Page 83 of Love Around the Corner
Nick thought longingly of his beer back at the bar, back with Alex. A game to watch, Frank and Dennis talking his ear off about a whole lot of nothing. Simple and uncomplicated, the very opposite of what he was about to face. But he didn’t suppose there was any getting out of it at this point. He might as well let her have her say and get it over with.
A few minutes later, they were seated at a tiny table for two in the front window of Brooklyn Coffee Roasters, a sleek, modern coffee joint that was packed, even at this hour, with twentysomethings on laptops.
His mother turned her coffee cup in circles nervously. “You look good,” she said at last.
Nick said nothing. The last time he’d seen her, he’d been eighteen. He sure as hellhopedhe looked better.
“Are you doing okay? Do you need money?”
That startled a huff of laughter out of him. “No, I don’t need money. I’ve got plenty.”
“You do?” she asked, surprised.
Of course. Still shocked he could succeed at anything. “My computer work pays pretty well.”
She dropped her eyes to the table, everything in her sagging slightly. Which made him—inexplicably—feel bad. He shouldn’t feel sorry for her. They were the ones who’d all but disowned him for something that wasn’t even his fault. At least, notentirelyhis fault. They didn’t deserve his pity.
She looked older—surprisingly so. More than the eight years that had passed. And there was this air of nervousness around her that he didn’t remember, along with a kind of pervasive sadness. As much as he was trying to harden his heart against her, she was getting to him.
“Livie said you were staying with her, so I thought...” His mother trailed off helplessly.
“It’s temporary. I signed a lease on a new place a couple of weeks ago. I’m moving in as soon as the furniture gets sorted out.” Although right now, Greenpoint didn’t feel nearly far enough away. The moon wouldn’t be far enough to make him feel comfortable.
“She’s nice.” When he looked up at her, she shrugged. “Livie. She seems very nice. Comes from a good family. The Romanos, everybody knows them.”
“Yep, the Romanos are great.” He was absolutelynotdiscussing his relationship with Livie with his mother.
“Chris is married now,” she said after a moment, to fill the silence.
“Is he? Good for Chris.” Perfect Chris, keeping it on-brand.
“Kate. She’s lovely. And they have a little boy. He’s about to turn two. Anthony.”
That was like a fist to the chest. Chris had akid? One he’d never even seen? Anthony washismiddle name. Had to be a coincidence. Right? There was no way Chris would have named his kid after Nick.
“He’s exactly like you were at that age. Afraid of nothing. You used to scare the life out of me with the things you’d get into. And no matter how many times I explained to you how dangerous something was, how you could get hurt, you just wouldn’t believe me. It was like you thought bad things could only happen to other people.”
His gut twisted with guilt and anger. All right, enough with this bullshit chitchat over coffee, reminiscing and catching up on family news. That wasn’t why she’d come, not after all these years.
“Why’d you come track me down, Mom? Didn’t you say it all eight years ago?”
He’d expected her to get angry, like she had eight years ago, to shout back at him, and tell him it was all his fault, once again, reckless Nick bringing disaster everywhere he went. But to his shock, her eyes filled with tears and her face collapsed.
“I can’t bear to think about what I said eight years ago.”
She let out a ragged little sob, dabbing at her eyes with a wadded-up napkin. Nick said nothing, frozen, watching as she pulled herself back together. Finally, she took a deep shuddering breath and looked up at him—reluctantly, it seemed, because there was something like shame in her eyes.
“You have to understand, as a parent, when your child is in danger, there’s nothing worse. I was out of my mind with panic. That’s no excuse for anything I said, I know, but you have to believe me, Nicky, I’ve regretted those words every day for eight years. Your father and I both have. I wanted so badly to talk to you, to make it better somehow, but you were just gone.” She lifted her hands and dropped them again. Tears slid down her cheeks unchecked. “The not knowing was the hardest. We’d heard you went to California, but then nothing. I worried that you were on drugs, or homeless. Every night, when I went to bed, the last thing I thought about was you. I wondered where you were, how you were doing. I prayed to St. Anthony to protect you and take care of you.”
She didn’t finish, her words lost as she was consumed with weeping. His mother, always so tough and no-nonsense in his memories, had vanished, leaving this broken woman in her place. She collapsed in on herself, curled over, shoulders jerking with each soul-wrenching sob.
It turned out his heart wasn’t as hardened as he thought, because he couldn’t handle watching her beat herself up anymore.
He stood and reached for her, taking her by the shoulders, pulling her to her feet and into his chest. “Come on, Mom. It’s okay. Stop crying.”
Her arms came around him, her hands twisting into his shirt, and she sobbed even harder against him. Murmuring a bunch of soothing nonsense, he patted her on the back as she cried, her whole body shaking with the force of it.
He’d have to be a cold bastard to ignore her pain, to refuse to accept her apology, which she obviously meant with every fiber of her being. Had she’d been torturing herself like this all this time? Imagining him drug-addicted and homeless, for God’s sake? Guilt twisted in his gut again, but this time it wasn’t guilt about his actions eight years ago, it was guilt about what he’d done—or hadn’t done—all the years since.
