Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marley
When I arrive home from Theo’s the next afternoon, I open the door to the sound of the dishwasher running.
Either there is officially a ghost in our apartment that is trying to tell us to clean the hell up, or my mother has suddenly grown a sense of responsibility.
For as long as I can remember, we’ve either used paper plates, or I have been the one to do all the picking up.
Her purse is thrown onto the barstool beside the counter, and right off the bat, something catches my eye—a name tag. In bold black letters, it spells out her name. Joanne.
I pick it up, running my finger along the smooth edge, staring at it like I’ve found a rare artifact and not a regular old employee’s badge.
Did my mother … get a job? It seems unlikely. Impossible, even. Piecing the clues together, all point in that direction though. Her late nights. The empty paper coffee cups. The new pair of comfy tennis shoes by the front door in lieu of her typical cheap flip-flops.
I want to believe it’s true, this inkling of stability. It’s second nature at this point to doubt if anything sticks when it comes to her though.
“Marley?”
I spin around, still holding the name tag in my hand, hiding it behind my back like I’ve been caught reading someone’s diary.
Mom stares at me curiously, tilting her head to the side. “What are you doing?”
Slowly, I unclasp my hands from behind my back, revealing the name tag in my palm.
“Did you get a job?” I ask.
“I started working at the Cardinal Cafe last month.” She shrugs like it’s nothing.
Like she’s been holding down steady work her whole life.
But it couldn’t be further from the truth.
I can’t even remember the last time my mother was employed, unless you count siphoning pills from her dealer to her friends for extra cash as a business model.
I’m shocked. So stunned, I’ve run out of words or the ability to speak momentarily.
I was certain she was using or drinking again. I’d seen the signs—the late nights and tired mornings that bled into the afternoons. The shuffling in at two in the morning. The hollowed-out silence when I asked where she’d been.
All the old patterns were there, so I never thought to guess the truth. That maybe, for once, she was trying.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I finally ask.
She exhales slowly. “Because it’s the first stable thing I’ve done in …
I don’t know, years.” Her eyes flick to the side, as she folds her arms across her chest protectively.
“I’ve disappointed you more times than any mother ever should.
I guess I wanted to be sure this would stick before I said it out loud. ”
This feeling in my chest is the first time I can remember feeling proud of my mother. For so long, all I’ve known is shame and worry. Disappointment so many times in a row that it eventually stopped feeling like a reaction and started feeling like a constant.
But now? Now, there’s something else. Something warm and unfamiliar rising up where all that fear used to live.
Hope.
I walk over and wrap my arms around her shoulders. She’s only fifty, but she feels fragile, like someone who’s lived twice as long. Like all those years of chasing numbness stole more than just time.
“I’m proud of you,” I whisper.
She buries her head in my shoulder. The familiar scent of cigarettes and Herbal Essence shampoo drifts from her hair to my nose, an oddly comforting contradiction that’s always been her. “You shouldn’t be,” she replies. “You really shouldn’t be.”
That pain of what transpired may fade with time, soften around the edges, but it will always live inside me.
The hellish ride of being a child forced to grow up too fast. The neglect.
The instability. The constant fear of not knowing if I’d come home from school to find her high as a kite or overdosed on the living room rug.
I’ll never be able to forgive her for that. Not completely.
This isn’t the first time she’s tried to turn things around. I’ve seen false starts before. Promises made and broken, good intentions swallowed by bad days.
But something about this moment feels different.
Not perfect. Not permanent. Just real.
I pull back, holding her by the shoulders while she wipes at the smudged mascara beneath her eyes.
“You eaten today?” I ask, already heading to the kitchen.
She shakes her head, as she straightens her shoulders, trying to get back to her normal self.
“Come on, let me make you something. Then you can tell me all about your job. I’ve always wondered what goes on in the kitchen of that diner.”
She perks right up with the excitement of telling me everything. “You’d rather not know,” she replies, fully aware she’s egging me on with something extra juicy.
“Well, that sounds like I definitely want to know then.”
Grinning, she wiggles her eyebrows. Like mother, like daughter, we share a deep love of harmless gossip.
“Remember our old next-door neighbor, Mrs. Patterson? Let’s just say she and the new busboy were caught getting cozy in the employee bathroom.”
My jaw drops. “No.”
“Oh, yes. Closed door. Fifteen minutes. My boss, Andrea, had to bang on it because a customer needed in—and Mrs. Patterson came out fixing her hair.”
I gasp. “She did not.”
Mom leans in, eyes gleaming. “Swear on my life. Tuesday night shift. They were not subtle. She called him sweet cheeks after the fact.”
With a carton of eggs in one hand, I burst out laughing.
This is the version of my mother I’ve wanted back.
And I don’t know if this lasts. I don’t know if she stays sober, or working, or whole.
But I know I’ll be okay either way. So, I’ll take these little blips of moments, where she tries, where I see a glimpse of the mom I needed, and let them be enough for now.
It’s been a process to learn not to build my life around her second chances or wait for her world to get better. I can love her from a distance when I need to. I can care without losing myself in the chaos.
She may never be everything I once needed her to be, but I’ve stopped waiting for that version of her to arrive.
And somehow, that’s what finally set me free.
It’s the day of Theo’s board meeting.
Outwardly, he’s his usual calm, unreadable self, claiming he’s fine, even looking vaguely bored.
A large bouquet of bright wildflowers sits on my desk, because somehow between the time I woke up at his apartment that I’ve never seemed to leave ever since the night of my last performance, he had time to get flowers before I even woke up.
Awaiting the board members, he leans over the ledge of my desk, staring at me like he can’t wait to get me undressed again.
“How are you not panicking right now?” I finally ask. “Aren’t you terrified of what the board will say?”
He shrugs, straightening the cuffs of his jacket like we’re heading to brunch instead of a potentially career-ruining meeting.
“A little. I’m confident in this though.
We have a plan, and a damn good one at that.
Someone also helped me out recently with my speaking skills, so there’s that.
” He winks, while I grin ear to ear, remembering the night that jump-started us becoming more.
“Are you going to have to tell them? About us?”
“I am going to speak with Lisa afterward,” he adds, voice softer now. “I’ll tell her the truth and request your transfer to artistic director. Effective immediately, if I have any say.”
Of course, he has a plan. He always does. He said he’d figure it out, and he has. Not with big declarations, but with follow-through. With showing up, especially when it counts.
It’s nothing like the time I found my mother passed out on the couch and asked if she’d try to stay clean for me, just one week. Then two days later, she vanished.
It’s not like the men who spun lies into lullabies. The ones who said the right things while chipping away at who I was.
Theo’s love isn’t loud. It’s not built on empty promises. It’s built on proof.
And maybe it’ll take time to unlearn the kind of love that made me doubt myself.
But Theo never asked me to be sure of him. He just showed me, again and again, that I could be. He’s my living proof that real love doesn’t break you down. It builds you right back up.
He glances toward the boardroom doors, then back at me with that almost-smile he wears only when we’re alone. “Whatever happens in there, I know what I want outside of it. That part’s easy.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, even though I already know.
“You. This.” He nods toward the desk between us like it’s more than just office furniture, like it’s where everything changed. “All of it.”
My chest tightens in that too full, too good kind of way. Because, for once, I believe him. Not because he said the right thing, but because he’s already done it. Again and again.
He reaches for my hand, brushing his fingers over mine before kissing my knuckles gently. Then he turns to walk into that room, calm and unshaken, as if he’s not carrying both our futures in the palm of his hand.
But I’m not afraid anymore. Because whatever happens next, I know this time, I won’t be left picking up the pieces alone.
This time, we’re building something together.