Chapter 4 #2
The day I got that email from my mom telling me about Aidan’s wedding—when I hadn’t even known there was someone special in his life—was the day I woke up and realized I’d missed out on too much in the name of shame.
I should have been preparing my best man speech, not wondering if my mother’s passing mention of the nuptials even constituted an invitation.
Given Aidan’s reaction to my appearance yesterday, I have my answer to that question, but my relationship with my brother is just one more on the list of the many wrongs I’m finally back here to right. Hopefully.
“If you knew I was in prison the whole time,” I ask, “why did you keep playing along? Whenever I emailed you—”
“Which was not often,” she interrupts with a reproachful look, and I raise my hands in surrender.
“Access to a computer or internet was never guaranteed. Even after I got out,” I defend.
“Plus …” I hesitate. “In the spirit of full disclosure …” I trail off again, but my mother gestures for me to continue.
“Well … I had to maintain the wall I’d built up at that point so I could carry on the charade—useless as it apparently was,” I mutter that last part.
She huffs out a breath.
“But I didn’t know that at the time,” I continue, shaking my head. “I was fully committed to being the estranged son in order to avoid questions about school, why I never came home, my lack of graduation … take your pick.”
She gives me a sad but understanding smile, and I’m finally able to ask the question. “So, every time I made up some bullshit about where I was and what I was doing, you just rolled with it. Why?”
“I didn’t just roll with it, Riley. I hated it.
But you chose repeatedly not to come home when you had the opportunity.
You chose not to seek help when you got into trouble at school.
I was hurt. Devastated. And then, later, I was resigned to it and trying to respect your wishes.
It was clear you didn’t want my support. ”
“It wasn’t that.”
“Then what was it?”
I bow my head. “Shame, Mom. I was—am—ashamed. I couldn’t face you.
I couldn’t come home to my little brother, who looked up to me, and tell him how badly I’d fucked up.
I couldn’t walk around this town full of my admirers and tell them that not only did I fail on the basketball court, but I also failed in school and got kicked out.
I got addicted to drugs and spiraled until I was living like a bum and breaking the law.
I had everything going for me when I left, and then I blew up my whole life. ”
My mom is silent, and I hate the pity I see in her eyes. At least it’s not disappointment, but I know that’s there too, under the surface.
“See?” I gesture at her. “That. That right there. That look on your face. I would have done anything to avoid it back then. And it took me over a decade and a half to work myself up to facing it now.”
“Oh, Riley,” she whispers sadly. “I won’t deny I was disappointed, but more than that, I was scared. Heartbroken. I felt like I’d failed too.” Tears well in her eyes. “I failed you as a mother if you didn’t feel safe coming to me for help.”
I sigh again. “It was never about that. It was all me, Mom. Please don’t take on any of the blame.”
“Well, I do. I have,” she says matter-of-factly, wiping at her face. “But the good news is you’re here now, and all of that is in the past. So let’s just agree to move on from here, okay? We both screwed up …”
“No—” I start to protest, but she holds a hand up to silence me.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Riles. We both have regrets about how things were handled.” I nod emphatically, and she continues, “But we’ve talked now. It’s all out in the open, and we can let it go. It’s a fresh start from here, yeah?”
I stare into her hopeful eyes and feel the mirrored emotion rising in my chest.
“Yeah. Sounds good,” I murmur, and my mom nods like it’s been decided. She reaches over and pats me on my knee.
“Good.”
I look out over the backyard at the weathered tire swing hanging from the massive old oak in the far corner and the now hoop-less and cracked backboard over the detached garage, where I used to play basketball until well after dark most evenings.
The year Dad died, I threw myself into the sport.
Obsessed about it, really, because it had been something we’d done together.
Aidan was still little, but I remember he used to sit out on the back steps after dinner, watching me shoot hoops until Mom called him in for bed.
“You’re not the only one I need to make amends with, though,” I say. “This is only the start.”
She nods, nibbling on her lip, but refrains from looking at me. She’s staring out over the yard just as I had been. Is she seeing two young boys too, bonding by the basketball hoop under the rising moon?
“Your brother’s going to be a hard nut to crack.”
Don’t I know it.
“You really never told him anything?”
“He was too angry,” she replies sadly, shaking her head. “Still is, I’m sorry to say.”
I blow out a harsh breath. “Yeah, I kinda got that last night.”
We’re silent again for a long moment as I contemplate my relationship—or lack thereof—with my brother. I don’t know how I’m going to fix things with Aidan, but I’m determined to. I’ve missed too much already.
“But you don’t just mean him, do you?” my mom asks.
“No.”
“I saw the way you were looking at her last night, Riles.” She turns to meet my eyes. “Steph’s been through a lot. You need to tread very carefully there, son.”
I tip my head to the side in acknowledgment. “But she’s single, isn’t she?”
My mom nods. “Her husband left her some years back,” she says, and my stomach clenches at the thought of Steph ever having been married to someone else. Anyone else.
I’d known, though.
Even with the occasional internet access in prison, I hadn’t had the guts to look her up on social media until I was out.
Things were still too fresh. And then, when I finally did, I was reminded of exactly why I’d resisted for so long.
The word had frozen the blood in my veins and reverberated around my skull for a good long while.
Married.
I think I’d always known that’s what I’d find.
Steph was too good. Too sweet, and bright, and beautiful for some dude not to snatch her up the first chance he got.
I’d just hoped she was happy. At least, that’s what I’d told myself repeatedly in those days.
I’d wanted to wish her well. I’d tried. It was the least I could do after breaking her heart, right?
But the truth is that resentment and anger burned in my chest at the thought of someone else holding her in the night.
Someone who’d never love her the way I did.
Do.
Always will.
And now?
Divorced. And I can’t deny I’m relieved to hear it.
Do I feel shitty about it? Yeah.
Am I going to take full fucking advantage of the situation?
Hell, yeah.
I grit my teeth as my mom continues. “She’s got two boys. Both teenagers now. You might have seen them at the wedding …?”
Uhhh, nope. I was apparently too distracted staring at their mother.
“They’re good kids. But the three of them have had a real rough go of things.”
Fuck. I hate to hear she’s struggled. She didn’t deserve any of this, and I can’t help but feel a twinge—more than a twinge—of guilt at the thought that all her troubles began with me.
And … two boys? Again, there’s a tightening in my gut and a familiar yet fresh stab of pain in my chest when I consider the life I could have had—should have had—with Steph.
I want to ask what fucking asshole ever could have walked away from her, but I can’t. Because … I did, too.
I did first.
I’m that asshole.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say quietly, and my mom pats my knee again.
“She’s doing much better these days,” she assures me, then brightens. “She works at the library with Piper now. It’s how they’ve become such good friends.”
“Is that right?”
She nods again.
Good to know.
Good. To. Know.