“I’d rather not,” I confessed.
“Because I’m such an evil, emotionless monster that I wouldn’t understand?” Mom assumed with a harsh laugh.
“Because I’m having trouble breathing without him in my life,” I shot back. “And I don’t really care to hold my bloody heart out for you to dissect.”
Mom turned to face me, her brows hinged together. And for the first time in years, I saw genuine concern in her eyes, like she hated that I was in pain and she couldn’t do anything about it. She’d used to look at me that way when I was sick, as if she’d rather be the one with the stomach flu than to see me go through it.
“Maybe talking about it will help rather than hurt,” she offered.
I didn’t respond. I’d talked at length about it to the girls, each of them listening and waiting for when I asked them for their advice. I was thankful they didn’t just offer it without the cue, because the truth was I didn’t know if I was ready to do anything about any of it.
Because if I was to do something, that would mean one of two things — either I’d forgive Leo and go back, or I’d not forgive him and leave him behind.
Both options made my chest impossibly tight.
“How did you meet?” Mom asked when I didn’t speak.
A laugh of a breath left my nose. “Playing Halo.”
She made a face. “That God-awful game we got you for your fifteenth birthday?”
“The very one.”
I expected her to wrinkle her nose in distaste, but instead, it was like something clicked. She paused, then smiled, then sat back a little on the couch, relaxing next to me.
“Huh,” she mused. “Well, that explains a lot.”
“How so?”
“You were so weird that summer,” Mom said. “The most emotional I’d ever seen you. I blamed it on being fifteen. That’s when you really started doing your makeup. You’d steal mine, you little brat,” she added. “I remember fretting to your father about how we had a teenager now and our real problems were about to begin.”
“My wife, fretting?” Dad said, and I turned in time to see him swing out the back door with a coffee in his hand. He sank into the rocking chair across from us with a smile. “I can’t imagine.”
Mom shot him a glare, but a smile threatened the corner of her lips. Just that little interaction alone made my chest ache, made me clamp my hands together to keep from reaching for my phone to call Leo.
As if Palico sensed it, she nudged my knuckles so I would pet her, instead.
“But then…” Mom continued, frowning. “Not too long after school started, you really changed. And I don’t mean in the petulant teenager way. I mean… you were hurt.” She paused. “Your father and I knew something happened, but we didn’t know what.”
“And you didn’t ask,” I added.
Mom tilted her head a little higher. “Maybe we could have done better,” she admitted. “But let’s be honest — you’ve never been exactly easy to talk to.” She waved her hand between us as if I was illustrating her point at this very moment.
And I supposed I was.
The fact that my mom was showing an actual interest in my life and not the one she wished I was living had me softening a bit. Maybe it was that along with being tired of feeling so alone even in a house with my family that had me opening my mouth and spilling everything.
I told them about that summer with Leo, about what happened when school started. I told them about the hell I went through with the teasing over that stupid drawing, and how I never lived down that awful nickname. Then, I fast forwarded to moving across the street from him, to this summer with the pipes and moving into The Pit and how, slowly, everything between us unfolded.
It was somehow colder by the time I finished, even though the sun was starting to clear out some of the fog. It was still a cloudy day, and when the sun dipped behind one of those clouds, I wrapped myself and Palico up tighter in the blanket with a sigh.
“And then, when all of this happened with Nero…” I shook my head, not wanting to relive it. “Leo didn’t listen to me. He didn’t stay when I begged him to, didn’t take a second to think about what consequences his actions would have.” Emotion had me struggling to swallow. “I lost everything I’d worked for in the blink of an eye,” I whispered. “And in turn, Leo lost my trust.”
Dad let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Mare Bear.”
I nodded, not sure what else to say. Mom was quiet, and I didn’t dare look at her for fear of the judgment I’d find. I opened my mouth to say that it would all be fine, I just needed some time, when suddenly…
Mom laughed.
Not a quick, sarcastic lash of a chuckle, either, but a full on, belly-deep, had to put her cup of tea down so as not to spill it laugh. She tilted her head up to the sky as it barreled out of her, and then tears were streaming down her face, and she was wiping them away as she laughed even harder.
I didn’t laugh with her. In fact, I watched her like something I should be afraid of before casting a worried glance at my father, silently asking if she was having a stroke. Palico was so startled by it all that she skittered off my lap and used her paw to open the door Dad had left ajar, retreating inside.
“I’m sorry,” Mom finally managed, the words a high-pitched squeak as she still struggled to catch her breath. She reached over and squeezed my knee with her hand, as if we were best friends just yukking it up together and I’d just told the most hilarious joke she’d ever heard. “It’s just that you’re so much like me, it terrifies me sometimes.”
That made my other eyebrow shoot up to join the first.
She waved me off before I could even ask, wiping tears from her face as she sat up straight again. “Ask your dad what happened on our three-month anniversary.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You guys celebrated a three-month anniversary?”
“Oh, we celebrated everything back then,” Dad said with a smile that said he was reliving a memory. “Every day I didn’t screw up my chance with your mother was a special occasion.”
“And I didn’t make it easy for him,” Mom added.
“Imagine that,” I mused.
My parents shared a knowing look.
“We had gone bowling,” Dad explained. “And long story short, some Ivy League prick kept hitting on your mom, regardless of the fact that we were clearly there together.”
“This guy was a smoke show,” Mom said.
“Hey!” Dad frowned.
“And he was massive. At least a foot taller than your dad and a hundred pounds heavier — all muscle.”
“I had muscle,” Dad said, taking an angry sip from his coffee.
“Anyway, this guy just kept on, but I was handling it. Look, if I didn’t want someone’s attention, I wasn’t afraid of them thinking I was a b-i-t-c-h when I told them to get lost.”
“You can say bitch, Mom,” I interjected.
She ignored me and continued. “But toward the end of the night, when I went to turn in our shoes, this guy caught me at the counter and put his arm around me. Your dad couldn’t see straight, nor could he think straight, because he just ripped the guy off me and plowed his fist right into his nose.”