Page 23 of With You

“Mom.” I shift my gaze to the spot beside her, my face softening. “Dad. Come in. How are you?”

“Good,” he responds, leaning in for a hug, his voice as gruff as always. My arms circle his body, grateful to have always had his support.

“Thank you for coming,” I say softly, and he squeezes me tighter.

“Julian.” My mother’s voice catches my attention. “It’s good to see you.”

I can almost hear my own heart sigh at the difference between the two greetings, but I try to move past it and give her the benefit of the doubt. She and I have a history that she and Julian do not.

“Elaine,” he says, his voice flat and void of emotion. “Let’s sit down.”

He guides us into the living room.

Instead of following, my dad wordlessly walks into the kitchen, probably to give us some space and spare us an audience. I don’t doubt how hard this is on him, and I’m certainkeeping some distance allows him to remain neutral and not influence my decision of whether or not to forgive my mother.

He’s shown me time and time again that he’s here for me, with or without her, loving me unconditionally like every parent should.

Our living area is big enough that my mother and I don’t have to sit too close, but it also means we’re in the direct line of sight of each other, and there is no hiding in this moment, for either of us.

My hands are clenched into fists on my knees, my chest filled with so much tense air, it hurts to breathe, but I rip that Band-Aid off anyway.

“What is it that you want, Mom?” Julian’s hand covers mine, and I don’t miss the way her eyes settle on the subtle, albeit still public display of affection between us.

If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it, and if she’s happy for us, she doesn’t show that either.

“Elaine,” Julian says, the tone of his voice undeniably impatient. “You texted for months.”

“I know, I know,” she rushes out, her gaze darting between us. “I didn’t think you would agree, and now I’m here.” She shrugs, her lips pursed together. “I realize I didn’t really make a plan of what comes next. You have a beautiful home,” she compliments. “A good size for a family.”

Her words aren’t a question, but they’re enough for us to segue into why she’s really here. But instead of making it easier for her, I sit in silence. If she wants access to her grandchild, she’s going to have to work for it.

Her knee begins to bounce, and I steer my thoughts away from the default, from the inherent need and habit to make excuses for her discomfort and wrongdoings.

“Congratulations on starting a family,” she eventually says, this time her gaze locked on mine. Her defenses have finallyfallen, the smile on her face sad yet hopeful. “Your father says your daughter is beautiful.”

DEACON

In normal circumstances her words would be the perfect introduction for me to beam with pride about how amazing and gorgeous Reese is and just how lucky and grateful we are.

And yet, here I sit, words stiff and stuck in my throat. I’m wondering why exactly I agreed to this, and I’m pissed off nostalgia got the better of me.

“She is,” Julian eventually says on our behalf. “We are so lucky to have her in our lives.”

“Is she an easy bab?—”

“Mom,” I say through clenched teeth, my anger surprising all of us. “This wasn’t an invitation for small talk.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say here, Deacon,” she says, a little bit exasperated.

“Sorry,” I practically shout, my body filled with too much ire to remain seated. “Surely, you didn’t come all this way, after all these years, tonotapologize.”

“Of course. I want to put this all behind us.”

Shaking my head, I put a hand up to silence her, and feel Julian rise up off the seat, standing beside me. The blood swimming in my veins is beyond boiling, the heat almost paralyzing. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, pressing hard,and close my eyes; inhaling and exhaling, desperate for some semblance of calm.

“Mom,” I say, blowing out a long, resigned breath. “Say. Sorry.”

Opening my eyes, I catch my father’s figure brush past my peripheral vision. I expect him to continue walking into my line of sight and stand next to my mother, but it doesn’t happen. He just stands there on the sidelines, his attention on his wife, waiting for her to say something.

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