Page 147 of Lace 'em Up

“It was the two of you versus the vacuum?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing too. “Yes, that. Not to mention the conversation that we had after I unwrapped the box…”

“Poor Dad,” I say.

“Poor me,” she says, chuckling as she bumps her shoulder against mine again. “My point is that, your dad’s not perfect. He makes mistakes—we all do, right? That’s the line that we’re supposed to say? That mistakes are a great way to grow, and how can we learn if we don’t mess up?” She sighs. “But that’s also bullshit. When we mess up, it feels like the world is ending, like I’ll never be able to make things right. It feels like I’m a failure as a person.” Her eyes come to mine again. “The thing about kids is that they humble you—I could be the strictest most perfectionist of a mom while I was raising you guys, but toddlers are going to tantrum, siblings are going to fight, kids are still going to get hurt.”

“Mom,” I whisper.

“I did my best, but I still failed—still fail—and it’s sucks and I hate it with a passion. That’s the truth of it, baby. We fail. We make mistakes. And I don’t have a magic wand to wave to make those feelings disappear. I’ve just learned to live with them, with those voices that tell me that I’m not going to be good enough?—”

“Mom,” I say again.

“And accept it’s normal for some of us,” she says. “You’re normal, baby. There are other people with these thoughts, who struggle to let the failures go. Maybe it’s not the healthiest, and maybe we both need to work on coping mechanisms together, but, baby, you’re normal. And I can’t cure normal.” Her eyes are gentle. “All we can do is acknowledge that we’re having the feelings, that feelings aren’t facts?—”

I laugh quietly.

“What?” she asks.

“Feelings aren’t facts,” I say. “God, it’s been years since I’ve heard that.”

Her face softens. “Maybe I need to tell you that more.”

I exhale, sling my arm around her shoulders, hug her tightly. “I think if there’s one thing I can be certain of, Mom,” I tell her, “it’s that you didn’t fail in this conversation.”

She sniffs, hugs me back.

In fact, this conversation…it’s changed my life.

And I mean that.

The gulf inside me, the one that’s filled with sharply worded memories and barbed self-doubt…well, it’s not magically emptied, the sides smoothed out, but?—

I feel different.

Lighter.

My dad bought my mom a vacuum for her birthday.

God, that was dumb.

But they got through it. Together.

Have always gotten through the bumps in the road.

Together.

And that’s the part I forgot.

Because I hadn’t found the person who’d play the game of life with me.

Until Rory.

And even when I ran, when I fucked up, when I didn’t protect her from all of the hurt and awfulness of the world…she still flowed into my arms.

She didn’t yell or hold it against me or make accusations.

It really is Rory and I against the world.

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