Chapter 59
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Foster
I’m not sure whether it’s going to do me any good, but what I’ve been doing hasn’t been working. What’s the definition of insanity? Keep doing the same thing and expect a different result?
So I steel myself and knock on Decker’s door.
He answers and manages to keep his expression neutral. Thank God. If he’d looked smug, I would’ve turned around and left.
My shoulders lock up the second I step inside and see my mom on his couch, sitting comfortably, as though she’s at home here in his space.
The sting of rejection hits because I’m not at all comfortable—not in his space or around either of them.
It’s just another reminder of their relationship that I don’t share.
“Foster.” My mom stands, an expectant and surprised look on her face.
“Angela.”
She flinches when I use her given name. Good.
Decker clears his throat. “I’ll be out doing errands.” Then he’s gone, shutting the door behind him.
My mom gestures to the couch. “Will you come and sit?”
I take the chair in the corner by the window instead. It’s as far away as I can get and still be in the same room as her.
She nods as though she expected me to keep my distance. “Thank you for coming.”
The urge to make it clear to her that I’m not here for her rises up.
I’m here because Callie’s pregnant, and I’m trying to figure out how to not screw up the one thing in my life that matters.
But having this conversation devolve into an argument in the first two seconds won’t get me any closer to my goal, so I bite back my retort.
I cross my arms. “Just tell me what you want to tell me.”
She takes a breath, and I notice her hands are shaking as if she’s trying to hold herself together. Did she forget that she’s the one who gave me up?
“Your father and I got pregnant young.” Her mouth tightens. “That’s not an excuse. It’s just the truth. It was hard—raising twins, our marriage, all of it. We weren’t happy for a long time. Probably longer than we admitted.”
I stare at the wall behind her head because I cannot look at her face.
“When you started getting attention for baseball and your dad wanted to move you south, I told myself I was making the right choice. For you.” She swallows and takes a second to compose herself.
“You had a real shot. Your dad wanted you in the elite programs, playing against better competition. You wanted it too. And I agreed to let him take you.”
I run her words through my head for a beat. “You could’ve come too.” My voice comes out sharp. “You could’ve brought Decker.”
It wasn’t as though he wasn’t also playing baseball at the time. Sure, my talent developed a little earlier than his, but he would’ve benefited from the move too.
Her eyes shine with tears. “I could have.”
“And you didn’t.”
She nods once. “I didn’t.”
I wait for the part where she blames my dad. Where she tells me she had no choice. Where she tries to make it seem like a noble sacrifice.
Instead, she looks me straight in the eye. “The truth is, I chose what was easier.”
Her words hit me harder than I’d like. My chest squeezes painfully. “You’re saying you left me with him because it was convenient.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m saying I didn’t fight hard enough.
I told myself it was for you, but it was also because fighting your father felt impossible.
There had already been years of it, and I was exhausted.
I couldn’t take any more of the arguments and the manipulation.
So I gave in. I thought there would be time. I thought I could fix it later.”
My jaw clenches. “And?”
“And I blinked.” Her voice cracks, and tears run down her face. “And you were grown.”
My throat tightens and fills with a painful lump that keeps me from responding.
She wipes her cheeks as if she’s angry at herself for crying.
“I called. I tried to visit. Your dad told me you had practices, games, travel, that distractions would mess you up, that you didn’t feel like talking to me.
It was always something.” A shaky breath slips out of her.
“I should’ve gotten in my car anyway. I should’ve shown up anyway. ”
I thought I was over this. I thought that nothing this woman could say would affect me anymore. That I was numb to her and what she did or didn’t do in my childhood. It’s obvious now that I’ve been carrying around a thousand-pound sack of issues where she’s concerned.
I don’t say anything because I don’t trust myself to speak right now.
She reaches for a tissue on Decker’s coffee table. Of course he has fucking tissues in his condo.
“I’m not crying for your pity.” She blots her tears. “I’m crying because I lost you. And I did it while telling myself I was doing the right thing.”
I sit back, stretching my arms over the armrests of the chair, my hands flexing on the leather.
“But I came here because you’re about to have a baby. And I don’t want you to make the same mistake that I did.”
“I’m not you.” My words lash out like a whip.
She flinches, but I don’t take it back. It’s the truth. It’s the whole reason I’m here talking to her today. I’m not her, and I won’t ever do what she did.
A sad smile tilts her lips. “You’re not. And I don’t want you to be.”
She stands, but she doesn’t move away. She just looks at me as though she’s trying to memorize my face after years of not seeing it in person.
“I know I’ve made a mess of our relationship. I might never earn you back.” Her voice drops. “But I’m still your mother, and I still want the best for you.”
A bitter laugh threatens, but I swallow it down. “How do you know what’s best for me?”
She frowns. “Because from the outside, you don’t look happy.”
I hate that she’s right. That I’m that transparent to her.
She steps closer. “You can tell yourself you’re fine.
You can tell yourself you’ll figure it out later.
That’s what I did. And later turned into months that turned into years.
” She lifts her chin as if she’s forcing herself to stay strong.
“All that hurt you have inside you—because of me, because of your father”—she presses a hand to her chest—“it poisons you. It leaks in and contaminates things you don’t expect.
How you act. How you think. How you give love. How you receive love.”
My stomach turns over. Because I already know that. I’ve felt it every second since I walked out on Callie.
“I heard that you and Callie aren’t together right now.”
My body goes rigid as if she just lodged her finger in an open wound. She has no right to know what’s going on in my life. Fuck Decker.
Her expression softens. “When I saw you with her—from afar—you looked… lighter. Like you’d set down some of that weight you carry around.”
I stare at my hands.
“If you love her, go to her and tell her. Show her.”
My mouth opens, ready to argue. Ready to say it’s complicated. That she doesn’t know the whole story, and she never will. Mostly, to point the finger at her.
She cuts me off before I can. “Don’t go to win. Apologize without defending yourself.” Her voice breaks. “Choose her even if you’re scared she won’t choose you back. Let her see all of you.”
My chest burns as if I just walked into a smoke-filled building.
“I’m leaving town tonight. And I won’t be moving to Chicago.” She gives me a small, sad smile. “You deserve space. You deserve to become the father and partner you want to be without me in your face as a reminder of everything that went wrong.”
I don’t know what to do with that.
She moves toward the door, then stops with her hand on the knob.
“I don’t know what your father told you over the years.” Her voice shakes. “But I love you, Foster. I always have. I just didn’t love you the way you deserved.” More tears fall, and she wipes them off her face.
Then she leaves.
I sit in the chair, staring at the empty space where she was standing as though my brain is trying to decide if I should chase her or pretend none of this even happened.
Part of me wants to run after her.
The other part of me wants to say fuck it all and stay numb. Push away the way her words made me feel.
I finally stand and look out the window.
Decker is on the sidewalk with her. He pulls her into a hug as though it’s normal. As though this is what families do. She nods, saying something. His hand stays on her back as if he doesn’t want her to fall apart.
My head tips back toward the sky, tears burning in my eyes.
When does the pain stop?
I rub my chest.
I’m so tired of living like this. This isn’t the world I want my child to grow up in. This isn’t what I want Callie to feel when she looks at me.
The change has to start with me. Whether or not she takes me back is up to her, but I have to at least try. For her. For our child. But mostly, for myself.