Page 99 of First Comes Forever

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“You turned out to be such a gentleman,” she says. “No thanks to me.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I return a half smile. “I don’t know about that. I have my asshole moments. Believe me.”

Right now, I’m happy and in love. Amani rounds out my sharp edges. She softens me and makes me more forgiving. It’s the only reason my mom and I can be in the same theme park right now, let alone sharing a bench.

“No, sweetheart. I’ve met assholes. You’re not one of them. Your dad did a wonderful job raising you. I’m, uh…” She’s smiling even though tears fall down her cheeks. Quickly brushing them away with the back of her palm, she continues. “I’m very sorry. I’ve waited a long time to say that to you in person, and I thought I’d have better words. But that’s it, Adam. I am truly very sorry. And I am very proud of the man you’ve become despite everything I did.”

I clench my fists together to resist the urge to hug her. I’m still not ready.

“Thank you. But we don’t have to do all this today. It’s Carson’s birthday, and it was such a nice day. Let’s just keep it pleasant, okay?”

“Sure. But just so you know, when you’re ready, whatever you need to get off your chest, I can take it. I deserve it. If it helps us move forward, you can call me every name in the book.”

I scoff. “You sure?”

She laughs nervously and tucks her short hair behind her ears. “Yes.”

“Fine then.” I turn toward her, waiting until she meets my gaze before I ask her the question that’s been on my mind for over twenty years. “What did I do wrong?”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “What do you mean?”

The tension strewn across my chest is making me uncomfortable. There’s all this pressure, and I’m craving relief. So I break open the dam to the thoughts I’ve kept locked up for most of my life. “You raised Alex just fine. He was near graduation when you left. But you couldn’t make it through raising me. Was I an awful son in comparison? Or just the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

Her eyes are bloodshot, the tears are pouring now, but she doesn’t wipe them away. She cries like Amani. The evidence is there—tears, blotchy cheeks, sniffling, but otherwise she’s completely composed. They treat their heartbreak like a minor inconvenience.

“You were a wonderful son. I didn’t leave because of you, Adam. I held on as long as I possibly could because of you. And I’m so sorry you’ve been blaming yourself.”

“When I was eight, Dad told me you were sick and went away to get better. When I got a little older, he explained what chronic depression was. But none of us saw the signs. I only remember you smiling when I was little.”

She sniffles as she nods fervently. “I meant it that way. I smiled so much to hide how deeply lost I was in my sadness.”

“About what?” I ask. “We had a nice life. I remember being happy.”

“That’s what anxiety and depression can do. It can steal your perception and turn happiness into despair. You could look at a perfect picture, but depression will create a giant flaw. You could have the perfect family, but depression will say you don’t belong.”

I’m not sure I completely understand, but I see the anguish in her eyes. The pain she’s reflecting was real and scary, and she coped by running away. Now she’s back, asking for my forgiveness.

Does she deserve it?I don’t know.Does she have it anyway?

“Mom, do you want to go to lunch next week? Just me and you. There’s an amazing tapas place called Luna’s. I only take people I care about there. We can get caught up and start fresh. What do you think?”

She covers her mouth and nods so hard her hair is whipping her in the face. “Yes, I’d love that. Any day, any time. I’m free. Even if I have something, I’ll cancel it.”

I smile. “I’m sure we can find a time that works for both of us.” When I look over my mom’s shoulder, about two feet away, Amani’s red hair fans out and whips around her shoulders as she spins in place. She stays turned as if I didn’t see her. “Baby, what are you doing?” I ask, laughing as I stand.

“Sorry,” she grumbles as she spins back to face me. “I was trying not to interrupt. I’ve been standing here for a solid five minutes.”

“How’d you find me?” I ask.

She points over my head to the giant Ferris wheel and holds up a brochure map. “You said you were sitting on a bench in front of the Ferris wheel.” She scrunches her nose at me. “Pretty clear instructions.”

“No, I told you to call me when you were at the front and I’d come get you.”

“Yeah. And right after I texted you and told you I didn’t need a babysitter. Then I did what I wanted to.”

“Sassy little thing.”

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