Sorryations! That’s sorry + congratulations. I need ALL the details. Wish New York wasn’t so far away, but you’ve got this. Love you.
Thx. Love you, too.
Finally, I call Amber to tell her I’m flying home for the weekend and why. She wishes me safe travels and then shouts—across the room to Dixie, I imagine—what I’m up to. Dixie yells back, “About fucking time, princess.”
I wholeheartedly agree.
…
I step outside into warm, noisy, fuel-smelling air and find my mom leaning against her car (parked illegally) in the pick-up line of the airport. The second our eyes meet, she’s moving toward me with open arms. “Hi, sweetheart. It’s so wonderful to see you.” She wraps me in a tight hug. “How was your flight?”
“Hi, Mom.” I hold on to her, the warmth of her embrace the comfort I need after four hours spent thinking about my life. “It was good.”
She pulls back, her hands on my upper arms, as she studies me for a long moment like I’m the best thing she’s ever seen and she wants to fix whatever is troubling me. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you, too.” Our weekly phone calls could never replace being together in person. We’ve always been close, and my eyes grow heavy with emotion. It’s not that I share everything with her. She is my mother. But the hard things, the things I’m afraid to say out loud, I know I can tell her without fear of being made to feel small.
“That you left Los Angeles in such a hurry tells me we have a lot of catching up to do. Come on.”
We get in the car, leave the bustling Chicago airport and setting sun behind us, and begin the hour-long drive to my small Wisconsin hometown. The distance gives us plenty of time to talk.
“How are things with Amber and Dixie?” Mom asks. That’s one of the amazing things about my mom. She cares deeply for my stepsisters because they’re important to my dad and me.
“Getting better every day. We’re finally finding some common ground and that makes it harder for them to hate me.”
“They never hated you.” She has to say that. It’s in the Mom rulebook. For my whole life, she’s talked me down from my difficulties with my sisters. Sometimes she succeeded. Sometimes she didn’t.
“Mom?” I need to tell her my main reason for visiting before I lose my nerve and before I can continue to talk about everything else.
She glances at me. “Yes?”
“I want to see Mason.”
Mom gives a shaky breath as her chest slowly rises then falls. She keeps her attention on the road, one second, then another ticking by. “I knew this day would come, but I have to ask, is this about Vaughn?”
She doesn’t know all the details of our relationship, but she’s smart and can decipher my phone voice like nobody’s business, so she knows he and I are more than friends.
“This is about me taking charge of my life. Closure is important, and I never got any where Mason’s concerned. He didn’t get any, either, and if he needs something from me, too, I want to give it to him.”
She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Sounds like it’s time to find out.”
“Do you think Carrie and Brian will allow me to see him?”
“I don’t know, honey. He’s getting weaker, according to the last update I got from Carrie. They added a second caregiver for nights. But we can drive over there and ask.”
My mom has always supported me with the tenacity of a bulldog, but I need to do this on my own. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll call Carrie and ask first. I don’t want to show up unannounced.”
“Their number is still the same,” Mom says.
I call Mason’s mom. She’s surprised to hear from me, yet also understanding after I tell her how I’ve never stopped loving Mason, but that the time has come for me to move on, and I can’t do that without seeing and talking to him. I want him to hear my voice. I want him to know he’ll always have a place in my heart. She sniffles over the phone line, which makes me choke up, which makes my mom tear up, and it’s like our emotions are finally set free. They say time heals all wounds, and I’m grateful when Carrie says she and Brian are home for the night and I’m welcome to stop by.
After I hang up, Mom and I don’t talk, but she reaches for my hand and doesn’t let go. I appreciate her silent understanding. Sometimes everything that needs to be said is done so without words.
The quiet also gives me time to mentally prepare. I’m scared to see Mason, worried I might react in an unkind way. I remember with vivid detail how he looked in the hospital. A thick white dressing around his head, his face bruised and swollen. He was unable to communicate or move, save for the brief shifting of his once vibrant brown eyes. I’d bitten my lip to keep from shrieking, only to lose my shit in the next second.
“Hey,” my mom says, pulling me out of my recollection. “One step and deep breath at a time.” She comes to a stop in Mason’s driveway, the house a mere two blocks from my own.
I wrap her in a hug. The saying has always been her motto. Her way of reminding me to stay in the moment, recommended for everything from stage fright to performance anxiety before a tough algebra exam, to seeing my ex-boyfriend for the first time in years after my reckless action left him profoundly and irreversibly injured.