Chapter 22
Maybe I always knew. I certainly suspected.
My mom spent so many hours in that place, surely it couldn’t always have been about moving up the corporate ladder.
I think the reason I never tried to know for certain was the other side of the coin—what if it was all about getting ahead, even the affair part?
Lust has more integrity than prostitution in this case, at least it does to me.
Rowan’s lead foot sat heavy on the gas as we drove here.
I can see how much lighter he is. He’s carried that truth around by himself for years.
Selflessly. He didn’t even burden his brother with it, instead letting Caleb resent him and think less of him, rather than know the truth about what his mom did in a spiral of hurt and rage, and what his father did to cause it.
I wonder, though . . . would knowing even make a difference to Caleb?
There’s a clear line between the person he is and the one Rowan is, and I think Caleb has more in common with his father.
“You ready?” Rowan’s eyes settle on mine as we sit parked outside the quaint apartment complex in the heart of downtown Tucson.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
He leans across the console and pulls my face toward his, kissing my cheek with sweet reverence. I feel like I belong here, with him. To him. Not in a possessive way. In a cherished way.
I meet Rowan and the front of his car, and our hands fold together easily. He kisses my knuckles at the top of the steps to his mom’s apartment, and doesn’t let go, even as he knocks and we hear her call from inside.
“We’re doing this, huh?” He nods and grins like a kid about to get a sticker for good behavior. For such a sexy man, he can be downright adorable.
My hair dried in the car during our drive, so I run my fingers through some of the clumpy waves, suddenly very aware of how casual I look.
I should have dressed nicer. Maybe been more formal or conservative?
I didn’t know this was our official mom meeting, and that was before I fully understood how important Cora Anderson’s approval was to me.
The door opens just as my hand is midway through a knotted lock of hair, and I panic when my eyes meet Cora’s, tangling my nails in the matted curl.
“Saylor! Oh, wow. Look at you!” She steps forward to hug me, but all I can do is jut out my elbow.
“I got stuck,” I admit in a sheepish voice.
Cora simply laughs, gently taking my elbow and guiding me inside her home while her oldest son follows with a gentle hand at the small of my back.
“Same girl you always were, I see. You were always like a tornado. Even in the water.” She closes the door behind me, then turns her attention to my hair situation.
“Let’s see,” she mumbles, uncoiling my nail from the thick strands that somehow ensnared it.
"I don't even have nice nails. How did this happen?” My shoulders slump, but I’m acting mostly. Cora is so sweet, as she’s always been, that my embarrassment is quickly fading.
She has my hand free and is working her own comb through my hair easily within minutes. Rowan, in the meantime, has moved to the kitchen, where he’s suddenly scouring his mom’s fridge while making comments about how she eats like a bachelor.
“Well, if my sons came to visit more often . . .” she suggests.
He closes the fridge and stands up straight, holding his hand over his heart.
“That’s fair. I should come more. And so should Caleb, even if I need to drag his ass here.” Rowan moves toward his mom, kissing her cheek as she tilts her head and gives him a hug.
“Come sit, get comfortable. I can order in if you’re hungry?
” Cora leads us into her warm sitting area, where two leather sofas face a small table made of stone in front of a Spanish-style fireplace.
Her home is the perfect complement to her artsy style, the white walls almost like galleries featuring distinctive, Southwestern art.
Saltillo tiles flow throughout, every space defined by bright, colorful throw rugs that look like they were woven by hand.
The space has a light hint of cinnamon, and the warm oranges and golds make it feel sunlit and bright despite the few windows.
“It’s nice here,” I say, the only words I can seem to utter now that my chest is hammering with my erratic pulse.
Rowan sits next to me, our thighs touching, and he takes my hand in his, putting everything out in the open. My heartbeat grows louder.
“You can relax, Saylor. Rowan told me you two were seeing each other,” she says.
I flash my gaze at him, and he shrugs.
“I had to tell someone besides Mig. Besides, she gives great advice.”
My shoulders drop to their normal position, and I relax my back into the leather pillow behind me as I exhale. Then his words fully hit me, and I pivot my attention to him again.
“Advice?”
He chuckles, and his mom utters, “Busted.”
“Yeah, I may have . . . well, I . . . so, when I was here last time.” It’s a fit of starts and stops from Rowan, his mom finally waving her hand to let him off the hook.
She leans in, her hands cupping a mug of what looks like tea as she rests her elbows on her knees.
“He likes you a lot, and I think he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. So . . . I gave him permission. But . . .” She holds up a finger. “I told him to be careful with your heart and with his.”
Careful. Yeah, we haven’t been very careful. But our hearts are involved regardless. It’s too late for that. At least, it is for me.
“I told her the truth, Mom. About . . . about the fire.” Rowan sucks in a quick breath, and his hand tightens around mine.
His mom blinks a few times, not seeming to be truly focused on his face until her head tilts slightly to the right. Her eyes flit to mine and hold there, as if she’s waiting for me to give her permission, retroactively.
“You have an incredible son,” I say, because when it comes down to it, that’s the only truth I can give.
I don’t know that it was right for her to let him take the fall.
And I don’t know if I would have made a different decision if I were in her position.
But I do know that if the roles were flipped, and it were me able to keep my father out of jail, I think I would. And I’d beg him to let me.
“He is incredible. They both are, even if Caleb is . . .” Her head bobs from right to left.
“Lost,” I finish for her. It’s a kind word, and he may not deserve that. But she doesn’t deserve to hear my honest thoughts about her other son. Especially not since I love this one so much.
“You had graduation. Do you have photos?” She leans forward and sets her mug on the stone table.
“I do,” I say through a smile, shifting to loop my cross-body bag over my head. I pull my phone out and slide through my photos to the ones from graduation night. I move over to her sofa to nestle next to her.
“This is me with Cami.” She pulls the phone into her own hands and zooms in, inspecting both of our faces.
“That’s Miguel’s sister, right?” She looks up at Rowan, and he nods.
“You two are all grown up. You’re women now.
Simply incredible.” She begins to slide through more photos, noting the nice waves I curled into my hair for the ceremony.
She stops on a group shot that includes me and Caleb, though we aren’t standing next to each other.
She runs her fingertip over her other son’s face, and my chest tightens with guilt.
“He was very handsome,” I say, and her smile inches up.
“They’re both handsome men. They got the best of us, I think.” Her gaze lifts to Rowan, and I try to take my phone back from her before she notices the next photo. Unfortunately, her gaze drops just as my hand meets hers, and there, my mom’s face is staring back at her.
“Oh,” she breathes out, her mouth locked in a frozen O shape.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no.” She shakes her head and hands my phone back to me. “She’s your mom, and that’s separate. She’s a good mom. You were always a priority.”
I bunch my mouth, but hold my tongue, not voicing my doubts.
Over the next hour, I catch Rowan’s mom up on the stages of my life that she missed, including the little mailbox incident when I was learning to drive stick shift.
I find a few more photos to share, and I even ask her advice on how to handle letting my family know I want to work in social work or for a non-profit.
We both know, I think, that it’s my mom who is the tough sell on my plans, but we use the plural them as if my father needs to be convinced as well.
It's easier to speak in vague terms, avoiding a path that would villainize my mom. It would be too easy for both of us.
Finally, the sun about to set, Rowan suggests we should hit the road, and his mom holds up her hand, begging us to wait for just one second while she finds something in her backroom.
“She’s always loved you,” Rowan says, and my heart kicks at the L word coming from his lips. I know he feels it, and I know he’ll get there when he can.
“She’s always been so nice to me. Nobody braids my hair anymore, not since she left. I don’t think anybody else knows how,” I say.
His mom rushes back to us after a few seconds, her hands grasping what looks to be various hair product samples. She slips into her kitchen for a plastic bag, dumping them inside, then hands the small sack to me.
“It’s not much, but happy graduation. Your hair is going to need some love in college, especially with all the swimming. And I have all these things and figured—”
“Thank you,” I say, hugging her then kissing her cheek. She exhales at my ear, like she’s been holding her breath and awaiting my approval just as much as I have hers.
“Maybe you can teach me how to braid my hair next time,” I say as Rowan opens the door.
“Next time.” She smiles. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you, Mom.” Rowan leans back into the door just enough to kiss his mom’s cheek, then holds my free hand all the way to his car.
I sort through the samples and products his mom gave me, some of them expensive salon kinds I would never be able to buy for myself. Rowan turns his car on, then studies me while I sink both hands into my goodie bag like a hungry kid on Christmas, and I glance at him with a grin.
“I’m going to like some of these, and I’ll never be able to get more.” I rub my finger and thumb together to show my lack of dollars, and Rowan covers my hand, urging my eyes to his.
“I’ll get you more. I’ll get you anything you need. I’ll give you the world.”
And I know right this moment, despite the language he chose, that Rowan Anderson loves me back.