Page 44 of Whiskey and Wildfire

I gestured to the log then crossed my arms. “Fine.”

Mom settled onto the log beside me, her movements careful and deliberate. For a while, we just sat in silence, listening to the crickets and watching the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky.

Finally, she spoke. “You know, when I first met your father, he wasn’t a drinker.”

I stiffened. “Mom, I don’t want to talk about?—”

“Just listen,” she said gently. “Please.”

I pressed my lips together but nodded for her to continue.

“He was charming, funny, hardworking. But life on the reservation... it wears on a person. Especially someone like your father, who had big dreams. The drinking started small. A beer after work. Then two. Then parties on the weekends.” She paused, her voice thick with emotion. “By the time I realized how bad it had gotten, it was too late to stop it.”

“You didn’t even try,” I said blatantly.

She looked up at me, tears filling her eyes. “I tried, Kota. God, I tried so hard. I wanted to save him, to get back that man I fell in love with all those years ago. He was so beautiful and caring andwonderful… That’s why I always defended him. Because, deep down, I knew that man was still alive inside him, and I wanted you to meet him. To meet the father you should’ve had.” She lifted a hand, wiping away her tears. “It wasn’t until the other day that I realized that the man I loved… he’s gone. And… And he’s never coming back.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as I watched my mother cry. Despite my anger, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I’d never seen her like this before, so vulnerable and open about her feelings towards my father.

“Mom, I...” I started, but she shook her head.

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me, Dakota. I’m telling you because I want you to understand something.” She turned to face me, her eyes shining in the dim light. “Logan isn’t your father. And you’re not me.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up a hand.

“I know what you’re thinking. That this is how it starts, that you’ve seen this story before. But honey, one mistake doesn’t make a pattern. And more importantly, you’re not the same scared young bride I was. You’re strong, you’re independent, and you don’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. You proved that when you left home. And while I might’ve been upset about it at first, I understand why you did it now.”

I stared at her for a long moment. “I didn’t just leave because of the drinking, you know.”

“Why then?”

“I did it because… well, because dad caught me with my friend Joseph.”

Her eyes went wide. Clearly this was the first time she’d ever heard about it.

“And he didn’t like it. He… He beat the shit out of me.”

Her brows furrowed. “I thought you said you got into a fight at school.”

“I lied. I didn’t want you to know that I was… that your son was… broken.”

“Honey… you’re not broken. There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

“Then why didn’t you ever say that to me?” I shot back, emotions getting the better of me. “I told you what I was after I left and you never told me it was okay, you never said you still loved me, and you stayed with that asshole after everything he’d done to both of us!”

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes darting between my own. When she finally opened her mouth to speak, I assumed she would argue with me or defend herself.

“You’re right,” she said simply, catching me completely off guard. “I haven’t been a very good mother to you.”

“Mom… that’s not what I?—”

“I know it’s not what you meant. But it’s the truth.” She reached out, cupping my cheek in her hand. “I was being selfish. I stayed with your father and ignored how much he made our lives a living hell. I turned away when he tried to force traditions down your throat and then, when you finally got fed up and left, I refused to see the truth.” She shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks once more. “I didn’t know he hurt you, but I should’ve gotten you out of there long before that ever happened. I… I’m sorry.”

I felt my throat tighten as I looked at my mother, her face etched with regret and sorrow. For so long, I’d held onto my anger, using it as a shield against the pain of my past. But seeing her like this, vulnerable and honest, began to chip away at that armor.

“Mom,” I said softly, my own eyes welling up. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

She squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to say anything, Kota. I just want you to know that I love you, exactly as you are. And I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”

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