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I do share similarities with my mom.
Not just selfishness.
And maybe that biological connection gives me some ability to understand how convincing yourself walking away from your kids was in their best interest and then spending the rest of your life doubling down on that irreversible decision.
“I think I will take that coffee,” I say.
Vincent flags down the waitress and a steaming mug appears in front of me a couple of minutes later.
I sip and continue staring at the Formica countertop, battling the urge to look behind me and check on Sydney.
The last time I was here was with Cassia. Her sister Maggie hooked me into a plan to date a freshman on the basketball team.
And it was the first time in a long time that Cassia and I talked for real. About the past—about our past. The first time I got a glimpse of how much I’d hurt her by keeping my distance in high school.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jump when Sydney pokes my side. Her expression is neutral, and I don’t know what that means. I’m not sure if there was ever an ideal outcome from this meeting.
Vincent is already standing, offering an arm to my mom.
“Goodbye, Holden,” she says, taking his.
We stare at each other for a few heavy seconds.
And I know, somehow, that she’s not justsayinggoodbye. That thisisgoodbye.
This is the last time I’ll ever see her. Whether she dies in a few months or receives a transplant, she’ll never be a part of my life. We’ll never meet here every Sunday for brunch like a normal family.
I resent the hell out of her for that. For being too weak to carry the regret. For never being brave enough to attempt amends. For making me question if I was capable of those things.
I’ve had most of my life to hate her. But I still love her, just like my dad did. Just like Sydney does. And it doesn’t matter that she never loved us back. Or if she did, that it was never enough. That doesn’t change how I feel about her.
So I say it, one final time. The word I swore I’d never speak to her again. For me, more for her.
I swallow. “Goodbye, Mom.”
She and Vincent leave. I stay sitting. Sydney stays standing.
Once they’re out of sight, I glance at my sister.
“Did you get what you needed?” I ask her.
“I-I don’t know.” She’s staring at the closed door where our mom disappeared.
“There’s no happy ending here, Syd.”
Even if our mom beats the odds with her illness, she’ll never beour mom. We’ll never spend holidays together. She’ll never meet Sydney’s kid. My kids. There will never be a time when she’s in the audience at one of Sydney’s plays or in the stands at one of my games.
She picked a different path.
And resenting her—judging her—will never change that choice.
* * *
I call Cassia after dropping Sydney off at the condo. She’s spending the night in Pembrooke and taking the train back into the city first thing tomorrow. I have to get back to campus for a weight session.
“Hey.” Her tone is soft when she answers on the third ring, already knowing what I’m calling her about.
