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“Oh you know him, he’s down at the shop working on some new project. Fixing a motor, replacing a carburetor, a new brake job, maybe all the above.” She laughs it off and pulls me into the kitchen by my arm that’s not in a sling. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m good,” the last thingI feel like is one of my mother’s extravagant meals. I’m not sure I can stomach it.
“Then a sandwich maybe, or a slice of pie,” when I notice the hopeful look in her eyes I know I can’t deny her.
“What kind of pie?”
Her smile stretches across her face, “Peach or apple.”
“Apple, with a scoop of vanilla.”
“You got it,” she starts working, talking away about her best friend Melanie and how her daughter and husband just bought their first house in Kansas City. Apparently her son in law got transferred there for a new promotion.
“She’s heartbroken, because she is going to miss so much.”
“But she can visit,” my stomach growls when she places a small plate in front of me and holds out a fork.
“And you said you weren’t hungry.” She laughs, completely satisfied and I don’t argue. “But yes, she can visit, but it's not the same. Her daughter is pregnant and,” I zone out of the rest of what she says when I hear the word pregnant. My mind wanders back to Amara and the look in her eyes the very moment she put up her walls once again.
I know what she thought. She took what I said and decided it was my way out. Once that level of distance was met there was no way to pull her back in, at least not at that moment. So I left, against my better judgment I walked out and sat in my truck, I didn’t want to leave, but forced myself to pull away from the curb and took a drive to clear my head.
Eventually I ended up back at Amara’s only she never came home. I assumed she was hiding out at her parents, and me going there wasn’t the best option. Liam said Tucker had his opinions and by now I figured he’s already been brought up to speed and had my face on a target, checking his aim.
Some time, I’d give her time. But that could only last so long, because this wasn’t going away.
So I ended up at my parents’ house, not really wanting to be alone.
“Where did you just go?”
“What?” Shaking off the thoughts I find my mom staring at me with a confused expression. “I was telling you about Melanie’s daughter and you zoned out.”
“Sorry,” taking a bite of pie I try to mask my worries.
“Something is wrong,” of all the times I need her to believe me, this is one. “Where is Amara?”
And there it is, the big question I know she’s been asking herself since I stepped inside alone.
“We had a bit of a,” I shrug, “disagreement.”
“A disagreement,” she repeats, not looking convinced.
“Yeah.”
Silence settles in and I nibble at the pie, moving it around on my plate with the fork.
“Tyler,” she rounds the corner, “talk to me.”
“Do you think being a shitty parent can be inherited?” When she doesn’t answer I look over and find her watching me with tears in her eyes. “Or do you think it's taught? Something you learn from those who raise you? Because I really hope it's the latter.”
“Sweetheart,” when she says this, suddenly I feel like I am eight years old all over again.
“What I think is that each one of us has a choice. We decide who we want to be. We decide if we want to be honorable and caring. We make the choice to do right or wrong, we set that path. One choice can change everything, but we also have the ability to learn and decide if that is who we want to be.”
I take a deep breath as she continues.
“I don’t believe that being a bad person is passed down to the next generation, but what I do feel is that we cannot only take our mistakes but take those mistakes of our parents and learn and grow. We can right not only our own wrongs but theirs too.”
“I hope you’re right,” more than anything. I hope her words are true.
