Page 21 of Off-Limits Daddy
For a long time, I thought I’d outgrow this house. This street. This whole town. College was supposed to be the start of something bigger, better. But now, back here with the same worn table under my elbows, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Part of me still felt like that kid with crayons between his fingers—except now, I didn’t know what to draw next.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get out there. It was thatout therefelt too big, too uncertain. Like everybody else had gottenthe instruction manual for life and I was still standing in the packaging, staring at loose parts.
“I know you do, Mom,” I said, voice quieter than I intended. A lie, maybe. Or a hope dressed up to look like confidence. “I just feel a little... stuck
She didn’t rush to fill the silence or brush it off. She picked another band tee and folded it, slower now, like she was giving both of us a second to breathe. Then she met my eyes with that look—one brow raised, lips curling softly, likeI see you, even the parts you don’t want to acknowledge out loud.
“It’s okay to feel that way,” she said gently. “Sometimes we need a little more time to figure things out.”
Her words were like a reassuring hand at my back saying,I’m here for you if you need me, and even if you don’t.
“I don’t want you forgetting how much you’ve got to offer,” she said, folding another shirt with the same care. “Someone out there’s gonna need your art. Maybe you start with a few commissions. Talk to Mrs. Diaz at the community center—she’s always looking for help with mural projects. Or—” her smile tugged wider, teasing, “—sell me a painting for this wall so I can finally get rid of that dusty thing from your aunt.”
A breath of a laugh worked loose from my throat before I could stop it.
“I’m serious,” Mom added, now folding a towel. “Whatever you want to do next, we’ll figure it out. You don’t have to have it all today. You’ve got time. And you’ve got me.” She smiled at me. “I’m proud of you,” she said softly, as if she knew what I was thinking. “I’ve always been proud of you. And I’m here. Now. For all of it.”
That was what did me in—not the plans, not the job talk, not the mural suggestion.That.Her. Being here now in a way I used to wish for when I was a kid curled up on this exact chair with a bowl of cereal at nine o’clock at night, wondering why she wasn’thome yet from her second job. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep it together.
I glanced down at my chipped nail polish, thumb picking at the edges.
“I worked hard for my degree, Mom...” Even when?—
Even when Ben, my ex, was being an asshole. Even when he tried to make me feel like trash for every little success. Even when I got that internship and he laughed, said I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t even know why I’d stayed with him so long. Maybe because part of me thought he was right.
Mom didn’t know everything about Ben. But she knew enough. Knew that college hadn’t been perfect for me, even though I’d come back with a degree.
“I know you did,” she said quietly, softer now, smoothing the same towel for the third time. “You didn’t quit, Ari. I’m proud of you for sticking with it.”
Tears pressed sharp behind my eyes, unexpected, unwanted. I blinked them down, throat tight. “You’ve given me some great ideas and I appreciate them.”
“I sense a ‘but.’”
“But I don’t know if I want to do any of them.”
“What do youwantto do?”
What I wanted. God, wasn’t that the question? I wanted to make art. I wanted people to see it and feel something. I wanted to stop waking up every day with the taste of failure dry in my mouth.
But that wasn’t the only thing I wanted, was it?
What I wanted was messy. Complicated. It smelled like smoke and soap... probably tasted like danger. It had broad shoulders and steady firefighter’s hands.
It looked like Reid Morgan.
But I couldn’t tell her that.
“I don’t know,” I said instead, and hated that I wasn’t being totally honest with my mom.
“You don’t have to have all the answers,” she murmured, coming around to press a hand gently to my hair. “But youdohave to start asking yourself the right questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like... what’s gonna make you feel whole.”
Whole.
