Page 50 of Every Beautiful Mile

“I said it. Are you happy now?” I bite out. “Finn, I know I didn’t handle losing him in the best way. I know I checked out. But I’m trying my ass off here. I’m trying not to obsess over the fact that I failed you for a year. And yet, the only time you want to talk to me is to tell me how badly I suck as a mother, and every look you give me is filled with annoyed disappointment.”

The words pour out of my mouth like water pushing through a broken dam.

“I know Dad was the fun one. He was a pilot, for God’s sake, I can’t compete with that! I can’t be him, but he’s not coming back. You know that, and so do I. And it’s shitty. You lost your dad. I lost my best friend. Neither of us can begin to know what the other one feels like with that specific piece of their puzzle missing.

“So maybe you were right when you said I was trying to prove a point with this trip. I wanted to prove we could still be happy without him. That I could be a mom you’re happy to be around and we could make memories that were our own. But even that feels impossible. You don’t want to be here, and you won’t give me a chance.”

Then, I’m quiet, the weight of it all threatening to drag my whole body down into the damp dirt.

There’s nothing else to say.

Travis isn’t going to walk up to play mediator. Not now, not ever again. We are on our own. Travis’ death may have made the mess, but it’s ours to clean up.

I squeeze Marin’s arm. “Let’s not quit on our worst day,” I say finally. “I’m going to bed.”

I don’t wait for a response before I push through the screen door and let the loud slam of the spring pulling it closed snap through the quiet night air.

Twenty

Cannon Beach is quiet the next morning with only a few cars on the street and even fewer people on the sidewalk. The tree-covered mountains surround the small downtown like a hug, and the misty air hangs heavily as I carry two coffees and a chamomile tea toward the Avion.

A peace offering.

Last night’s conversation replays on a loop as I walk. As awful as the whole thing was, I didn’t wake up feeling angry, resentful, or even sad. I’m ready. Ready to not let Travis be the thing that keeps us stuck in this depressing place.

When I open the door, Marin is banging a bowl around while Finn fumbles with coffee grounds. The smells of vanilla and cinnamon blend in the air to make the small space smell like a café.

I make a show of holding up the coffee to them.

“Bless you, Mother,” Marin says as she grabs her cup. “You will be rewarded with French toast.”

She blows the steam from her tea and wraps her fingers cozily around the cup with a smile.

“I’ll help,” I offer as I hand Finn his coffee and grab a slice of bread.

We work for a few minutes in silence. Sipping our drinks and dunking bread in an egg wash.

“So,” I start without looking at them. “That wine glass never stood a chance, did it?”

Marin snorts as she drops a piece of egg-covered bread into the pan with a sizzle, and Finn rumbles with a laugh that doesn’t meet his lips.

I lean a hip against the counter and look at both of them before my eyes focus on Finn.

“I’m done doing this. Done feeling sad and guilty. Done apologizing for the year I was the world’s most absent mom. I’m just done.”

Finn’s throat bobs as he swallows slowly.

“You have to decide, Finn, if you are moving forward with me or staying here in this God-awful hamster wheel. Because I can’t. I won’t.”

I stare at him until my next blink then turn back to the French toast assembly line.

“Okay?” I tilt my head toward him.

“Okay.”

With full plates of food, we sit at the table.

“And Finn?” I point a fork of French toast at him before taking my first bite. “No more weed. I know it’s not that big of a deal—though all the propaganda from my childhood still has me believing it might be a gateway drug—but that’s not the point. It’s not legal. You’re a minor. My answer is firm.”

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