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“You’re the little boy,” she said abruptly, surprise fluttering through the words like pages flipped in a book. “The brother.”
Dipping his chin, Milo nodded once. “Yes, ma’am. I remember you too.”
The air practically crackled with all the things they weren’t saying. This awkward history—myhistory. “Mom, this is Milo. Milo, this is my mom.”
She flexed her hands against the back of the chair, like she wasn’t sure what to do. The discomfort stained the air around her. The indecision weighed on me even as she seemed intent on fighting her own responses. Letting go of the chair, she circled it and held out her hand.
“I’m Moira,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you again.”
I bit my lower lip as Milo studied her hand for a moment, then reached over to accept the handshake. “Yes, ma’am.”
They hesitated, both of them. Finally, Mom took a step back. She rubbed her hands against her sides, then folded her arms. “I suppose you both want to talk.”
She didn’t quite look at Milo, just at me. My mother’s unease and fidgetiness translated to my own nerves.
“If you’re up for it,” Milo said deliberately, the gruffness in his voice more poignant to me than hostile. “Ivy would prefer that you rest though, if you’re not.”
“Ivy—” Her gaze flickered to me, and I raised my brows. “That was your name when we adopted you.”
“It’s still technically one of my names,” I told her. “I’m still Ivy Hardigan.” The weight of Milo’s regard washed over me. “I’m also still me,” I continued. “Yes, we have questions and need to talk, but Milo is right. I want you to rest if you’re not ready yet.”
Nothing we said or did would make this any less difficult. Not for me. Not for her. Not for Milo.
“But if you can handle it, I need to talk to you about Uncle Fuckbucket.” I managed to get those words out almost steadily. “And Milo has questions about—”
“Uncle Fuckbucket?” Mom repeated the words, shock punching up the syllables. “You’re calling Bradley a Fuckbucket?”
She didn’t wait for my answer before she started laughing. Sitting down abruptly, she covered her mouth with her hand as though struggling to contain the sound. Except, the laughter kept escaping.
Only the lack of mirth in her eyes and the hysterical notes to her humor kept me from being upset. Tears escaped and she swiped at them, but then she shook her head as she pressed both of her hands to her face.
“I’m sorry,” she exhaled, voice still shaking with overwrought emotion. “It’s not funny at all. At the same time…dear God, that is the perfect title for him.”
She lifted her head to meet me, her tear-filled eyes shimmering. “My sweet baby…”
“You didn’t know,” I reminded her.
“I should have…”
“Yes,” Milo said before I could. “You should have.”
I swung my head to face him, but he wasn’t looking at me at all. He stared at Mom, and rather than wilt under that hard-eyed stare, she lifted her chin.
“You promised me that you and your husband would love her and take care of her andprotecther.”
Mom swiped at a tear.
“What happened to that part?”
I wanted to protest and defend her. At the same time, I cut my gaze back to Mom, who kept wiping at the tears escaping. I wanted to know what she would say… I didn’t blame her. Right? I didn’t think I did, yet at the same time…
“I—have no excuses. I always thought we were doing everything perfectly. I didn’t know as much about babies.” Now she looked at me. “But you were such a happy child, so easy, and then…you grew more somber and distant as you got older. I thought it was…just that you wanted to do other things.”
Now it was my turn to look away. Not because I was ashamed of my choices or even of what I wanted to ask her, but because… “You were always gone,” I said finally, then peered at her. “You and Daddy always had work, travel…”
She closed her eyes and dropped her chin. “I know, baby, I wish I could—”
“I just want to know why you adopted me if you were never going to have time.” Licking my lips, I lifted my shoulders. “Did you actually want me? Or did you want a photo opportunity?”
