“You’re not at fault, Aaron. I’m the parent here; I should have recognized that you needed more than financial support from your father, even if I didn’t.” Her shoulders curl, as if the weight of her guilt is dragging her down. “I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could share any of this with me, and that you had to go through all of that without having anyone to lean on.”
For a lot of years I believed that I was responsible for the loss of my brother. And that in keeping my relationship with my dad from my mom, I’d somehow tipped the balance, and the universe had taken away someone I loved to even out the score.
But now that I’ve come clean, I feel so much better, the guilt and fear I’ve been carrying around with me for years lifting. I know I have more work to do, but this feels like a start. A good one.
“They’re coming down for a visit this weekend. Jamie, Dad, and Lydia.”
“Lydia?” Mom’s brow furrows.
“Jamie’s mother. She would have been Devon’s wife.”
“Oh. What about Arnie’s wife?”
“They’re not together anymore. They haven’t been for a long time.” They divorced when Devon was seven or eight. It wasn’t a messy divorce; they just weren’t meant to be married to each other. And sometimes I wonder if maybe my dad had never gotten over what happened with my mother.
She clasps her hands together. “I didn’t realize that.”
“I know it’s a lot to get your head around, but maybe when you’ve had some time to process, you can meet Jamie? He’s a big part of my life, and I think you’d love him. No pressure, though.”
She gives me a small smile. “Do you think Arnie would be okay with that?”
“Oh yeah, he asks about you all the time.”
She blinks several times. “He does?”
“Pretty much every time I talk to him.”
“Oh. Well, he’s probably making polite conversation.”
“Eh, I don’t know about that. I get that you might not be ready, but you’re both my parents, and I would love it if eventually you could be civil with each other. You’re always going to be my number one, Mom.”
It’s late by the time I leave my mom’s, and Teagan has already texted to say she’s off work earlier than expected, if I want to meet her at her place. She likes to shower after a shift at the pub. Sometimes she’ll come to my place, and other times she’ll take the night for herself, in part because half the time I’m already passed out by the time she gets off work. But tonight I want to see her, despite the fact that I’ll be underslept tomorrow.
I feel like I unloaded a hundred-pound backpack of personal baggage with one conversation. One long-overdue conversation that has the power to change my entire family dynamic. I’m cautiously optimistic about my dad’s visit this weekend. My mom seemed to warm to the idea of meeting Jamie over the course of dinner and mentioned reaching out to my dad before the weekend to feel things out. It seems like miles of progress in one afternoon. I know better than to assume there won’t be any bumps in the road along the way, but at least we’re moving forward.
I pull into the driveway, beside Teagan’s car. She usually parks on the right side, but tonight she’s on the left side. I hop out and notice a bunch of scratches on the passenger side. Teagan’s car is in pristine condition, so the scratches must be new. I hope whatever happened doesn’t have anything to do with why she got off work early.
I make my way up the stairs and knock on her door. I could probably let myself in, but I like watching her face light up when she opens the door. Which is exactly what happens a few seconds later.
“Hi.” She loops her arms around my neck, pulling my mouth down to hers. She’s freshly showered, long hair still wet, skin still warm. Her kiss tastes like vodka and lemon.
“Can I get you something to drink? Are you hungry? I can whip something up for you if you are.”
“Just a glass of water would be good,” I tell her.
She flits over to the fridge and grabs the water jug, filling a glass for me. I take her in as she moves around the kitchen. She looks tired. Her cheekbones seem more prominent than usual. Or maybe I’m looking for things to be wrong. And she just finished a shift at the pub. It’s always busy on Thursday nights, and she’s usually wiped out at the end of her shift.
She pulls me over to the couch, moving her laptop aside so we can sit. Her martini is half-full, but there’s an empty pick sitting on the coffee table, which means she might very well be on her second drink.