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“Holden, can you give us a minute?” Sydney asks quietly.
I scan her expression, reading the determination there. “Yeah, sure.”
I slide out of the booth, glancing over my shoulder once before heading for the long countertop. Sydney is leaning forward, talking. I’m uneasy about leaving them to talk alone, but I’m not sure my presence was helping much anyway.
After a moment of deliberation, I take the stool one down from Vincent.
He looks up at me. Sips more coffee, still looking shockingly unbothered by the family drama he’s here with. “Want me to order you a cup? It’s decent joe.”
I’m startled by the offer. His demeanor is a complete one-eighty from our last conversation in a hospital hallway. “No, I’m good.” Reluctantly I add, “Thanks.”
Paper rustles as his attention returns to his article.
I study the Formica countertop for a minute before speaking again.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say. “About my mom’s health. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. But never knowing…I think that would have been worse, the more I think about it. So…thanks.”
A long beat of silence follows.
“There are some decisions that are so big you can’t take back,” Vincent tells me. “Can never undo them once they’re made. And our instinct is always survival. I guess, what I’m trying to say, is that regret is a lot to carry.”
If you told me weeks ago, months ago, years ago, that I’d be sitting with a stranger in a diner and nodding along to his assessment of my mother, I’d have thought you were crazy. But I get what Vincent is saying.
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 yourkids 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.
