story, I tell her about the shoot in Clearwater for Global Beach Magazine. How the magazine will reach major cities across the world. I also let her know I have no doubts about finding a new agent, especially after this shoot. Then I share the last shoot I plan to do here. That it involves Layla. Alyson hasn’t told me what the shoot is for yet, but I can only assume it’s something to do with couples. If that happens to be the case, I will be speaking with that photographer the moment I arrive on set.
After we finish eating, Mom drives me to my house. We exchange hugs and promises to keep in contact throughout the week. I unlock the front door and wave at Mom as she backs out of the driveway. I stand in the darkness a moment and breathe in the stale air and vacancy around me. When I flip the light on, I scan the empty and soulless house I have lived in for the last eight years.
Then I drop to my knees and cry. “I’m finally going home.”
