Page 67 of Uncovered
“Mom, stop.” I take her hand in mine and lead her back to the table, where I take a seat. “Did you hear a word he said? He loves you. Sam loves you. And though I shut my eyes for fear of being scarred, it did not look like you were fully disinterested in him, either.”
“It’s complicated.” She sighs.
“Is it, though?” I ask, thinking of Ty’s beloved Anne Elliot and the courage she needed to trust in Wentworth. There’s no one on earth more trustworthy than Sam, except maybe for Ty.
“Honey, he’s thirty. I’m forty-one. What in the world do we have in common?”
“Uh, you don’t want me to answer that.” She rolls her eyes at me.
“Phoebe, I’m being serious. When I was raising two babies, he was playing kickball in the schoolyard.”
“To be fair, you had us really young, Mom. Besides, he’s not playing kickball now. He’s a grown man, with a job and everything. And you guys get along so well. He’s your best friend.”
“He was Dylan’s coach.” Her voice breaks when she says my brother’s name and she turns away from me, walking over to the window.
“I know,” I say, my tone gentle. “And doesn’t that almost make it better? Dylan loved Sam, and he loved Dyl. Out of anyone on the planet you could choose to love, Sam knows you--all the good parts, the not as good parts, the perfect parts, and even the broken ones--and he loves you.”
When my mom turns back to look at me, her face is wet with tears and I’m catapulted back in time a few years when tears were a daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence.
“Mom…”
“Phoebe,” she says, “I’m not good enough for that man. There’s not enough left of me.” She shakes her head when I open my mouth, so I let her continue, “My heart, it’s not whole. How can I give it to Sam if it’s shattered in so many pieces? You know there’s a word for a woman who loses her spouse. She’s a widow. And a child who’s lost their parents is an orphan.” Her voice is raw, quiet, but I hear everything she’s saying. “But there’s no word for a parent who’s lost their child. Because it’s not supposed to be that way.” Her tears fall freely now, and I’m sure mine do, too. “It’s not supposed to be that way.”
I stand to hug her, but a shadow lines the wall, and I turn to see Sam. He gives me a sad smile and walks over to my mom, wrapping his arms around her and turning her toward him.
He holds her for a moment, and I can’t look away. His love is so pure, so strong that it radiates off of him. I wonder if my face betrays me and I look at Ty that way.
“Missy,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, just as she looks up and says, “Sam.”
“I’m sorry,” she continues, “I shouldn’t have said that to Phoebe, I--”
But Sam just shakes his head, and silences her with a chaste kiss. “I love you, Missy. Just like I said. I love you when it’s foolish to do so. I love you when I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop. And I don’t want to. I’ll love you enough for both of us.” They stand there, in my mom's dining room, just holding on to each other like they’re the only two people in the world.
They’re sweet, and they’re lucky to have each other. And I’m lucky to have both of them. And yes, it’s hard sometimes. And still unfair as hell. But they’re my family and I love them.
Lordy. I’m crying again, but these are happy tears. “So, you know what, guys? I’m actually not all that hungry. In fact, I think I’m going to get going. Don’t mind me, I’ll just--”
“Don’t you dare leave,” Sam scolds. “Missy has been cooking for days. And I made your favorite dessert.” Sam heads into the kitchen.
“Wait,” she says, and I’m not sure whether she’s talking to me or to Sam, but I stay where I am anyway. “I love you, too. More than I let myself. More than is reasonable or age-appropriate. More every day.”
Sam’s smile is blinding. They pay me no attention as they kiss each other senseless. I take the mugs into the kitchen and start grabbing plates from the cabinet. By the time I have the oven on and the lasagna is heating, and I’ve helped myself to a tiny slice of cannoli cake, my mom and Sam enter the kitchen, their hands intertwined.
“Dessert first, huh?” my mom asks.
“Yep,” I tell her. “You were too busy to yell at me, so…” I shrug.
“We were busy,” Sam agrees, unapologetically. It should probably skeeve me out, but honestly, I’m just really happy for them. As long as they keep their shirts on.
We sit around and eat cake and drink coffee, before Sam gets really hungry and digs into the lasagna my mom made. He catches me up on the goings-on at my former high school. I’ve missed quiet evenings like this so much.
“So, where’s this guy who's taking you away for the weekend?” Sam asks, always the protective one.
“His name’s Ty, but he couldn’t make it tonight. He’s trying to get an internship next semester and he had a late interview.” It’s the truth, but it still makes me feel like junk. I wish Ty were here--that he could see this part of me, one of the most important parts.
“Well, you can bring him home for Thanksgiving,” my mom tells me, and honestly, it’s just good to hear her making plans for the future.
“That sounds perfect,” I tell her, because it does.
