Chapter 11
“This is great. You’ve really improved a lot from last week,” Henry comments as he finishes reviewing this week’s English assignment.
I relax in my chair and tilt my head with a smile.
The tension from our conversation earlier is still lingering like a faint low buzz attaching itself to the back of my mind.
But if it was affecting Henry, he didn’t show it.
His focus was on my paper, and I was grateful for the shift.
I welcome the idea of pressing pause on whatever unspoken things hang between us because I’m not sure if I can handle anything else right now.
Or at least that’s the lie getting me through this moment.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing my mind to focus on the material and not the man helping me.
Henry looks up, his eyes piercing through me as he sets the paper down.
“Your argument is strong, your thesis flows really well into your evidence, and the transitions are smoother, too.” I nod, feeling a warm flush spread across my face.
My eyes dart to the other side of the room, hoping to avoid the proud feeling on his face.
“I feel a but coming on,” I offer to stop the itch spreading across my body.
He smiles and nods. “Right. Like I said, your argument is strong, but with papers like this, you need examples to back it up. You have some great examples already, but don’t stop at summarizing.
I need to know what this quote reveals about the character or theme, and it needs to be clear how it connects back to your thesis. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” I breathe. If I’m being honest, I skimmed this week’s reading assignment.
Milo has been fighting me at bedtime, and by the time I get him down, I’m too exhausted to fully comprehend what I’m reading.
I am planning on taking more classes in the fall so I can graduate next spring, but I might have to rethink that plan.
“What’s wrong?” Henry asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look up, and it’s like a breath of fresh air to see the concern on his face.
“Nothing,” I lie, but pause before continuing.
I was too exhausted to keep the mask on for much longer.
The plan of focusing on my work was quickly slipping away, much like my willpower.
“I mean—I had a tough time with the reading assignment this week because Milo’s sleep schedule has been all messed up.
I get most of my work done when he’s sleeping. ”
Henry eases back into his chair, and I swear his eyes become a lighter shade.
“That must be a lot for you. I can’t imagine having to worry about all of your coursework on top of raising a child.”
I shrug, trying not to mistake his understanding for something more. “It’s nothing new. I thought I could handle it. I’m planning on taking more classes in the fall, but I’m worried I won’t be able to manage it.”
He shakes his head, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Emma, don’t worry about handling everything perfectly. Focus on what’s best for Milo and you. You’re not a machine—you’re human. The fact that you’re even considering taking about more classes on top of everything else is impressive.”
I let out an awkward laugh, feeling myself relax in this moment with him. One minute, I was fighting off a jealous monster raging inside of me, and now I wanted to let him in. To tell him everything. Well, maybe not everything.
“Impressive or insane? Some days, I can’t tell the difference,” I admit, sinking into my chair.
Henry’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe a little bit of both. Maybe you should think about adjusting your course load? Even taking one less class could give you a little more breathing room.”
I nod slowly, knowing he’s probably right. “I only have four more classes to take, and I can graduate next Spring. I kind of just want to push through and get it over with.”
“What do you want to do after graduation?”
The question stumps me. “The original plan was to become a social worker,” I answer.
I would make decent money, there would be job stability, and I would be able to make a true difference in people’s lives.
It had everything I had been looking for when I originally enrolled in the program. “But now, I’m not sure.”
He studies me, his gaze steady but gentle, as though he’s considering how lightly to tread. “Why is that?” he asks, leaning closer.
I sigh, the words coming out before I can stop them. “It’s not that I don’t care about the field. It’s important work. But the closer I get to finishing, the more I wonder if it’s actually the right fit for me. It’s hard to explain.”
Henry watches me with a gentle intensity. It’s like he’s giving me space to figure it out without rushing me. “It’s okay not to have it all figured out,” he says, breaking the silence. “You’re still figuring out what you want, and you’re bound to change your mind.”
I nod silently, but uncertainty still hangs above me like a dark cloud. “I guess I’ve been so focused on finishing what I started that I didn’t stop to think if it’s still what I actually want.”
Henry leans his head against his arm anchored on the table. He looks distant, almost like my words have triggered something else in him. He’s quiet for a moment before speaking. “You know, I was once in a similar position, trying to figure out if what I thought I wanted was what I really needed.”
My eyes snap to his, surprised by the shift in tone. “Really?” It was hard to imagine Henry as anything other than the put-together man in front of me.
He nods in response, his gaze unfocused, like he’s recalling a painful memory. “When I first started college, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew from a young age that I would be a writer, and I experienced a lot of success early in my career.”
I notice the way his voice trails off and now I find myself leaning in closer.
“But it turned out, the things I thought I wanted were influenced by other people.”
“An ex?” I ask, blurting out the first thing to pop into my head. Henry knew all about my complicated relationship, so I was eager to learn if he had a story to rival my own.
He lets out a short, rueful laugh—not the warm laugh I have come to love these past few weeks. “Am I that transparent?”
“Maybe,” I reply, noticing the edge in his tone. There’s more to the story, but I’m afraid to push him too far. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much.”
“It wasn’t just a relationship; it was more like I trusted someone. I put all of my faith in their version of my future. When it fell apart, they revealed their true colors, and I had to figure out how to stand on my own.”
I can taste the thickness of his words, heavy with unspoken details. “And did you figure it out?” I ask quietly.
He looks at me and his eyes soften. “Yeah. Eventually. But it wasn’t easy. I had to learn how to trust myself again, to listen to what I actually wanted, not just what someone else said I should want.”
I lean back in my chair, absorbing his words. I resonated with what he’s saying—feeling pulled in different directions by what others expect and what I truly need. I had been getting it wrong for most of my life.
“You’re not alone in that,” I offer, flashing him an understanding smile.
Henry returns my smile, and it feels like there’s an unspoken truce between us. We’re both just trying to navigate the wreckage of our past while finding some solid footing in the present. It gives me the courage to be honest with him and myself.
“Henry, I need to confess something. I—” Before I can continue, my phone buzzes on the table, interrupting my momentum.
I glance at the screen, and my heart sinks when I see Nana light up in bold letters. I used to find comfort in seeing her name light up my screen, but now all I feel is a hard rock at the bottom of my stomach.
Henry must notice the shift in my expression because his brows lift slightly, a blend of curiosity and concern.
Before he can say anything, I cut him off.
“I should probably take this.” I swallow hard.
“You can get going if you need to. Text me about this weekend if you want to do some more location scouting.”
Without another word, I grip my phone in my right hand and head toward the tiny office on the other side of the library. The ringing stops, but I know she’ll call right back. She knows I’ve been hesitant to pick up lately.
Just like clockwork, my phone starts buzzing again when my feet cross the threshold of the library’s shared office space. My chest tightens as I take a deep breath.
“Hey, Nana,” I answer, my voice purposefully neutral.
“Emma, sweetheart,” Nana begins. “I hope this isn’t a bad time. I know you’re working.”
“It’s fine,” I respond bluntly. “What is it?”
There’s silence on the other end like she’s trying to assess my mood through the phone. “I need to ask you for a favor.”
I close my eyes tightly together and brace myself for what will come next. I used to seek comfort in my nana, but now she’s choosing sides and it’s complicating things. “What is it?”
There’s another heavy pause on the other end, and when she speaks again, it feels like a punch to the gut. “It’s your mother. She’s been trying, Emma. She’s trying to change. I think it’s time for you to talk to her.”
My chest tightens again, but now it feels so tightly wound I can’t conceive coming apart again. All of a sudden, I miss Henry’s calming presence. I almost wish that he was here right now.
“Nana,” I start, unsure of how to explain everything to her for the tenth time.
She was the first person I confided in when I started going to therapy.
I told her about my decision to create boundaries with my mother, and she was supportive at first. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
Dr. Wells says I should—” Before I can continue, she cuts me off.
“It’s just that she’s your mother, and she’s trying to make amends. I’m not saying you have to forgive her overnight, but maybe just hear her out.”
My heart sinks when I realize my Nana doesn’t want to listen. She called me with one thing in mind and it wasn’t to ask how I’m doing or how Milo is. A crack starts to form in the solid foundation I’ve spent months forming in therapy. I was losing control all over again.
I grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles whitening as I steady myself. This time, my voice comes out quieter, giving her one last chance. “I’ve tried this before. Over and over again. I’m not saying she can’t change, but that doesn’t erase the past or how it made me feel.”
I hear her long and heavy sigh weighing down her end of the phone. The crack starts to deepen, and I know it’s useless to hope for her understanding. “I know, sweetheart. I know it hasn’t been easy. But people can change. She talks about you and Milo all the time—”
Now I cut her off. “It’s not about what she’s doing now. It’s about what she didn’t do then. You can’t undo years of damage by deciding to give a sh—to care about my life now. If she can decide when she wants to be in my life, I can decide when I want her to be.”
For a moment, silence echoes between us. It was killing me to talk to my Nana like this. She was the one who was always there for me when my mom wasn’t. She was supposed to be there for me now, but it hurts to know where her loyalty lies.
“I’m not telling you what to do. All I’m saying is she misses you, Emma. She misses Milo. She wants to be part of your lives again. I just want you to think about it.”
She could say the same thing over and over again, but I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. I spent most of my childhood clinging to empty words and broken promises. I was constantly disappointed by the one person who was supposed to love me unconditionally.
Sometimes, it felt like something was very broken deep inside of me.
Something that could only be healed by the woman who decided I was more of a burden than a blessing.
That feeling lingered, sharp and unforgiving, every time I looked at my son.
I couldn’t bear the thought of him carrying the same weight.
My throat tightens, but I manage a clipped “I’ll think about it” before hanging up.
I look down and my hands are shaking. The hollow feeling spreads before I notice a habit I thought I’d kicked when I was a kid. My eyes drift to the window, where a pale sliver of light cuts through the overcast sky.
For a moment, I let myself believe my mother has changed and how good it would feel to have the relationship I’ve craved for most of my life. I only let the thought in for a second before I push it out so quickly I can’t let myself hope.
Hope was a dangerous thing. I wouldn’t let myself experience it because there was a sinking inevitability that it would be ripped out of my hands without a reason or explanation. I was used to the emptiness of expecting the worst from people.
With a deep breath, I let go of the impending wave of sadness I would drown in later. I push those feelings to the side and turn back to the familiar quietness of the library waiting for me.