Page 26 of Break Your Fall

“Hurts,” Mom fills in, running her hand over my arm when I nod again, whispering, “Yeah.”

“And I just. . .” I sigh before admitting, “I still want her to see me on her own. And now there’s no possibility of that ever happening.”

“Honey, she can know and still see you on her own,” Mom swears, a push in her voice. “Her feelings wouldn’t be any less real if she were to have them.” I flinch, suddenly not wanting to talk about this anymore. “And, sometimes, that’s what it takes. From what I know about our Reyna … she needs to know she’s seen, too.” My eyes trail to her encouraging smile. “Think of it that way.”

My mouth stretches with hers. My mom’s the first person to make me smile about this, the only person who’s making me see the points my brain had failed to connect thanks to my own blind spot, my own self-pity. I don’t want to have hope with Reyna—it’s too important—but I do feel somewhat lighter at the romantic notion that we can seeeach other.

“Tell me one?” I ask now, wanting Mom to come clean, to offer up anitof her own.

She tightens her mouth into a confused smile and I return it with an unconvinced stare. “You and Dad, Mom.” The smile drops and she starts pulling away, her hand playing with the hair tie at her neck. “I know you’ve been fighting.”

“We’ve—” Mom cuts herself off with a relenting, sad laugh. “Well. We haven’t been hiding that very well, huh?”

“Why would you wanna hide it?” I turn to her, my hands out, reaching for the answers. “I’m your son. And I deserve to know when my parents are struggling, or … worse?” The word is imploring and panicky.

“Yes, you’re our son,” Mom says as she turns to me and takes hold of my hands. “But this isnotyour problem to fix, it’sours.” She raises her voice to cut off my opened mouth, ready to protest.

“But there’s a problem,” I press as she squeezes my hands, then lets go to hold her elbows.

“Wehavebeen struggling. But you’ll be leaving soon. We didn’t want to burden you, especially now.”

Eye on the ball.

“Daddidn’t want to burden me,” I correct.

“Webothmade the decision to leave you out of it.”

“What isit?” My hands reach again. “How bad is it?” Mom gives me silence and I race to fill it. “You still love each other, right?”

“Tommy. . .” She shakes her head with pity and sadness in her stare. “This isn’t that simple.”

“Then simplify it. Or just answer the question. Do you still love each other?” More silence. “I’ve seen you crying over dishes, Mom.” Some mornings after breakfast, some nights after dinner, her tears mix with the sink water.

Mom turns back toward the house, giving me her profile. “Do your friends know?”

“No,” I say, my voice tired. “I haven’t talked to anyone about it.”

“I’ve been talking to Naomi. You know, she’s … been there,” she says with a small laugh.

Julian’s mom knows.Does that mean Julian knows?

“Julian doesn’t know,” Mom answers my thoughts after turning to me again, seeing the question in my stare. “Naomi has kept this between us, and if you haven’t said anything. . .” She manages a half-smile. “She’s been a great support system. I don’t have to tell you how important that is to have. Especially during the hard times.”

“Is this a hard time?” I ask, avoiding the oneitthat is my now shaken support system.

“We’re … thinking of separating,” Mom divulges with a deep sigh and my chest caves. “We were going to wait until you left, because, again, this isn’t your problem.”

That’s what the boxes were about.

“So, who’s moving out?” My voice is hard and shaky. “Besides me?”

“Your dad is going to leave when you go off to school.”

“Then what? I come home for Fall Break or Thanksgiving and he’ll haul a few things back in to make it seem like he never left?” A humorless laugh bursts from my mouth at the thought.

“Honey, you can’t fix this,” she reiterates, knowing I’d try. I still could. I still might. These are myparents. They can’t fall apart, too. “We weren’t going to—Tommy.” Mom’s voice is now at my back, calling to me as I head to the house. I can’t listen to this now. I thought I could, but this entire conversation only reaffirms that I’m losing everything. I keep looking for refuge, some hope somewhere, and every direction leads to a dead-end.

So, I’m going to try again in the form of a shower, some fireworks, and the beach.

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