Page 43 of Second Quarter Comeback
“Huh?” I ask because I’m not sure if she asking about me or someone in her house.
“It sounds like someone’s coming and going,” she presses. “Are you moving things around? I thought you texted me saying everything was done. Do you need me to come over and help?”
“No, Mom,” I reply, already imagining her showing up uninvited with clothes enough to last her a year and unsolicited advice. “I already moved in. The people we hired set up everything. The door? That was nothing. Just my neighbor leaving.”
“Your neighbor?” Her tone shifts immediately from suspicious to curious. “Is he handsome?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to groan. “Mom, I don’t need a man. You already have three grandchildren from Karla, and Ken’s wife is pregnant with number five. Isn’t that enough?”
“Yes, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a couple more?” she counters, her voice bright with unwelcome enthusiasm. “Imagine?—”
“Before you start planning my future, you should know that the neighbor you’re so curious about is Killion. Killion Crawford,” I interrupt, knowing well enough they’re not fans of him. Not since he broke my heart.
The silence on the other end of the line stretches out, thick and icy.
“Killion Crawford,” she finally repeats, and the disapproval in her voice sends me back a few years—twenty at least. I just have to remind myself I’m not a teenager and she won’t meddle in my life. “The guy you dated in college?”
“Yes,” I admit. “That Killion.”
“And why,” she demands, her tone rising, “is that man back in your life?”
“As I mentioned,” I say, struggling to keep my tone even, “he’s just my neighbor.”
“You two have nothing in common,” she snaps, as though I’ve just announced I’m eloping with him tonight. “We made sure he was out of your life for a reason.”
That stops me cold. I step out onto the terrace, the cool air brushing my face as I try to process her words. “What do you mean you made sure he was out of my life, Mom?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly, her voice shifting to defensive. “What matters is that you’re a doctor now. Look at your life, Camille. You’re successful. Isn’t it better this way?”
“Mom,” I press, my voice firm. “What. Did. You. Do?”
She sighs, the pause is so dramatic I’m bracing myself for the full impact. “We encouraged him to leave, that’s all. Your father didn’t think he was goodenough for you. He said, ‘Can you imagine being tied to someone who smashes his head into people for a living? By the time he’s thirty, he won’t even recognize his own wife.’ We thought it was best.”
“You encouraged him to leave me?” I repeat, the pieces clicking together with a sickening sense of clarity. “You loved me so much that you manipulated him into walking away?”
“Camille,” she says, her tone exasperated. “Focus on the now. The past doesn’t matter. You’re successful, independent, everything we wanted you to be.”
I lean against the railing, staring at the park below. The distant sound of traffic is somehow easier to process than the tornado she’s just unleashed. My parents didn’t just interfere—they sabotaged. And all it did was reinforce every fear I’d ever had: that I wasn’t enough for him or that he wasn’t enough for me.
“How exactly did you ‘encourage’ him?” I ask, my voice colder now. “What did you do?”
Before she can answer, someone clears his throat nearby. I turn, and there he is—Killion, standing on the terrace next door, looking both sheepish and defiant.
“You listened to them?” I snap, glaring at him.
“They threatened my parents,” he says, shrugging as if that’s all the explanation I need. “I was more afraid for them than myself. You told me how your dad could be when people pissed him off. Remember?”
I do remember. He has done despicable things in the name of justice. That’s one of the things my father and Ican’t agree with. I stare at Killion, then at my phone, my grip tightening. “You could’ve . . . you could’ve told me.” My voice breaks on the last word, and I hate how raw I sound.
“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he says quietly, his eyes locking on mine. “And for my family.”
I open my mouth to argue, to saywhat if you hadn’t left?—but the words don’t come. Because deep down, I’m not sure what would’ve happened if he’d stayed. And that, more than anything, terrifies me.
I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the phone. “Mom, I can’t do this right now,” I say, trying to sound calm, even when I’m furious at her and my father. “We’ll talk later—after I’ve had some time to think about everything I’ve learned today.”
“Camille—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Later, Mom,” I say, cutting her off before she can argue, and hang up. My pulse thunders in my ears, but I can’t tell if it’s anger, confusion, or the past I thought I’d left behind storming back into my life.
