Page 69 of Between Here and There

“Are you ready for your flight?” my mom asks casually, slicing through the quiet. I nod, not trusting my voice to sound steady. I take a seat and put some food on my plate.

“You’re flying with Emily, right?” she adds, her tone a touch too curious.

“Yeah,” I manage, my grip tightening on my fork.

“She seems like she’s good for you, that girl,” my dad chimes in, his voice calm as he sips his coffee.

I blink, caught off guard. “Too good,” I mutter.

My dad chuckles, a rare sound that I’m somehow glad to hear. “All the best women are,” he says, with a glance and a smile toward my mother.

“I’m happy for you, Josh,” my mom cuts in, her voice softer. “You finally found someone who made you want to commit. I know it’s been hard. All those years of dating on and off, of avoiding anything serious. It’s good to see you done with that.”

My chest aches, and the twisting in my stomach becomes unbearable. Commit? I’m not even sure where Emily and I stand, and now I’m sitting here being congratulated for something I haven’t even done. That word has haunted me for years. It’s a chain. It’s the echo of slammed doors and voices raised loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

I can’t believe I’m sitting across from my parents, letting them believe I’ve somehow outgrown all that fear and resistance. That Emily has magically turned me into someone capable of the one thing I’ve avoided my entire life.

The worst part? I want it to be true. I want to be someone who can be that person for her. But I can’t. Because I don’t know if I can do that without hurting her. Just this morning, I saw the hurt in her eyes. Hurt I caused. All because we put our walls down for a single night.

I swallow the lump in my throat and manage to say, “Thanks.”

My mom sets her coffee mug down, the soft clink of ceramic on the wooden table louder than it should be in the quiet kitchen. She leans forward, hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes me sit a little straighter. The seriousness in her expression feels like the calm before a storm, and I brace myself.

“Josh, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to talk to you like this,” she says, her voice steady but with an undertone of urgency. “So I’m taking this opportunity.”

I raise an eyebrow, unsure where she’s going with this. I take a bite of the food in front of me, the flavors barely registering as the weight of their attention presses down on me. My mom glances at my dad, who shifts in his seat before giving her a slight nod.

“We’re sorry,” she says finally, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

“Sorry?” I echo, my brow furrowing as I set my fork down.

“For being the way we were when you were growing up,” she continues, choosing her words carefully. “We weren’t exactly… the best parents.”

The words hit like a slow-moving wave, unexpected but overwhelming as they sink in. Bon warned me this might happen. She said our parents have been on some kind of strange redemption tour, showing up unannounced, saying things they never would’ve said when we were kids. She told me they even followed her to Batanes last year after her near-drowning incident, desperate to make things right. Bon said their apology had been awkward at first but, somehow, it helped her.

My dad clears his throat, breaking my train of thought. “We were the worst, actually,” he says bluntly.

My mom glances at him, her lips pressing together briefly before she turns back to me. “We’ve spent years trying to make amends with Bonita,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “We knew we’d failed her, and we’ve worked to show her that we’re sorry. But with you…” She hesitates, her hands tightening around each other. “We never had the chance to do that with you. You left early, and when you’re here, you’re so rarely with us. That’s on us.”

I shift in my chair, the fabric scratching against my skin as I adjust my position. The air feels thick, like the room is holding its breath. “Mom, Dad—”

“Let me finish, Joshua,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. Her use of my full name makes my stomach twist, like I’m about to get scolded—but this isn’t that. This is something else.

“You grew up in a house that wasn’t kind,” she says, the words heavy with regret. “A house where arguments drowned out laughter, and love felt like an afterthought. We were selfish. We put our problems ahead of you and Bonita. We didn’t protect you from the fallout, and we should have.”

My chest tightens, the weight of her words settling in places I didn’t realize were sore. Part of me wants to tell them it’s okay, that it’s all in the past. But another part—the part I’ve buried under layers of detachment—knows that would be a lie.

“We should have done better,” my dad says, his voice rough like gravel. “But instead, we gave you every reason to distrust love. Every reason to think commitment leads to pain. And we’re sorry.”

The silence that follows is deafening. I stare at the wood grain on the table, tracing the patterns with my eyes because looking at my parents feels too raw. I never thought I needed an apology from them, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do with it.

“Why now?” I ask quietly, my voice barely audible.

My mom exhales, the sound shaky. “Because we see how much you’ve changed, Josh. Despite everything, you’ve grown into someone kind and good. Someone who’s willing to try.” Her lips quirk into a small, bittersweet smile. “I see that in how you are with Emily. That growth, thatstrength,that’s all you. And I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”

Emily. Her name feels like a lightning bolt, electrifying and disorienting. My stomach twists, but I don’t say anything.

“She’s good for you,” my dad says, his tone softer now. “Maybe that’s because she’s helping you see what we didn’t.”

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