20. Professional Mom Opinion #2
I go still. “This isn’t about the cancer.”
“I think some of it is.”
I pull my hand away, not because I’m angry. Mostly because I need it to fiddle with the honeycomb pendant at my neck. “Mom, I was fifteen. It was ten years ago.”
“I know exactly how old you were.” Something in her voice makes me look at her. She smiles sadly. “You noticed everything.”
I cock my head.
“You noticed when I missed work. You noticed when your dad canceled plans. You apologized to Dylan when he had to get rides from friends because we were at the hospital with you. You worried about how much everyone was sleeping. You tried to convince me you didn’t need me at appointments because you knew I was tired. ”
I don’t say anything.
“You were sick, Reese. None of those things were your fault.”
“I know.”
“I know you know that here.” She taps her temple. “I’m not sure you ever fully learned it anywhere else.”
I look down. Spark presses against my shin again.
Mom continues quietly. “You learned very young that when people love you, sometimes they sacrifice things.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Yes. It is.” She squeezes my hand. “But somewhere along the way, I think you started treating the sacrifice as evidence against yourself.”
My throat tightens, and she gives me a moment before continuing.
“And now you do it with everything. ADHD. Forgetting things. Losing things. Maybe not being able to have biological children. You keep adding up everything Miles might have to give, and you’re leaving out everything he gets.”
I blink quickly. “What does he get? A lifetime supply of misplaced sunglasses?”
She smiles. “You.”
The single word hits harder than it has any right to, and I look away. “That is an extremely mom answer.”
“It’s also true.”
“You’re legally required to think I’m a good deal.”
“No, I was legally required to feed you and keep you alive until adulthood. Everything after that is my professional opinion.”
A laugh escapes me.
Mom smiles, then squeezes my hand. “I’m not telling you that being with you will never require patience. Of course it will.”
“Excellent pep talk.”
“Being with Miles will require patience, too.”
I open my mouth. She raises an eyebrow. “Fine,” I say. “But probably less.”
“Every person costs something to love, Reese. You’re just keeping a very detailed record of your side.”
I look at our hands. “What am I supposed to say to him?”
“The actual truth, not the version where you present the prosecution’s case for why he should break up with you.”
I look at her sharply. “That is not what I’m planning to do.”
She just looks back.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“Tell him what the doctors told you. Tell him what you know. Tell him what you don’t know. Tell him how you feel about it.”
“And then?”
“Then let Miles decide what it means to him.”
I shift on my stool. “But what if I already know?”
“You don’t.”
“I know he wants kids.”
“You know one thing he wants. You don’t know how he weighs it against every other thing he wants.”
I hate how much sense that makes.
Mom leans a little closer. “You’re allowed to be afraid he’ll decide it matters too much. You are not allowed to make that decision for him because you’re afraid to hear the answer.”
“That is annoyingly good advice.”
“I’ve been a mother for a long time.” Then her expression shifts. “Do you remember when I almost ended things with Hammy because I knew he was hiding something?”
“Yes.”
“You sat right here and told me I had to let him explain.”
I nod. “I was very wise.”
“You were irritating.”
“That’s usually how wisdom presents itself.”
My mom laughs. “What scared me wasn’t only whatever the secret might be. It was knowing there was something important affecting our relationship while I didn’t have all the information.”
My stomach twists. I know it’s not the same thing. But it also kind of is.
I stare down at the countertop. I want to tell him and somehow already know what he’ll say. I want to skip over the second between the truth leaving my mouth and his response. I want guarantees. Unfortunately, dating an actual spy has not provided me access to time travel.
“I’m scared,” I say.
Her expression softens. “I know.”
“What if it changes how he sees me?”
“It might.”
I glare at her. “You are terrible at reassurance today.”
“I’m trying to give you something better than reassurance—the truth.”
I make a face. “Very inspirational.”
She smiles. “I don’t know exactly what Miles will say. But I know him well enough to trust that whatever he says, he’ll mean it. And I know you well enough to know you can handle hearing his answer, whatever it is.”
I breathe in slowly. Then out.
“You don’t have to ask him to decide your entire future right then, Reese.”
That sounds kind of like what Miles said to me when he told me he loves me.
“You’re simply telling someone you care about something important and true about you.”
Someone I care about. That feels like a laughably inadequate description for Miles.
I look down at my phone sitting beside my purse. There’s a message from him from twenty minutes ago that says, Dinner tonight? I haven’t responded yet.
I pick up my phone. My heart immediately starts beating a million miles an hour as I open the message and type a response.
Reese: Yeah. Come over at seven?
Miles: I’ll be there.
Just three little words, and my stomach drops. There’s no going back now. I lock my phone and slide it into my purse.
My mom stands and kisses the top of my head. “You’ve got this, sweetie.”
I stand and put my purse over my shoulder. Spark gets up, too. Then my mom comes over and hugs me again. Not the quick kind or the excited kind from earlier. The kind where she holds on for however long it takes before I am the one to pull back.
Then I leave before my courage can change its mind.