“You don’t like Adam,” I guessed.
She turned to me with her steely eyes and said with a sigh, “No, I like Adam just fine. What I don’t like is you dating him.”
“Why not? Mom, I’m a twenty-year-old man. I can date whoever I want!” I said with a newfound confidence. Standing up to her was still terrifying, even though I was a fully grown man.
She pursed her lips and said, “He just seems a little old for you, that’s all. I wish you dated someone closer to your own age.”
I blinked and the image of my ex washed across my vision briefly.
He wanted to meet on Wednesday to discuss things. Whatever that meant.
“I don’t care about age so much. Adam is perfect. You met him,” I offered.
“I don’t care how perfect he is,” she said. “He’s too old for you.”
I stopped the truck on the side of the deserted two-lane road. She looked surprised. “What are you doing, Luke?”
“Mom,” I said, confidence swirling in my gut. “I’ve never been sure about anything in my life. You’ve been pushing me, making all of my decisions for me, for the majority of my adulthood. I need you to back off on this one.”
She held my gaze as if she couldn’t believe my insubordination.
Normally, she would have come back at me with a comment that would crack like a whip and get me back in line; make me obedient to her again.
But she’d learned a few things about control. And I’d learned a few things about power.
She looked away from me, and muttered something about knowing what’s best for me.
“No mom, I need you to trust me on this one,” I urged, the confidence not leaving my voice. “I’m sure about being with Adam. His age doesn’t matter to me.”
When she turned back to me, her eyes were silvery and brimming with tears.
I bit my lip, stricken by this vulnerability.
And in that moment I understood: She didn’t care about Adam’s age or how perfect he was. She was just afraid of losing me.
“Mom…” I said, leaning over to hug her.
I pulled her into an embrace and she wept silently. The moment was quiet, precious, and seemed to last for an eternity. The unspoken truth in that moment was that she relented. She’d let me win.
And just like that, the power between us shifted. We were more like equals now; two adults that were just helping each other through life.
Then she whispered in my ear, “They told me I’m bipolar,”
I pulled away and looked into her eyes with disbelief. Then I connected the memories of her turning into Scary Mom together like a constellation. Suddenly, it all made sense.
“They gave me… some medication for it.” She said.
I knew that had to be hard for her to admit; she was proud.
“It makes me wonder… it makes me wonder if I drove your father away… it’s making me wonder… if it’s just been my mind that’s been broken this whole time. If I drove you away, too.”
“No mom, that’s ridiculous!” I said, pulling her into another tight hug.
Despite everything that was happening between us and our up and down relationship, she still smelled like my mom. She still had that same comforting, faint scent of flowers. A smell I associated with nurturing and care, trust and love.
When I pulled away, I looked her in the eye and told her, “Dad was a piece of trash. He cheated on you, and that’s never okay! You didn’t do anything to ‘cause’ him to do that; you don’t have control over that.” I clasped her hand in mine. “But what you do have control over is how you react to this. And now that you have people that truly love and care about you, you can move forward.”
She was looking at me like she was seeing me for the first time. Then she said, “No more having to worry about him and his schedule,” she whispered.
“Nope, no more of that,” I said, smiling a little.
“No more worrying about where he was going late at night,” she said, the realization washing over her.
“Nope, you don’t have to care,” I said.
“Right, I don’t have to,” she said. “And no more having to bend over backward trying to make him happy.”
I smiled. “You only need to make yourself happy, mom,” I said. “I want you to be happy.”
She looked off into the distance as if she’d just put together a puzzle that she’d been working on for a long time. Then finally, she looked at me and said, “Thank you, Luke.”
And those simple words said so much: That she finally respected me as an adult with my own choices, that she was going to lay off of trying to control my life at least a little bit, and that she was finally letting me help her.”
“You’re welcome, mom. I love you.” I said.
She smiled, then said, “I love you too. But make sure you call me every Sunday when you go back to school!” Her silver eyes cut at me like razor blades.
“…okay,” I said, cowing down a little. Some things would never change.
But as I put the truck into drive and continued down the deserted road toward the morning sun, I knew that our relationship had evolved in some way; a healthy way.
By standing up to her, I was afraid that I’d drive her away. Instead, it brought us closer together than ever before.
* * *
We stopped by the house so she could change her clothes and take a shower. I used the time to give one last walk-through around my room to check and see if I forgot anything.
I had all of my stuff over at Adam’s house in my suitcase, waiting to take it back with me to the university. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was forgetting something here; something important.
Rummaging around, I looked in all my dresser drawers, my closet, and under
