“I’m considering moving back home,” he said. “Near you.”
Her graying brows drew together, and she clicked the remote to turn off the music. “What about your career?”
“I’ve played pretend long enough, don’t you think?” He tried to laugh. “Besides, I don’t have many job offers right now.”
She was still watching him very, very carefully. “Do you have any?”
“One. A reality travel show for a streaming service.” His shoulders twinged as he tried to lift them in a shrug. “It’s a good opportunity, but I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” Her head tilted, and her ponytail followed. “Why are you unsure?”
His jaw worked, but he made himself say it. “Maybe it’s time for me to be less selfish.”
“Alex …” Her chair screeched against the floor as she abruptly turned it in his direction. “What does that mean?”
He’d been avoiding the subject for over eleven years. Because he hadn’t wanted to discuss anything that might cause her pain, and because he was ashamed. But he owed her an apology, at long last. He owed her amends.
He bowed his head and bit his lip until he tasted copper. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“I don’t—” Her hand turned, and suddenly she was holding his, squeezing as he trembled. “I don’t understand, sweetheart.”
His breath shuddered in his lungs. “I should have realized what he was doing to you. I should have stopped it.”
No need to specify the he in question. They both understood.
“But …” Her hold on him tightened to the point of pain. “Alex, there’s no way—”
“I introduced you, and I pressured you to stay with him when you had doubts,” he interrupted, because no, he wouldn’t let her absolve him, not when his neglect had hurt her so badly. “And then I left and didn’t bother looking back. If I’d visited more often, I’d have known what was happening. If I’d called and asked questions, I’d have known what was happening. If I’d been a decent son, instead of a selfish asshole, I’d have fucking known what was happening.”
She was shaking her head near-violently, those familiar eyes tear-filled and horrified, but he barreled on before she could interject.
“And even after I knew, I didn’t do the right thing. I didn’t come back home to support you.” After so many years, the shame of it still burned, still turned his face tight and hot. “Instead, I stayed across the fucking country and avoided visits, because I couldn’t handle all the guilt, even though I fucking deserved every bit of it.”
Her mouth had closed, and she was waiting patiently for him to finish. But her knee nudged against his leg, and she was warm and soft, and oh, fuck, he fucking missed her, and he fucking missed Wren, and he hurt so badly. So, so badly.
Even though his voice hitched, he powered through the rest of it. “B-But at long last, I finally want to do the right thing. And maybe that’s moving here, where you are, so y-you’re not alone anymore.”
When he bent his head, his tears dripped onto a slice of toast she’d lovingly made for him, ruining it.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.” His chest heaved as he fought for air. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Then he couldn’t speak anymore, and somehow he was crying in his mother’s cradling arms for the first time in decades, his face pressed against her neck. Even after all these years, she still smelled like baby powder. Baby powder and comfort and Mom, and he needed her.
After several minutes, when he was sniffling instead of sobbing, her shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. Two. Three.
Then she spoke quietly against the crown of his head. “Are you done, sweetheart?”
He nodded, eyes squeezed shut against her shoulder.
“Okay, then. My turn to talk, and please let me finish without interruption.” It was a request she’d made countless times during his childhood, because she knew him. She knew he’d want to interject, to argue, no matter what she said. “First of all, I’m not alone. I have coworkers and neighbors and friends, and when I spend time by myself, it’s because I want a little peace. I’m not like you, Alex. I sometimes need breaks from other people.”
All those people weren’t family, though. “But—”
“What did I say about interruptions?” The familiar, fond-but-stern tone snapped his mouth shut. “You haven’t abandoned me, sweetheart. We talk several times a week, and we have ever since Jimmy died. Yes, I’d prefer more frequent visits, but that doesn’t require moving here, and it doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I’m not. I just love my son and want to see him more often.”