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I got sick of hearing about their quarrels, so I’d go two weeks without ringing her up.
Then three, four…
Six, seven…
Soon it was four or fivemonthsbetween calls. It really irked me, how even when I let that long go by, she wouldn’t take the initiative and call me.
So, when she moved out of Barry’s house and all of a sudden, my calls didn’t go through, it felt inevitable. Like those long stretches between contact were all leading up to the moment when I tried her number and got an automated message to say the line had been disconnected. I had no idea where she moved to, or how to get in touch.
She reached out a couple of times from different numbers, leaving me various addresses. First, she was staying at a motel, then with a friend, then with a new boyfriend.
I stopped even writing the numbers down.
Is it bad that I still feel angry at her, for how she just left me and Trent? What will it be like to see her at the wedding?
That lump that formed in my throat out on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop is still there. Tearing up in front of Trent and Cole wasn’t the good cry that I needed.
“He must be moving fast,” Cole, ahead of me, says over his shoulder.
“Hm… yeah.” I try to sound like I’m not in the middle of major angst, but my voice sounds stressed anyway. “He can run alright.”
He stops walking and faces me, his brow tucked. “You doing okay?”
I feel my shoulders cave in. The lump gets bigger.
“Yeah, fine. Sort of. Not really. No… I’m not.”
And then my vision blurs. I bow my head and for the first time all day, really let myself cry.
His strong arms circle around me.
Oh,wow.
This.
I needed this.
This is better than a tissue, or a cup of tea, or any words of comfort.
He’s warm and sturdy and he smells so good.
He’s rubbing my back. I’m having some kind of mother-issue-related crisis, and I know old stuff from my past is surfacing, and even though I’m confused and crying and basically a wreck I also know this feels good.
So good.
Here in his arms, I feel safe.
Cared for.
Loved, even.
That little part of me that I thought died when I was younger—maybe that part of me didn’t die. Maybe that part of me was hiding because the world wasn’t safe enough. But here in this bear hug, even that part of me feels safe.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs as he keeps rubbing my back.
“I just—I don’t have a good… a good relationship—with her. Or any relationship with her, even. No, that’s not true. She’s my mother, for crying out loud. She’s a part of my life, and even if I don’t see her or talk to her, she’s my mother.”
“I know, I know.”
