Page 102 of Where We Belong
“I’m fine. Your dad will help me later.” With a wave, she says, “Go with your friends.”
It’s too late, though. I already have a rag in hand and a plate to dry off. She rolls her eyes but smiles. She probably already knew what I was about to do.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say over the soft music playing in the background. At the end of the night, when the wind got brisker and people started asking for blankets by the fire, we brought the party inside and Martina, Callie, Aaron, and Wren led everyone to start dancing in the middle of the living room. I’m not a dancer, but even I wasn’t able to resist.
“I’m glad you had fun. It’s not every day my boy turns twenty-nine.” She waggles her brows as she hands me a dripping wine glass. “Big thirty next year.”
I’m not sure whether the tightness in my chest at hearing those words is normal, or even healthy. I don’t want to be frightened of getting older, but I don’t know how to help it. It’s as if while you’re still in your twenties, you have the right to be messed up. To still be looking for who you are or what you want to be. But by thirty, you’re supposed to be an actual adult, to have your shit together, and that’s not close to how I feel about my life.
“Yeah,” I say, then flick some water her way. “That make you feel old?”
She bursts out laughing. “Damn right it does.” As she rinses a pot, she adds, “But I always remind myself that it’s a privilege to grow old. Not everyone gets that chance.”
“You’re right.” My mom’s obviously smarter than me, and once again I feel dumb for being scared of turning thirty. So what if I never become a fully accomplished man? There are worse things that could happen. So long as my parents aren’t too embarrassed of me, I think I’ll be all right.
Plus, Lexie made a point during the lock-in, one that’s been running through my mind ever since. Maybe I feel like a fuckup because that’s how I was taught to think about a life like mine, and not because of what I actually feel about my life.
I start humming to the music, and we spend the next couple minutes washing and drying in comfortable silence, until Mom turns the faucet off and faces me.
“Finn, I have a question for you, and I want you to be painfully honest.”
I stop drying, the plate half-wet in my hands. My mother is one of the easiest people I know. She’s a happy-go-lucky woman who never complains and mostly goes with the flow. Sure, she was able to discipline us when Fran or I did something stupid, but otherwise, the mood in this house has always been relaxed. So to hear the severity in her tone right now makes me stiffen.
“Sure,” I say, depositing the plate onto the counter.
“Are you happy?” Her eyes crease. “Here, I mean.”
I stammer a couple of sounds before getting out, “What kind of question is that?”
“You weren’t before, and while I never fully understood your need to leave and to always be in a different place, I love you and I accepted that it’s the way you are.” She picks up the rag from my frozen hands to wipe hers. “But then Dennis and Martina needed help with the farm and you decided to come back and stay for Aaron, and while I think it’s admirable and I’m so incredibly proud of you for it, I keep wondering if that’s you settling into a life you don’t really want.”
My mouth is dry, even when I lick my lips. “I don’t… Where is this coming from?” I know I’m avoiding the question, but I think I need some answers first. I’ve been back in Vermont for almost two years, so why now? Do Ilookunhappy?
Mom shrugs. “I was just looking at your friends tonight, and… I don’t know. I’m afraid you decided to come back to make all ofushappy but that you forgot yourself in the process, and as much as I love to have you around, I wouldn’t want that.” She braces herself over the sink, but even turned away, I don’t miss the glassiness in her eyes. “I know you could be fine here, but I also want your life to be as wide and strange and wonderful as you need it to be.” She pauses, then takes hold of my hands, hers trembling. “It’s okay if you need more. If you need to leave. Martina would understand.” She squeezes. “Iwould understand.”
I’ve never been one to break down, but this? It fucking gets to me, because I know that she’s not lying. She believes every single word she’s saying, and I know if I said I needed to move on to something else, she’d help me pack my bags and find a new home away from her, even if it killed her in the process.
Because of that, I take my time to answer. She’s offered me an opportunity for honesty on a silver platter, so the least I can do is be sure that once I tell her how I feel, the truth is what comes out.
As if knowing I might need some time, she turns the faucet on and resumes washing. However, once I really start thinking about it, there’s only one answer that comes to mind.
I step forward and turn the faucet back off.
“Yeah, Mom, I think I’m actually happy.” My back meets the countertop as I face her. “Maybe when I was younger, I neededmore, but now, everything I need is right here.” I have a good job, one I love. Sure, I might live near my parents’ house, but that also means I get to be close to my family, in all senses of the term. I don’t have a life that’s fully settled yet, but I get by. And if that makes me small-minded and embarrassing, then so be it. I tried time and time again to find the most fulfilling life possible, and I thought that could only happen far from home, where things would feel otherworldly every day, but a little life can be so good if you pay attention to all the small, beautiful things around. What good is seeing the seven wonders of the world when you’re alone through it all? There’s beauty in novelty and magnitude, and I’ve experienced it, but there’s equal beauty in a shared dinner with family or a slow, lazy afternoon with the right woman.
Mom’s face brightens, as if she were bracing for a storm and I’ve unleashed sunlight. She’s small but mighty, and when she hugs me, it’s with a strength I didn’t know she had. Probably one that comes from the remnants of her gymnastics days.
“You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me,” she whispers against my chest. I smile, then hug her tighter.
When she pulls away, she rubs her fingers over her eyes, then says, “I probably have someone I need to thank for this.”
“What do you mean?”
She lifts both brows. “Please, Finn. We both know you haven’t been the same since Lexie’s been around.”
Color rises to my neck and cheeks, which is stupid, because what am I, five years old? My mother knows I’ve been with women before. Multiple women, if I’m being honest. But it’s different with Lexie, and the look in her eyes tells me we both know that.
“How long have you known?” I ask, not bothering to circle around it.
