“How are you a senior?” I ask, and she just shrugs. “I don’t like this one little bit.” I put my hands on my hips.
“Well, then you shouldn’t have left.” She winks at me with a smile, getting in the truck, and for the first time since I stepped foot in town, I have just a sliver of hope.
When I pull up to the house, I see that there are no cars there. “Do you want to come in?” she asks as she reaches for the handle.
“No,” I tell her, not sure yet if I can do the whole family dinner. I know I told her that I’m back for good, but I think it’s good to go slow. I haven’t had the talk with Beau yet, and until then, I’m going to stay clear. “I’m going to head home. Get on the treadmill, work off the ice cream.”
She gets out of the car laughing. “Say hi to Mom for me, will you?”
“Will do,” she says. I watch her walk into the house, only leaving when she closes the door behind her. When I get to the house, I’m shocked to see my mother sitting on one of the chairs outside. She smiles at me when I pull up. My heart speeds up when I get out of the truck and walk to the front door.
“Mom,” I say, and she smiles, getting up and walking over to me. “I didn’t know you were coming by.” I hug her once I get to the top of the steps. She hugs me a bit tighter than normal.
“I drove by and decided I’d stop and see how you were settling in.” She smiles, and I see the tears in her eyes.
“Why the tears?” I ask, and she looks down and then up at me again. This time, her eyes are not able to block the tears.
“I was afraid you’d left,” she whispers, wiping away a tear that has escaped.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “Let’s sit down.” I point at the chairs. “Or do you want to go in?” She just sits on one of the Adirondack chairs. When I sit down next to her, she reaches out her hand, and I take it in mine.
“Your hand grew,” she says, looking at my hand that swallows hers. “So tell me,” she says, “what have you been up to?”
I laugh. “When?”
“The past five years,” she says, sniffling, and I know she is trying not to cry. “Like what did you do? Who did you hang out with? Did you have any hobbies? Were you with someone?”
I shake my head and look down. “Well, I’ve been a couple of places, but they are sort of top secret, so all I can say is I traveled.”
“I used to pray,” she says softly. “When I found out that you joined the military, I used to pray that you would be safe.” I nod now. “What about friends? Did you make any?”
“Mom,” I say, “I’m twenty-six. We really don’t do play dates.”
She laughs. “I know, but did you have any friends that, I don’t know, celebrated your birthday with you? Who you spent Christmas with?”
“Don’t cry,” I say, and she just looks at me, and I see her lower lip tremble. “I used to get shit-faced every year on my birthday.” She puts a hand to her mouth. “I always dreaded it for so many reasons. One, I was away from you guys, and I just didn’t know how to come back.”
“It was hard for me, too,” she says. “For all of us. Your father,” she says, mentioning Jacob, “and I used to sit outside and relive the day you were born.” I look down, my heart hurting for both of them. “I was so young,” she says. “Young and so scared. I was scared that someone would find out who your birth father was. I was worried that Jacob would tell me he couldn’t do it. I was scared that I would fuck all of it up.”
“You did what you thought was the best thing at that time,” I tell her, and she shakes her head.
“No,” she says, “I did the only thing that was right. Yes, I messed up everyone’s life. Yes, I was selfish. Yes, I should I have told you. No,” she says, “I grew up without a father. My mother would tell me every single chance she got that I was unwanted, and I refused for you to grow up like that. Knowing that your sperm donor didn’t want you.” She shakes her head. “Fuck no, he didn’t deserve you.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say. “It took me a while to see that you did it for me.” I smile at her. “So thank you.”
“Now,” she says, “tell me about where you lived.”
“I had a little house,” I tell her, “or more like a shack. It barely has water, but when I got leave for a month, I used to go up there and fix it up.”
“That sounds like fun,” she says. “What are you going to do?” she asks, and I just look at her.
“Being back home.”
“I’m back, Mom.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, looking out. “For good.”
“I’m so happy you’re back,” she says, “but …”
“I know,” I start, “things are not the same.”
“People moved on.” I know that by people she means Emily.
“We’ll see,” I say.
“Well, if it’s meant to be,” she shrugs her shoulders, “it’ll be.”
“I can die trying.” I roll my lips.
“Can no one die?” She crosses one leg over the other. “Will you stay even if you don’t have her?”
“It’ll be hard.” I feel a tightness in my chest. “I don’t know if I’d be able to, but this is my home.”
“Sure is,” she says, looking out. “This is your home.”
“This is my home,” I repeat. Neither of us says anything more and just sit with each other. It
