Chapter 26
Ro and I have been texting semi-regularly again since he agreed to come to Zola’s launch with a plus one, but by the night of the bonfire, we’re still a million miles from where we’d been.
Our conversations used to flow, languid and easy.
Now they’re clunky. Staccato. We trip into each other, stumbling and fumbling for the proper cadence until the conversation fizzles.
Again, and again, and again. But if I’m being honest, it’s more than just his easy conversation that I miss.
In the quiet stillness of my room each night, my thoughts drift back to the pillowy touch of Ro’s lips on mine, the warm length of his tongue, claiming a path that could only ever be his to follow.
His kisses lapping up my screams, until he owned every sound his body drew from mine.
I feel the weight of him, pinning me down as we moved together.
I see my pink fingernails digging into the dark flesh at his back.
And every night when I think of him, my own hand wanders the curves of my body when what it really wants is to reach out for his.
But mostly it’s the conversation. I lie to myself, as I spend an inordinately long time setting the lone curl Ro loves to tug.
“Oh, you look pretty!” Mom says.
The sound of her voice is an ice bath on my daydreams. I whip around to face her like a twelve-year-old boy hiding porn behind his back.
“Mom,” I whine, sounding equally prepubescent. “Can you knock?”
“Why? You got a guy up here?” She pretends to look around before laughing at her own joke and joining me at the mirror.
I study her reflection. The signs are all there—fresh cut, fresh color, fresh fit. Her eyes are clearer, and her face is brighter than it’s been in months. Just once, though, I wish the light I saw shining was her own.
She picks her hair out with her fingers, as she speaks. “Zola ran up to the beach to supervise the bar staff. I told her we’d be two minutes behind. I’ll be glad when this thing is over. She’s pushing too hard. It’s not good for the baby.”
“It’s not good for her.”
Mom nods her agreement. “I was the same way before I had Zo.”
“Manic?”
Mom laughs, but she doesn’t deny it. “And terrified. When you get this close to becoming a mom, it feels like there’s a clock ticking over your head.
Like everything is either now or never. Nobody warns you about that part.
” She sucks her teeth. “Nobody warns you about a lot of it, but I remember that one being really scary. You’re counting down to baby, but you’re also counting down to a free fall into the unknown.
To losing yourself without knowing if it’ll be weeks or months or ever before you get you back. ”
“How long did it take you to get back to yourself?” I ask, certain Zola can beat it.
But Mom’s smile is small. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
I finish tying up the sides of my crochet cover-up dress, not wanting to leave Zola waiting any longer. “We should go. You know how Zo is. She’s probably already unloading everything on her own.”
Mom’s side-eye is vicious. “Like you’re any better. Both of you always try to do everything on your own.” She points to the laptop, closed on the desk behind us. “Summer’s almost over and I still don’t know what’s going on with you over there. But I know you won’t let me help.”
“Is this you trying to kick me out?” I ask, half joking and fully deflecting.
Mom laughs. “I’d keep you here forever if I could.
I just worry about my girls.” Then she sits on the bed.
“And I know you worry about me too,” she continues.
“But I wouldn’t want that to be the reason you stay if you’d rather leave.
Lately, I’ve been wondering if I might’ve been the reason you came back in the first place. ”
“Did you think I was gonna stay in Kansas? Permanently?”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you.” The smile Mom wears is so fake, it might as well be painted on. “There are a lot of things I wish I would’ve done differently when you girls were young. So, once you got out…”
She shrugs like, you know, but I don’t. So I wait for her to tell me.
“You used to be your dad’s shadow. Whenever I needed to find you, I’d just look for him. He’d be on the phone, or working in the yard, watching a game—and you’d be right there.”
Mom hasn’t talked about Dad this casually in years. Even after everything, there’s still a softness for him in her voice.
“I used to feel so proud that I’d found that for you girls. Someone worth idolizing. But then he left.”
I expect her tone to sharpen when she says it, but it doesn’t.
“And then you left. And it made sense to me—the two of you back together.”
“Mom,” I say, feeling guilty though she hasn’t once asked me to. “We weren’t together. It wasn’t like that.”
“It would’ve been okay if it was. He’s your dad. You’re allowed to want him. To need him.”
I hadn’t realized just how long it’d been since Mom and I sat together like this. Her, the adult, and me, finally allowed to be the thing I was meant to be all along—the child.
“I haven’t applied for any jobs,” I say, setting the words free before I can think better of it.
Mom nods but doesn’t appear shocked by the subject change or the admission.
“Not one. I’ve tried. But whenever I think about walking into a classroom, and doing it again the next day, and the next day, forever…” Even explaining the thought brings a wave of dread, same as it always does. “It just feels like someone else’s life.”
“Maybe when you chose it, that’d been part of the appeal.”
“What, Dad? You think I wanted his life? Because I gotta tell ya, it leaves something to be desired.”
Mom smiles at my gentle ribbing. “Fine then, not his life, but his approval maybe. His respect, his love. Any of it would’ve made sense. And it makes just as much sense to want something different now. Something that’s yours.”
Mom pats the mattress beside her, and I join her. “Kai, I see the ways you’re stuck right now. And I get it, I’ve been there. Too many times to count. But you’ve gotta believe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“Completely lost?”
“Sure,” she says easily. “Why not? I’m fifty-two and just now figuring out what I wanna be when I grow up.
And you know what it is? Happy. That’s it, that’s all I want.
And it’s all I want for my girls too.” She wraps me into her arms as she says it, and I let her.
“This life is long, baby. You’re gonna fall backward and start over more times than you ever imagined.
And the only thing that changes each time is how quickly you learn to give yourself the grace to do it.
It’s the only thing we get a say in. Might as well start practicing that part now. ”