Chapter 29 #3
I fill her in on everything that’s happened—with Dad, with the store, with Abbey. She makes an occasional hmmm but doesn’t interrupt.
“Can I ask you something?” I drain the last of my beer. “Why have I never heard you complain about Dad? He was an asshole to you, and you never say a bad word against him.”
“Ah.” She pauses. “Believe me, that attitude has been years in the making. I was so angry with him for upending our lives. But you kids were young, and I didn’t want you to see your father in a negative light—any more than you already did, that is.
I worked through my feelings, and I did the best I could.
That was my most important job, raising you kids. ”
“You left before we were completely raised, though. Kap and I were still in high school.”
“You were already the person you were meant to be. Kaplan, too, and Kelsey. And your dad—well, I hoped that he would appreciate that time with you.”
I bark out a laugh. “He was never in the running for father of the year, even before the divorce.”
“Oh, I know. But I loved Jeff once, with my whole heart. It might be hard for you to see that, but I did. Part of me still does. How could I not love someone who shares the most precious gifts of our lives, our children?”
“Even though he’s a complete asshole?”
She laughs. “He wasn’t always. His ego grew along with the stores, unfortunately. He changed. That was one of the reasons why I couldn’t stay with him.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a complete asshole lately, too.”
“Oh, honey,” she says in a watery voice. “I wish I knew how to make things easier, but this is how you grow and become.”
Grow and become. Become what? She doesn’t say. But I like it. I like the open-endedness of it.
“I’ve always worried about you more than I worried about Kaplan and Kelsey,” she says.
I’m not sure how to take that, and she must sense it in my silence.
“I worried because I recognized myself in you. Your brother and sister take after your dad in more than hair color. They’ve got some sort of shield, both of them, and they want the world to see that they’re impenetrable.
They both have this relentless drive for success.
Kap’s a little quieter about it, but it’s there.
But you—you’ve always cared more about people than profits. ”
She pauses, and I let it sink it. She’s right. I’ve always known that I’m like her. But still, I worked hard to prove that I could fit in and be successful at Hometown, with the rest of my family. And I’m scared, now that I’ve walked away from it, but I also feel a deep, gratifying sense of relief.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” I ask. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to come work with us? Even for a little while?”
I blink into the silence as she waits for my response.
I might be like her, but I don’t think humanitarian missions are the right fit.
And I don’t think I could leave my life here behind, not like she did, not even for a little while.
I need my friends, my siblings, Mimi and Bob and Howie.
The Hometown League. Abbey. God, I hope I can fix things with Abbey.
“Thanks,” I finally say, “but I don’t think that’s the answer.”
“What about the Hometown League?” She must not be too upset that I declined her offer, but I don’t think she was surprised by it, either. And now she’s bringing up the Hometown League, and I’m not surprised by that.
“Maybe,” I say.
“You know, I’ll never forget the very first League game.
I’m sure you don’t remember. I was pregnant with Kaplan, so you were only two.
You looked up to Howie so much. If Howie was in the room, you wanted to be right there next to him.
He was up to bat, and you somehow snuck away and made it around the fence.
You ran out onto the diamond crying, ‘Howie! Howie!’” She chuckles.
“Your dad made it over to you and scooped you up, but Howie wanted you to bat with him. He crouched down and helped you hold the bat, and the pitcher got closer and threw the softest pitch so you could try to hit it. Eventually, with Howie’s help, you connected, this tiny baby bounce of a hit, and Howie carried you to first base with him. ”
I swallow down a lump in my throat. “I’ve never heard this story before,” I say.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “I wonder if I still have the photos from that game. It was a big day for our family and for the nonprofit. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’ve never told you.”
“So you think I should apply for the new position?” I ask.
“I think, in your heart, you already know the answer to that question. Now, let’s talk about Abbey and how you’re going to get her back. Tell me everything.”
I do. I tell her everything I know and love about Abbey Rhodes. We talk for a long time, until Mom can no longer hide her yawns.
“You’ll find a way,” she says. “I know you will.”
I say good night, tell her that I love her, and then I call Sam. If anyone can help me get Abbey back, it’s Sam.