Chapter 31 #2
The answer isn’t as simple as one or the other.
“Both? Neither? Maybe I never knew what I was signing up for,” I admit, pressing my fingers into my temples.
Dominic is quiet for a moment, his expression softening. “Look, I don’t know Hayden well. But I do know you. And you’ve always loved like it’s an Olympic event. You don’t hold back. You don’t walk away…not without fighting until you’ve got nothing left.”
I swallow.
He gestures vaguely between us. “When you care, you don’t run. You ask for clarity.”
Elijah nods. “Love isn’t about guarantees or being certain. It’s standing there in all the uncertainty and choosing them anyway.”
Dominic retrieves his glass, taking another sip. “And if he doesn’t choose you? Fuck him. We’ll find you someone hotter. But in the meantime, do me a favor and try not to spiral.”
I laugh, but it’s shaky.
Dominic shifts beside me. His usual smirk is absent, replaced with something softer.
“Levi,” he says, rubbing my arm. “What do you need from us? Tell us how we can help.”
The question, so simple, so direct, throws me for a second.
I don’t know how to answer it.
I don’t know how to tell them I’ve been drifting without a current since that day at city hall. I don’t know how to explain that I’ve accidentally spent my whole life trying to be the one to light up the room, to be fine, to be the person who never needs anything…only to now realize that I do.
I need something.
I need them.
“Just…this.” I gesture vaguely between the three of us, the warmth of their presence settling over me. “You two being here is everything.”
Dominic nods. “Consider us glued to your side, indefinitely.”
Elijah pulls me in close, shaking my shoulders against him. “Yeah, no chance of getting rid of us at this point, babe.”
Dominic nudges me. “Just…don’t shut him out completely, okay? You don’t have to have answers right now. But don’t make up answers that might not be true.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes. “How are you two so annoyingly right all the time?”
Elijah grins. “Because we’re amazing,” he says, practically crawling over me to give his husband a not-so-brief kiss. “See? We’re experts in emotional support.”
I huff a quiet laugh, pushing him off me, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little.
My heart still aches, and my mind still swirls with so many unanswered questions. About Hayden, about fate, about the tangled mess we made. But wrapped tightly between two people who’d brave any storm just to hold me together, I start to feel steady again.
Like the path ahead doesn’t seem completely impossible to walk.
· · ·
The shop feels smaller today, each ticking second pressing in.
Naomi begged to stay, using inventory and the looming groundbreaking as leverage, but I needed space to fall apart without an audience.
Dominic and Elijah haven’t stopped hovering, dropping off elaborate meals I barely touch and flooding my phone with hourly threats of staging an intervention.
I’m rearranging the eucalyptus display again, my fourth attempt today, desperate for distraction, when the bell above the door jingles. My stomach tightens, bracing for Elijah and another aggressively healthy lunch.
But it’s not him. It’s my mother, standing uncertainly just inside the door. Alone. Uneasy. Eyes rimmed red and cardigan buttoned unevenly. My heart jolts sharply. I haven’t seen her look this shaken, this fragile, since we lost my brother, so of course my mind races to the darkest possibilities.
“Mom?” Panic chokes my voice, raw and immediate. “What’s wrong? Is Dad…”
“Your father’s fine,” she rushes to say, waving a hand. “He’s back at the RV. But I needed to talk to you.”
“I didn’t know you were back in town. Now isn’t really the best…”
“Five minutes. Please, Levi.” Her voice trembles, as if the effort of asking this much from me is nearly breaking her.
I exhale, gripping the counter for support. “What’s going on?”
She steps forward slowly, her eyes locked on the worn tiles, like the answer might appear in the seams if she stares hard enough. “Hayden,” she says softly, confusion coloring each syllable. “I know it’s not possible, but I can’t shake this feeling he was at your brother’s funeral.”
My chest tightens, a suffocating ache zipping straight up my spine. “Mom, no, no…” I start, exhaustion from carrying a secret that’s not mine slipping into my voice. “That makes literally no sense.”
Mom looks up, brows knitted together in disbelief, as though grappling with a memory that refuses to align with reality. “I know you’re right. Of course you’re right. Ignore me…There’s just something about his…”
A brittle laugh escapes. “I’d really rather not talk about Hayden, if that’s okay with you.”
Her confusion shifts into concern. “Is…everything okay with you two?”
The pain sharpens, raw and fresh, the more I think about him. I glance away, frustration spiking hot beneath my ribs. “Not at the moment.”
“Oh.” Her voice wavers again, careful and tentative. “Honey, I…I didn’t realize. Do you want to talk…”
My head snaps up, anger flaring at the irony.
“Talk about it?” The words feel foreign coming out of my mouth.
Sharp and direct in a way I’ve never really allowed myself before.
“Mom, when have we ever talked about anything that mattered? When did you ever ask how I really felt? I’m sorry, but please, let’s not pretend now. ”
She recoils slightly, eyes wide with startled hurt, and guilt immediately twists in my gut. But I hold my ground, chest rising and falling heavily. Everything I said is true, and this honesty, however painful, feels overdue.
The silence stretches between us, uncomfortable and thick with everything we’ve never said. It’s not my intention to hurt her, ever, but suddenly, the weight of holding it all back feels impossible. Especially now. My jaw clenches, frustration giving way to something deeper.
“You got to leave, Mom,” I whisper. “You got to walk away from all of it. And maybe it was easier for you, but I felt like…I don’t know, like it was my job to make things better somehow. To be the one good thing left in your lives after he was gone.”
Her face pales, eyes pooling with devastation. “Levi, sweetheart, we never asked…”
“Yeah, I know. But you didn’t have to.” My voice breaks sharply, a truth I’ve buried for years finally clawing its way out tooth and nail.
“I saw how empty you both were. How broken. I thought if I could just bring enough sunshine into our house again, you wouldn’t feel the hurt.
Or at least, you wouldn’t have to feel mine.
So yeah, Mom, I held it together…because someone had to. ”
My mother takes a shaky breath, tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t realize that was what we were asking of you. I never…we never…wanted that burden for you.”
“Maybe not consciously,” I whisper, anger deflating into weary honesty. “But it was there, every day. You didn’t mean to put it on me, but I took it anyway.”
She pales, stepping back slightly as if trying to steady herself. “Levi, honey, we didn’t know…”
I release a slow breath, trying to temper the familiar ache rising in my chest. “I know, Mom. But that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?
I never learned how to deal with any of this when I was a kid.
Because none of us knew how. Or even tried.
” My voice is quiet but firm. “But I’m trying now.
I’m untangling the grief I’ve spent years ignoring.
And maybe,” I start, stepping closer, “maybe you could come with me to the grief class I’ve been attending.
I was getting ready to head out before you got here, and who knows… it might help you, too.”
She scoffs, an involuntary sound, then claps a hand over her mouth, eyes widening in regret.
My chest tightens, voice wavering despite my best efforts. “Mom,” I say, unable to hide the hurt any longer. “Even now, after everything, you still think it’s ridiculous?”
“No. God, Levi, no,” she rushes out, dropping her hand helplessly to her side. Her voice cracks, as delicate as glass. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just…a grief class? Talking to strangers about something we couldn’t even talk about at our own dinner table?”
I hold her gaze until she looks away. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s exactly why we need it.”
The silence stretches out painfully, heavy with years of hurt and feelings long swept under a near-impenetrable rug. She shifts nervously, visibly wrestling with herself. Finally, she asks, “Are you sure you want me there?”
“Honestly? No.” The truth shocks even me. “But I can’t pretend things are fine anymore. For you or for me.”
Another suffocating pause settles over us, until at last she nods, shoulders slumping. “Okay, I’ll…I’ll come.”
I nod quietly, the decision settling between us.
Neither of us speaks as I flip the sign on the shop door to Closed and lock up. The drive feels painfully long, silence broken only by the rev of the engine and the muted sounds of Stonevale commuters passing by. Mom stares out the passenger window, her fingers twisted in her lap.
I’ve run out of realistic excuses to not go back to this class.
The first week, I claimed “scheduling conflicts.” A large soil delivery Naomi could have absolutely handled on her own, but it’s easier to believe my own lies. The second week, I insisted I was “too busy” because we hadn’t quite nailed down the garden ground-breaking flyer yet.
But with my mother beside me this time? There’s no turning back.
The class is already settling in when we arrive, and Irene’s eyes meet mine immediately, briefly registering surprise when she spots my mother trailing behind me.
“Glad you could join us,” Irene says.
We sit, the tension pulsing around us. I glance up at Mom, noticing her rigid posture.
“Grief doesn’t always crash into our lives,” Irene says. “Sometimes, it’s stillness, silence louder than the loss itself. And what happens when the noise of our grief no longer drowns out everything else?”
I shift uncomfortably. Irene’s voice stirs a thousand questions I desperately want to ask.
About Hayden.
About how he’s doing.
But I bite them back.
My mother’s hands continue to twist in anxious circles in her lap, eyes glistening and scanning the room. Perhaps for an exit.
“What happens when we finally stop running from our grief? When we allow ourselves to truly see what we’ve been avoiding?”
The room falls quiet, Irene’s question hanging heavily in the air. But before I can even process the question myself, my mother’s hand clamps down on mine like a vise.
“Is that what it feels like, Levi?” she whispers, frantic. “The silence. Did we leave you with that?”
My entire body tenses, embarrassment flaring hot beneath my skin as a few glances from around the circle land on us. “Not here, Mom,” I whisper, patting her hand.
Her eyes stay fixed on me, trembling and desperate for understanding. “We didn’t know how,” she says, louder this time, tears pooling rapidly in her eyes. “I swear we never meant…”
Before I get a word out, Irene rises smoothly from her chair. “Let’s take a short break, everyone. There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the breakroom.”
The group files out quietly, rubbernecking as they do to not miss my familial drama. “Levi,” Irene says, placing a steadying hand briefly on my shoulder, “do you want to introduce me?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, hoarsely. “Of course. Irene, this is my mom, June. Mom, this is Irene. She runs the group.”
I almost add that she works with Hayden at the funeral home, but something stops me. The thought feels too complicated, too loaded. Especially today. Best to keep things simple, at least for now.
“Lovely to meet you, June,” Irene says warmly, holding my mother’s gaze. “I’m glad you came today.”
My mother nods shakily, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…didn’t mean to disrupt everything.”
“You didn’t,” Irene reassures her. “You spoke your truth. It’s what this space is for. Maybe take a moment privately. No audience, just honesty.”
She starts to step away but I stop her. “Actually, Irene…would you mind staying? If you’re comfortable, that is. I think we might need…” I trail off, unsure how to put it into words.
Irene pauses, understanding completely. “Of course. If you both want me here, I’ll stay.”
My mother nods, visibly relieved, and takes a slow, shuddering breath. When she speaks, it’s like she’s finally seeing me clearly for the first time in years.
“I didn’t know how much we hurt you, Levi,” she says, her voice breaking. “Your father and I…we left because staying felt unbearable. But we never thought about what we left you with. The silence…I never thought about you facing it alone.”
My throat tightens painfully. “I stayed,” I whisper, “because leaving meant losing him again.”
Tears slip silently down my mother’s cheeks. “I see that now,” she whispers, her voice thick. “And I’m so, so sorry, son. You deserved better from us.”
Irene clears her throat, gently interjecting. “Grief breaks us differently. But maybe you don’t have to carry it alone anymore,” she says, reaching over and patting my mother’s hand that is clasped in mine. “Maybe this is your chance to finally face it together.”
I exhale, the tightness in my chest loosening just slightly. It’s not fixed. Not even close. But maybe Irene’s right…it’s a start.
Irene calls everyone back in, resuming today’s class as if interruptions like ours are just part of the process.
As she speaks, my mother sits beside me, eyes fixed intently on Irene, hand gripping mine tightly.
Halfway through Irene’s words, tears quietly stream down my mother’s face.
But this time, she doesn’t try to hide them or look away.
Watching her now, after all these years, feels surreal and oddly hopeful.
For the first time, it seems like she might finally be ready to confront everything she’s spent so long running from.
When we step outside again, the air feels lighter somehow. Easier to breathe. Mom hesitates, eyes cautiously searching mine as we climb back into the truck. “Maybe we could come back next week?” she suggests. “Together?”
I pause, glancing at her. “Won’t that mess up your travel plans?”
She shrugs, resting her head on my shoulder. “We can reschedule. Some things matter more.”
A warmth blooms gently in my chest, and I find myself nodding, relieved. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’d like that.”