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I look her directly in the eyes. “I’m very sorry, but you need to leave now.”
She shakes her head, looking miserable. Betrayed. Her lips come together, and I know exactly which words she’s preparing to say—but you said not to give up.
“He’s my son,” she says instead, her voice raw.
I want to make her feel better. Comfort her somehow. Maybe that makes me an asshole, but I feel for her. A huge part of her story has been covered up. Somebody didn’t tell the truth about what happened to her. I don’t know who, and it doesn’t matter for the moment. If she were my mom…
I have thoughts about what I would do if she were my mom. I have thoughts about whether a conversation would be worth it. But she’s not my mom, and my opinions don’t factor in. Not with Will in so much pain.
“That’s his choice.” She closes her eyes at my words. “It’s his choice to see you, or speak to you. I know that’s not easy to hear, but it’s true.” I want to say something kind, but it’s cruel to give her false hope. It’s also not up to me. “You need to leave.”
Her shoulders bowed forward, and for a second, I think she might fall.
She doesn’t. She collects herself and meets my eyes one more time. “Thank you.”
I pat her arm, and she turns and goes, her hands slipping back into her pockets. Her shoulders shake all the way down the driveway.
Back in the kitchen, I find Will standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. His face is neutral, but I can see the strain in his jaw. I go to him. Reach for him. I’m about to make contact when he stops me with a quietno.
I drop my hands. “Will?”
“Bristol.” He slides the spatula under another pancake and flips. It lands perfectly in its spot. “I will lose it.”
I want to hold him so much. Touch him at the very least. But I get it. I was a wreck after my mom died. I can’t imagine going through that and then finding out she was alive after all. It makes total sense that he doesn’t want to risk whatever reaction he might have during what’s supposed to be our vacation.
“Okay.” He turns his attention to the eggs he’s scrambling. “I’ll go get the twins.”
Will gives Mia her Eggo waffles and Ben a stack of pancakes. Mia tries one of them, too, and tells Will it’s right.
The smile he gives her shatters my heart.
I take the twins out to the beach and try to enjoy the sun and the waves despite the ache in my chest. Will surfs with the wetsuit and board Emerson left for him for three straight hours, paddling out and catching waves back in again and again and again.
There’s going to be fallout from all this. I wonder for a minute if I should text his brothers, but…no. Will should do that. I just hope they can work through this together. I hope it doesn’t drive them apart. They don’t deserve it.
When we go in, Will takes a shower and sits for lunch with us.
He plays Uno with me and the twins. He’s quiet, and the twins don’t push him. It’s times like these I’m glad they have each other. They’re used to entertaining themselves, even if that sometimes involves Ben pretending to be an audiobook. And it helps that they’re at an age where they’re more capable of just hanging out.
We have dinner, and then we all go in the pool. Will splashes with them, but he doesn’t play. I have a hollow fear that it’ll never happen again. If that’s the case, I’ll just have to hang on to the memory.
But that would break my heart, too.
Just after nine, I put the twins to bed and go downstairs. Will sits on the couch Emerson napped on in the living room, staring into the fireplace. He’s very still, and that scares me more than his anger does. Usually, he’s intense, and I can feel his energy in the air. Now it’s muted, like he’s crushed it into a tiny ball and buried somewhere deep.
When he lets it out, when he faces this, it could be an explosion.
He’ll expect me to run from that, and I won’t. It’s not something I can prove to him right now. I’ll have to do it as it happens.
“Hey.” He turns his head to look at me, his eyes distant. “I’m sorry, Will.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
I want to tell him that I saw her my first week at Hughes, but now doesn’t seem like the time. I don’t want him to think I’m pressuring him into feeling bad for her. I don’t want to pressure him into anything at all. “I’m sorry the day didn’t go how you planned. That had to be really hard. And I just…”I love you.No. It’s definitely not the time to blurt that out. “You don’t have to talk to me about this, if you don’t want to. But I want you to know that I’m here. For whatever you need. I care about you, and I’m here.”
His expression softens, and his eyes drop down from my face. I’m filled with hope that he might want to be near me. I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to work off some of the emotion of the day with some…physical activities.
But then his eyes come back to mine, and he just nods. No words at all. I think he’s at his limit.
