18. A Plate Too Full #2
Of course. She’s always been perceptive, which didn’t often work in my and Logan’s favor when we lived at home. “Yup. Just the usual, don’t worry.”
“Was it about me? About...” She looks down at her hand, clenches it, then tucks it away.
“No,” I lie. “He accused me of sleeping with a friend.”
She blinks, like she doesn’t understand the problem with that.
“A married friend,” I clarify.
For a moment, her lips form a small circle. Then: “Are you?”
For fuck’s sake. “Mom!”
“Oh, Aaron.” She cups my cheek. “You carry so much on your shoulders. All this guilt and pain, all these impossible standards you set for yourself, the responsibilities you feel like you have to face alone...You know what happens when gas inside a bottle builds up?”
“The cap pops off?”
She nods, smiling wide. “So who is she?”
I open my mouth. Close it. I should say no one and move on—brush it off like I’ve done with everyone else prying into my life lately. But it’s Mom, and I’m scared shitless of all the things I won’t get to share with her.
“Her name’s Charlotte.”
“Charlotte,” she repeats, like she’s weighing it on her tongue. “What does she do?”
“She’s...” I think of her profile on TOP and clear my throat. “She models.”
Mom narrows her eyes. “Oh, Aaron. Are you making up girlfriends again?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Mom. I’m not fourteen. And she’s not my girlfriend, but she is a model. She likes designing clothes too.”
“A model and designer.” Her eyes brighten. “She must be smart and beautiful. Can I see her?”
Her TOP profile flashes through my mind again—Charlotte, sprawled out and bent like a pretzel, wearing next to nothing, watching the camera like she’ll fuck you then fuck you over.
“I don’t have any pictures.”
Mom hums a disappointed sound. “Well, is she single?”
“ Yes , she is.”
“So what’s the problem?”
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? “There’s several. First of all, I have no idea what we are . She’s not exactly looking to settle down.”
“Are you?”
I open my mouth, then close it. “I guess that’s the second problem.”
“And the third?”
“She’s, um . . . young.”
Mom’s posture stiffens slightly. “Not inappropriately young, right?”
“She’s twenty-three.”
Mom lets out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Aaron, honey, that’s...quite the gap.”
“I know.”
She studies me for a long moment, tilting her head slightly. “You like her.”
“I—” I start, but she gives me a look. The kind only a mother can give, that says Don’t even think about lying to me.
“Yeah. I do.”
She picks up a loose crumb on the table. “And does she like you back?”
I think of Charlotte’s teasing smirks, how she gets under my skin like it’s her favorite pastime. How she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention—like I’m something she doesn’t want to want, but can’t help herself.
“I think she does,” I admit quietly. “In her own way.”
Mom’s fingers find mine. “Then what are you so afraid of?”
Everything.
“Though she is single, there are other factors that make it complicated.”
“Well, dear, whoever said love is simple wasn’t paying attention. People are complicated, therefore so are relationships.”
“Yes, but after everything that happened with Josie?—”
“That’s in the past,” she cuts me off.
“But it’s not. I’ve worked so hard to earn back Logan’s respect—I still am. If he found out about this, he wouldn’t understand.”
Her shoulders slump. “Different dads, and my sons are equally stubborn. It oughta be studied.”
“Really?” I muse. “You can’t find any explanation for it?”
She playfully smacks the side of my head. “Don’t you use that tone with your mother.”
When I raise a hand in defeat—and self-defense—she points a finger at me.
“You listen to me, Aaron Coleman. We are a family . We don’t keep score, or use past mistakes to harm each other.
Your brother isn’t quite ready to forgive you yet, maybe, but he’ll get there.
You need to live your life knowing that if you fall, your family will catch you.
That here,” she says as she holds a hand to her chest, “you’ll always find support and love. ”
I squeeze her hand over the table.
“Thank you, Ma.” This is all true when it comes to her or Darren. But Logan? There’s too much hurt for that. Too much history to ignore.
Mom leans back in her chair, tilting her head like she’s watching a movie play in her mind. “This reminds me of Mr. Bubbles’s death.”
I blink. “The goldfish?”
She nods. “You were, what, ten? And you decided it was your fault he died because you forgot to feed him one morning. Never mind that you fed him so much every other day, I’m pretty sure he went into cardiac arrest from overeating. You spent a whole week in mourning.”
I nod, vaguely remembering the fish but almost tasting the sense of guilt I felt back then. “What does Mr. Bubbles have to do with anything?”
“You gave him a funeral in the backyard, remember that? You and Logan wore suits, and you made me officiate. And then, instead of flushing him down the toilet like a normal person, you insisted on giving him a Viking funeral in the kiddie pool. Complete with a Popsicle-stick boat and a candle.”
I stare at her. “Let me guess. I almost set the farm on fire?”
She grins. “Oh no, honey. You tried to set a fire. The boat just kind of...sank immediately. And you cried harder because now you thought you’d drowned Mr. Bubbles.”
Right, right. I believe the term being thrown around was “re-murdered.”
“You have always, always held on to guilt like it’s a full-time job. But the point is,” she says, patting my hand, “that life isn’t a fish funeral, Aaron.”
“ That’s the point?”
“You were a kid who made a dumb mistake. Just like now, you’re a man who made a human one. You messed up with Logan. We all know that. But it’s time to stop living like you need to earn your place back in his life. Like you’re on some lifelong quest for redemption.”
I swallow hard, her words sinking deep.
“You’ve said you’re sorry. You’ve shown it in every way a person can. And if that’s still not enough for him, that’s his burden to carry. Not yours.”
I look down at the table, our hands still linked. “I just...I want to be better. For him. For Sadie. For?—”
“Be better for you,” she interrupts gently. “Not because you owe it to anyone. Not because you’re afraid of messing up again. Do it because you love yourself enough to believe you deserve good things, too.”
A lump rises in my throat. I nod, because it’s all I can manage.
She leans in and kisses the top of my head. “And for the record, my eulogy was perfect. If anybody had cared about that fish beside you, there wouldn’t have been a dry eye on the farm.”
I squeeze her arms, eyes stinging.
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” She lets out a yawn. “I think it’s time for me to get to bed.”
I glance at the clock. It’s not even that late, and Mom always used to be the last to turn in. Is she just aging, or is it the disease? “Yeah, go. I’ll wake Darren up,” I offer.
She pats my arm as she stands, wincing slightly as she shifts her weight onto her bad ankle and limps toward the hallway. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Mom?” I call as she’s shuffling away. “I’m not the only one who shouldn’t shoulder every single problem alone, you know.”
Her smile wavers. “You and Logan are my sons. You’re not supposed to take care of me— I’m supposed to take care of you.”
“Maybe this whole thing works better if we all take care of each other.”
She looks out through the patio door in thought. When she turns back to me again, she grins. “After the wedding. Let Logan enjoy his big day, then I’ll tell him.”