Page 66 of Between Here and There

I think back to that night in New York when she called me at 11 p.m., just as I was wrapping up a late shift. She’d started with,Have you eaten dinner?and then asked how my day was. I’d barely managed to tell her about my sad desk salad before she pivoted:By the way, I need you to send money for Lila’s prom dress. I bought it on credit, but it’s really perfect for her.

“I just want to tell you to take care back in New York,” she says. Wait. She’s not asking for something? My brows knit in confusion.

“What do you mean?” I ask, not familiar with how to navigate this kind of conversation.

“You’re just… different, lately,” she says. When I don’t reply, she adds, “You look kinder. Happier. You’re still always stiff and proper around me, but you’re loosening up in some ways. Like that time you went home drunk. It was the first time I saw you unwind like that. It’s good. I shouldn’t have been angry, to be honest.”

“You were right to be angry, it was a tough morning.” I chuckle.

She smiles in return, and continues, “I don’t know how you live when you’re far away from us, but whatever happened between the time you left and today, it made you different. The good kind.” She places a hand on my leg. “Maybe it’s the career or maybe it’s Joshua. Whatever is happening, Emily, whatever is making you like this, keep it around.”

She has no idea. She doesn’t know about the storm inside me, the one I keep tamped down with smiles and quick lies. She doesn’t know I quit my job because my boss cornered me one too many times. She doesn’t know that my ‘perfect’ relationship is just a deal I made to survive a wedding without imploding.

Her hand rests gently on my leg, grounding me. “Maybe it’s irrelevant to say this now,” she says, her voice quiet, “but I’m proud of you.”

Okay, I’m not ready for this. My throat tightens. I force myself to swallow the lump before it grows. “Thanks, Ma,” I say. She notices the slight quiver in my voice, and offers me a small smile.

“I’m sorry for not saying it more often.”

I shake my head, smiling. “Why are you being cheesy at eight in the morning?” I manage, my voice light enough to disguise the cracks.

She smiles again, softer this time. “Because you’re leaving tomorrow. And I’m going to miss you.” She exhales, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “But this time, I’m not as worried as I was before.” She puts a hand on my cheek and tucks a strand behind my ear.

I force a laugh. “You never had to worry, Ma. I’ve got it all figured out.”

“You always do, and that’s the point,” she says. “You’re amazing. But…” She shifts, her expression unreadable. “Ever since your father left us, you stood up. You became everything we needed, and I became less of a mother and more of a burden to you.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, Ma, you were never—” She cuts me off.

“I was. Still am.” She holds my hand. “It wasn’t until a recent conversation with Lila that I realized how much pressure I was putting on you. She told me that you’re always staying up late working, even when you’re supposed to be on vacation here. And I know you’re not doing that for yourself.”

I look at my fingers, suddenly feeling the need to clutch onto something. My mother continues, “I don’t know what’s going on. Just know that you can tell me. You can tell us if you’re having a hard time.”

For a moment, the temptation is overwhelming. I think about telling her everything—how I’m barely holding it together, how the cracks in my carefully constructed life are spreading faster than I can patch them. I imagine letting it all spill out, the weight of it finally shared. But then I see her face, the faint wrinkles etched around her eyes, the strands of white threading through her hair. I’m reminded of how much she’s already endured, how much she’s given.

“I’m not having a hard time, I promise,” I say, squeezing her hand gently. This lie isn’t like the others I’ve told. This one feels different. Like a promise. Like a spark of determination. Like an invitation to try harder, not just for them, but this time, for myself too.

And maybe that little spark is enough for now.

She looks back at me, her eyes searching mine again.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, the words heavier than I intended.

She nods, and her smile says she knows more than I’ve told her. She gives me a hug, and she gets up to leave. As the door clicks shut behind her, I sink back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The weight of our conversation lingers, pressing against the mask I’ve worn for so long. Maybe she saw through it—maybe she could tell that underneath the strength and the happiness, there’s still so much I don’t have figured out. But I won’t drag her and Lila into it.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been carrying the weight of my family’s expectations, or maybe just my perception of them. Always striving to be more, to do better, to prove that I could hold it all together no matter what. And I did. I always did. Failing was never an option. Not for me, not for us. But somehow, in the softness of her voice and the sincerity of her words, something shifted.

I’m proud of you.Those four words linger in my mind, wrapping themselves around the fragile parts of me I never let anyone see. I didn’t tell her the truth—not about the late nights, or the endless worries, or the nagging fear that I’m one wrong move away from everything falling apart.

I’ve spent so much time trying to protect her and Lila from my struggles, carrying them in silence because I didn’t want to let them down. But maybe I never gave them the chance to show me that they could carry me, too.

The acknowledgment feels like a balm, soothing something I didn’t even realize was hurting. For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m running out of time or room to breathe.

And in that moment, a quiet, tentative hope settles within me. My family doesn’t need me to be perfect. They just need me to keep going.

The Corner Bistro smells divine every single time I go inside the store. I invited my friends for breakfast, but Haley and Kate had a family thing. They’re one of those big families that celebrate every little milestone with aunts, and uncles, and cousins. Bon and Ryan already planned a breakfast date. So that leaves me. I would’ve invited Joshua, if the thought of seeing him didn’t make my stomach churn.

“Hey, Emily,” I look up to see Rob standing beside me at the counter.

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