Chapter 32
I’d spent all of Sunday with a knot in my stomach waiting for a text or a call. But I hadn’t heard from my mom since the moment she walked in on us.
Perry had apologized profusely while shielding their eyes and grabbing my mom’s forgotten overnight bag from their room.
Nick dashed back into the office, but I vaguely recall covering myself with a throw blanket while having a shouting match with my mother about which one of us actually deserved the apology.
I informed her that I wasn’t sorry for having a life; once dressed, Nick explained that he was, in fact, quite sorry.
I’ve been replaying the scene for the last twenty-four hours.
But as I’m about to come out of the office, I notice something tucked beneath the door: a stapled printout with the headline: “If You Could Do It All Over Again, Would You Still Date a Man with Kids?”
I snatch it off the floor. She’s printed out a thread from a forum on . No need to scan it (I’ve already tortured myself with these things, Mother, thankyouverymuch) and venture into the living room to find Mom sitting at the kitchen counter in front of her laptop.
“What is this?” I ask, standing in the office doorway, holding up the pages.
“Sam, I want to talk to you.” She pushes her laptop to the side.
“If you talk to me like an adult.”
She raises her eyebrows and I brace myself: this expression signals a gathering storm. “You want to be treated like an adult now? Because we can do that.” She stands. “We can definitely do that.”
“Do you need to consult this helpful stepmother website or can we improvise?” I ask, heart pounding.
“We can skip right to what happened in my apartment Saturday night.”
“I’m an adult woman whose privacy you invaded,” I say as she walks toward the office.
“I invaded your privacy? This is my home! What about the life I’m supposed to have? Don’t you think I want privacy, too?”
My face feels so hot. “If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you ever just say that? Why do you act like everything’s vaguely fine all the fucking time when you’re actually resentful?”
“Don’t swear at me.” She jabs her index finger in my direction. “I never said I was resentful.” She takes a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me about Nick?”
“I was probably afraid of whatever you’re about to say next.” I take a few steps back and sit on the daybed. “And you’ve been so busy trying to set him up with everyone else’s daughters.”
“All those other women’s daughters are in their thirties.
They have kids. They want kids. They want to settle down here with a stable, responsible man.
” She follows me into the room. “He has a daughter, Sam. That means he’s tied to her mother for the next ten years.
He can’t make any decisions about where to live or pursue other job opportunities without her agreement. His kid will come first. Always.”
“Yes, kids come first. That’s how it’s supposed to be! He’s responsible and committed, and isn’t that the kind of person you’ve wanted me to be with?”
“What about finding someone who’s committed to you? What about all your own plans? What about your life?”
“What about my life?” I shout at her. “I’ve been dead inside for the last five years sitting in that office. Do you want me to be whatever the modern version of a spinster is? When finally I’ve found someone who makes me feel so…incredibly…something? I feel something.”
“I’m speaking from experience here. It’s not enough.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Do you understand that he’s never going to have any firsts with you? Every big life step for you will be his second time around. You’re never going to be the most important person in his life.”
We stare at each other. In the other room, the dishwasher quietly hums like everything is normal.
“It’s funny you say that. Because I feel like I just found my life.
I want to go places again instead of hide under a blanket.
I can be honest with him about things I’m afraid of.
And he listens to me. And he thinks I’m funny and smart and I feel safe and cared for every second that I’m around him.
I don’t have to question all our interactions over and over again in my head because he’s just this ridiculously genuine person. ”
Mom looks teary-eyed. And maybe I’ve broken through a little bit. She lifts her arms and steps to the daybed, leaning and folding me in a firm hug.
“You’re young.” The hug turns too tight.
Tense and stiff. “You have no responsibilities. Don’t trade that for someone who has no freedom.
” I roll my shoulder and lean away from her.
“I like Nick. He seems like a good guy. But divorced guys with kids? There’s a reason they want a young, single woman with no kids of her own.
It’s easier for them. It’s more fun. They want to plug a young woman into the life they already have.
His life gets better and yours gets exponentially more difficult.
The stepparent makes all the sacrifices. ”
“No one’s asking me to be a stepparent! We’re just dating,” I exclaim, as if I hadn’t spiraled about this exact thing.
“There’s no such thing as ‘just dating’ when his daughter is already part of the equation. What happens next year, if you move to another state for grad school? What happens with that job that Barbara has for you? Have you talked about that?”
We have not talked about it. I haven’t even made up my mind about whether I want to take a temporary office job a thousand miles away just to have something art-adjacent on my CV.
“We could do long distance or maybe I’d decide to do something else with my life. I can’t predict the future. I just know how I feel right now.”
“How are you going to feel on Thanksgiving or Christmas, when he’s spending time with his ex-wife’s family and you’re all by yourself?”
“You’re being ridiculous!”
“How are you going to feel when every vacation you take caters to a ten-year-old?”
“You’re inventing future problems, Mom.”
“Listen to me. You need to think about future problems when you’re in a relationship with a father.
Feelings are temporary. You can’t make important long-term choices because of how you feel in this moment.
This is your life, Sam. Why don’t you get to be the top priority?
I was so proud when you moved away for college and grad school.
You had all these dreams for yourself. I want you to find an ounce of the ambition you used to have.
Ever since you’ve been living here, you’ve been…
regressing. Your dad’s stuff takes up more space in here than you do.
I thought when we decided to move abroad, that would be some kind of catalyst for you.
Create a sense of urgency. I want you to want to move out, Sam. Don’t you get that?”
“Maybe I changed. Maybe I have different priorities now.”
“So instead of your father being the priority, it was Hal, and now it’s our neighbor and his kid?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!”
“Do you still want to get a PhD?”
“I guess,” I say. Because right now it’s all I have.
“Well, are you still going to follow up with Barbara about the job?” Her voice is tentative, like she can sense my wobbly sense of resolve.
“She sent me a meeting invite,” I reply. “I’m supposed to talk to the department chair.”
Mom looks relieved. “Okay, so that’s good! It’s a great opportunity. An entry-level job in your field?”
“It’s not exactly ‘my field,’ ” I say carefully. I don’t know how to express my doubts without making a bigger mess. “It’s temporary admin work for an art education program.”
I watch my mom’s expression harden. “All jobs are ‘admin work,’ Sam. It’s more relevant than bartending. I don’t see how this is even a question in your mind at this point. What’s your backup plan?”
There is no backup plan. I don’t even have another goal, another dream job. Soon I won’t have a place to live. Everything has been flattened into a giant blinking sign that reads Danger Ahead!
“I’m just not sure it’s the best use of my time—”
“Sam.” I can see I’ve crossed a line with her. “I’m not an idiot. I can hear you watching videos all day.”
“I multitask,” I insist weakly.
“I’ve been on your side this entire time. I’ve suggested things, offered help, a place to stay. And I didn’t ask for much in return.” She leans forward. “I thought I was being a supportive parent. But maybe I’ve been enabling you.” My face flushes with embarrassment.
I feel like I’ve been alone in that room for years. I don’t want to move to a city where I’ll be even more alone in a different room.
“What about the comics?”
“What have I always said about them? Sell them. Take the money, use it to pay for…something…anything to break out of your rut, your living expenses. You don’t need to keep them.”
“I’ll call Dad. I’ll tell him to come get the boxes.”
“He’s not coming back for them, Sam. It has nothing to do with humidity in Florida. He literally couldn’t fit those boxes in his U-Haul. It was too much work to go through them. He couldn’t even find the valuable ones in those boxes in order to sell them.”
“That’s not true. A lot of these have sentimental value.
” I feel like I’m gasping for air, like there’s not enough oxygen in the room.
“This box? It’s personal. He wouldn’t ever sell these.
” I pull out one of my childish drawings of Dad as Magneto.
“He put my drawings in this box with all the most important issues!”
“He didn’t, Sam. He left this whole stack of your drawings sitting on the floor when he packed up the truck. I’m the one who picked them up and stuck them in one of the boxes for safekeeping.”
I want to accuse my mother of lying, but I can see all over her face that it’s the truth.
“You always want me to think the worst of him.” I feel defeated. Exhausted. “I can’t have this one thing. This one little bit of proof? You have to take that away, too?”
She reaches for the drawing of a ridiculously strong older man with zigzags shooting out of his hands.
“This? Is not your father. This is a story that you created when you were a disappointed kid.” She hands it back to me and walks to the office door.
“I’m sorry you had to do that to cope. But you need to be honest with yourself now, Sam. ”
I collapse onto my bed. I don’t know why it feels like my mom has unlimited resources and I’m one wounded soldier pointing my weapon at dozens of enemies.
If I stayed under my covers all day would it make anything worse?
Obviously nothing could make this worse.
And then I hear three fast knocks, three slow knocks, and three fast knocks against the wall.