Page 79 of The Man I Love

August

Present Day

Hours later,left alone in a chair in the backyard, Sam kicked up her feet and inhaled. The smells of summer, mixed with all the flowers scattered around the yard, lingered in the soft breeze. Most of the guests had parted, but a trickle of the “chosen ones” and their children remained. That’s what her mother called the group of women who stayed. The ones that did her dishes, drank wine well into the night and brought meals when she was sick. A tribe of friends who would be there through thick and thin.

Someday, Sam hoped to build a tribe like that. To live in a neighborhood like this and create the kind of life she once thought was boring as a child.

Her eyes drifted to the backyard, where Tristan was playing Duck, Duck, Goose with a group of children. It seemed effortless for him—being goofy, wild, and delightfully immature.

Her mom plopped down on the seat across from her and let out a heavy sigh. She reached across the space between themand squeezed Samantha’s knee. “Did you have a good time, honey?”

Samantha nodded. “You outdid yourself, Mom.” And it was true. The amount of detail that went into this party was unreal.

Her mom’s eyes sparkled. “I couldn’t have pulled it off without Mrs. Montgomery,” she said. “This baby is going to be spoiled rotten.”

“I know.” Sam smiled. “Spoil her, yes, but she will alsosufferjust like I did.”

Her mom laughed. “Suffer? You’ve never suffered a day in your life.”

“Tell my teenage self that,” Sam laughed. “You forced me to mow thisentirelawn by myself from the time I was thirteen.”

“Well… It’s called independence, honey,” her mom said softly, obviously distracted by Tristan playing joyfully with the kids. “I wanted you to know you could do things on your own. That you didn’t?—”

An eruption of giggles interrupted her, and soon Tristan and a little redheaded girl were running in a circle around the yard. All was going as expected until the little girl ran off course and a new game of “tag” seemed to erupt. But this time Tristan was the target and all the kids began chasing him around the yard.

“Hey!” he yelled, pointing toward the red-headed girl. “She’s the goose, remember!” But the kids ignored his protests and continued to run.

Her mom covered a giggle as they launched themselves at his legs. He then began to walk like Frankenstein, little bodies attached to every one of his limbs. He crumpled to a heap on his knees in feigned defeat. The little kids climbed onto his back, then shook their fists in the air like they’d just taken down a giant.

“Oh, goodness!” Her mom laughed. “They really got him, didn’t they?”

Samantha had watched the same scene, but instead of amusement, she felt emotional, confused, and a plethora of things she didn’t want to display in front of her mother.

“He’s going to be an amazing father,” her mother said, turning in her direction again. But the humor instantly drained from her face when she took in Samantha’s expression.

“I know,” Sam said, but it was too late. Concern was etched into every wrinkle on her mother's face.

Lifting her chin a little higher, she remembered the day she’d called to tell her mother she was pregnant. She’d been on the brink of a panic attack, yet her mother was calm and told her everything would be okay. Her mother knew something had happened between Samantha and Tristan, but she never asked for details, which was exactly what she’d needed that day. Someone to help her come up with a plan without rehashing the events that had gotten her there.

Her mother turned back to the lawn now, where Tristan and the kids crawled around like animals. “Your dad asked me to never tell you this, but right now, I think you need to hear it.”

Sam’s gut twisted, but her curious instinct made her remain quiet. She set her feet on the floor and sat straight.

“We were young when you were born,” she began. “Money was tight, and we didn’t always get along. He would come home angry because I hadn’t done the dishes, and I would be pissed off that he’d left me alone all day.” She laughed and shook her head.

“I’ll never forget the day he came home with a box of diapers and said he didn’t know if he was ready for this life. We fought for hours after that. He told me I didn’t appreciate all he was doing for our family, and I told him he didn’t appreciate that I wiped his daughter’sbuttall day. I was so angry that I told him if he didn’t want to be there anymore toleave, and he did.”

Sam leaned forward to grab a drink because she was suddenly parched. As far as she knew, her parents had alwayshad a perfect marriage. They never argued—yet here her mom was, sitting across from her, saying things hadn’t always been that way.

“After that, I followed the values I was raised with and did what needed to be done. I dusted myself off and mowed my own lawn. And the thing is, I was proud of that independence. You and I found our rhythm; feeding and bathing and going on our daily walks. Your dad would come over once every few days to bring food and diapers.

“Until a coupleof months later, when I gave you your first banana. Your father and I started arguing about one thing or another, and you started to choke. In seconds, your face was blue, and your dad was pounding on your back and telling me to dial 911. Somehow, we all ended up on the ground, him pounding, us both praying—then suddenly, the banana shot out of your mouth to the green-tile floor.”

It took almost losing you for us to talk—and we talked for hours—about everything. About how we were both sleep-deprived and missing our single lives. He struggled with his new position at the plant. While I was struggling with the fact that I hardly had enough time to take a shower or brush my teeth, let alone do the dishes. Really, we weren’t communicating our needs with one another, and it took nearly losingyouto get us to do it.”

Sam’s eyes shifted to her lap, still not completely sure what her mother was trying to say.

“I taught you to mow the lawn because I never wanted you to depend on someone else to get things done. But I think I failed to show you that sometimes you must forgive. Sometimes, we have to put our hurt feelings aside and listen to the other side of a story—because there is always another one. Always.”

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