Page 78 of The Probability of Us

Her face drops and she reaches over to grab my hand that began shaking again. “I’m so sorry.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek and look down. “And my dad has done nothing but drink since. I have no one to talk to about this—at least, no one that has any idea how to help. I just needed to go somewhere else, talk to someone, and this was the first place I thought of.”

Her face softens. “You’re welcome here anytime. Just because you’re not with my son anymore doesn’t mean you can’t still be family to me.”

My chest tightens at the reminder that he’s gone too. My eyes close and I think of the first time he brought me here. When we sat on this couch, side-by-side, so in love we couldn’t stop smiling. They told me story after story about his childhood as we went through all the photobooks—like I was the last person who’d ever hear them. Like I was his forever. I was so excited that she could be my mother-in-law; I was excited to be part of her family.

She squeezes my hand. “Well, I can promise to listen and do my best to help if I can—if you want to talk.”

So, I tell her everything that’s happened, and as I talk, I feel some of the weight lift off my chest. I also realize that there’s nothing anyone can do to help me here. The only way to help the situation is to get my dad help, and right now, he doesn’t want to help himself. But talking to an adult who has gone through their share of hardships does help.

“Areyouokay?” she finally asks.

I shrug. “It’s harder to watch him do this to himself than it was to be there when she passed. At least with her, it was quick, and I knew she didn’t feel any pain at the end. But with him, he’s hurting himself and I can’t do anything to stop it. My attempts to talk to him haven’t gone well. It’s like he’s a whole different person.”

“It sounds like you’re doing everything you can, you’re trying. That’s all we can do for the people we love—keep trying.” She reaches out to take my hands in hers. “Maybe one day he’ll realize you were trying to help him all along and finally be ready to help himself, or maybe he never will, but you’ll know that you didn’t give up. But always remember that this is not your fault. There’s nothing you could’ve done to stop it, and it was never your issue to solve. Don’t put that burden on yourself.”

“This is not your fault.”

Those five words are enough to bring tears back to my eyes. Deep inside I’ve been holding onto the fear that something I did or said caused this. That if I had done one thing differently, we could’ve avoided this outcome. That my mom would be angry with me for letting him get this bad.

I was mad at myself for it.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I needed to hear that.

I check my phone and can’t believe how much time has passed. I’ve already taken up too much of her time; I should be heading out. I glance at the door.

Just before I can speak, she says, “Analise?”

“Yeah?” I turn back, and my eyebrows pull together at her suddenly somber expression.

“Do you know why Todd and I got divorced?”

I blink blankly, where did that come from?

“No,” I say. “Just that you were.”

“Back in the day, I was an artist—a muralist more specifically,” she starts with a smile. “People would hire me to paint murals for business, and even in homes. It didn’t make us a lot of money, but I loved my work.”

Now that she says it, I can see her as an artist clear as day. She’s beautiful but in that carefree, haphazard way of someone who doesn’t care about making a mess. I’ve always admired that about her.

“That was back when we used to live in Boston together,” she continues. “But then Todd had the opportunity to take a job in New York. It was a decent promotion, and he was excited about it, so he accepted it. But he accepted it before talking to me. He came to me one day and just said “we’re moving” and I had no say in it. He didn’t care that my clients were all local and moving would mean I had to stop doing what I loved. I tried to find similar work there, but it was a lot harder, especially being unknown. But I went along with it because Warren was in middle school, and I wanted him to be around both parents.”

My eyes grow wide as she speaks, my mouth slowly dropping open. I have a feeling I know where this story is going . . . and why she’s telling me it.

“But the longer we stayed there, the more he started acting like his work was all that mattered, and that what I did was a silly hobby. I grew to resent him, for making me give up my work, and for acting like it didn’t matter. Things got so bad that we eventually made an agreement that we would stay together until he moved out for college, and only then would we separate. Looking back, it wasn’t the best decision, but we didn’t want to uproot his whole life—we thought it’d be easier that way. But I don’t think we ever stopped to consider how it felt from the other side. We acted like everything was fine for his sake, but I was counting the days until I could leave Todd.

“It must’ve been jarring to a kid, to have parents who seemed like they were in love for so long to seemingly overnight decide to split.” She pauses, a sad smile on her face. “It affected him, and the way he viewed love for a long time. I could see it even if he didn’t admit it. Maybe itstillaffects him.”

It’s a nice thought. That Warren didn’t leave because he didn’t love me, but because he didn’t want to make the same mistake his parents did. But did he ever stop to think that maybe I could grow to resent him fornotasking me to come with him too?

It’s too much—the sliver of hope the story lodges in my heart. Hope only makes this hurt exponentially more. If that was the only reason he left, then why would he continue to stay away? If he felt how I felt,howcould he continue to stay away?

I smile and stand. “I should get going.”

“Of course.” Her smile is sorrowful, and it pulls at the makeshift stitches holding my heart together. “Don’t ever hesitate to come again.”

I hug her, but make no promises, and spend the entire drive back boarding up the sliver of hope in me—covering the light it cast until only darkness is left. Darkness where he once lived within me. Darkness in the space my mom once occupied. And a dark shadow over who my dad used to be.

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