Our heavy pants filled the air as we stayed close, soaking up each other’s warmth, trying to keep reality from intruding on our perfect moment.
R A N S O M
The next morning, I woke early, the sun just barely lighting the sky outside—which I could see past the curtains we forgot to close. I hoped we didn’t give a free show to any of the neighbors. Taylor was next to me, her blond hair fanned over the pillow, her breaths still deep and even.
Last night had been incredible. While I’d be lying to say I hadn’t been wanting to sleep with her for a while, it was so much more than that. There was something about her that drew me in, and I hoped to hell she felt it too. I didn’t think last night would be a one-off, but I’d been wrong before. The only thing I could do was hope she wanted more.
I slipped out of bed, dressed, made a stop in the bathroom to take care of business and freshen up a bit, and then eased Cindy’s door open enough so I could poke my head in. She was still sleeping soundly, and I found myself standing there watching her.
I’d never imagined this for myself—being a caregiver to a child. I loved working with kids, but part of that was my need to make a difference, to pay the kindness Melissa and Matt had shown me forward. Fatherhood… I’d never thought that was for me.
I was a good guy. I wasn’t delusional about that. But it was so fucking easy to screw a kid up. It was a responsibility I didn’t want. Or hadn’t wanted. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Cindy’s mom was clearly not perfect, but Cindy loved her anyway. My mom was as far from perfect as a human could get, but—and this pained me to admit to myself—I loved her anyway. And I hadn’t done a terrible job of watching Cindy. Granted, I hadn’t fed her dinner until after ten on Friday, but Taylor and I had found a groove with her yesterday.
And that was likely the difference. Taryn and my mom had been doing it on their own. And Taryn was managing that a helluva lot better than my mom ever had, but I hadn’t given enough credit to single parents before. I’d screwed up in a variety of ways Friday night, but I’d done my best. And sure, people’s best varied. Taryn’s best was better than my mom’s, and someone else’s best might outshine them both.
But maybe it was only fair to give credit where credit was due.
Life with my mom hadn’t been all bad. There had been beach trips, carnival visits, home-cooked meals, and surprise gifts during the good times, when she’d managed to keep her demons at bay. Maybe we could have some of those times again. Maybe she didn’t have to be all good or all bad. Maybe I could learn to be okay with her being both.
I closed Cindy’s door before hurrying downstairs and grabbing my phone from where I’d left it on the coffee table last night. Thankfully it still had half a charge, so I was able to type out a text.
Are you awake?
My mom had always been an early riser. Even high out of her mind, she’d still managed to get up before me most days. Or maybe she’d just never gone to sleep.
The reply came almost instantly.
Yes. Are you okay?
It was such a motherly thing to ask, and my eyes burned as I realized I wanted that. Melissa had been a great mother to me, but I wanted the woman who gave birth to me to give a shit too. She couldn’t do that consistently when I’d been a kid, but perhaps she could do it now. Or maybe I was setting myself up for a crushing disappointment.
But I’d told Taylor not to let excuses get in the way of going for what she wanted. I could follow my own advice. I clicked on my mom’s name and held the phone up to my ear.
“Ransom? Is everything all right?”
“Hi, yeah, everything’s fine. I just… I want to try. To know you again. If you’re sober,” I added hastily because I wasn’t an idiot. I already knew who Kari was on drugs, and I had no interest in rekindling a relationship with that version of her.
“I’m”—I heard her take a sharp breath—“I’m so happy to hear that. And yes, I’m sober. I’ll even take a drug test if you want.”
“No, it’s…that’s okay. If you say you are, then I believe you.”
“Thank you. I know that’s more than I deserve.”
It probably was, but I didn’t think agreeing with her would move us forward in the way I was hoping.
“So we can talk. Get to know each other again.”
“I’d love that.”
“Okay, good.”
“Good.”
I could hear the smile in her voice, even on a single word, and it filled something inside me.
I was sure most people whose parents were addicts wondered at one point or another why their parents chose drugs over them. And logically I knew it was much more complex than that, but my inner eight-year-old would always wonder why I wasn’t enough for her. So hearing her sound so happy at the prospect of getting to know me was…warming. And comforting. Like being wrapped in a favorite blanket fresh out of the dryer.
“I know this is probably too much too fast,” she said, and I instantly steeled myself against whatever she was going to say next. “But my mom’s family is having a reunion in two weeks. It would give you a chance to see some family you haven’t seen in years. God, you probably don’t even remember them. You couldn’t have been more than four the last time you saw any of them. But they know all about you, of course. And they’d love to see you. We all would. Sorry, I’m rambling. I just wanted you to know you
