Page 39 of Befriending the Bear
The casual dismissal of my grief, the presumption that she knew what Marcus would want, made something hot and painful flare in my belly. Fraser’s hand found mine, steady and grounding. “I’m not h-h-hiding. I have f-f-friends here. A l-life here.”
She made that humming sound that meant she didn’t believe me. “Oh? And what life is that? Sitting in that house, writing a book no one will publish? And even if they did, it would never be successful since you can’t do public appearances. Really, darling, if you would commit to more intensive therapy?—”
“I d-d-don’t need th-therapy.” The words fought their way out, years of frustration behind them. “I need you to st-st-stop seeing me as b-b-broken.”
A long pause followed. “I don’t think you’re broken. I only want what’s best for you.”
“N-no.” Something was building in me, something that had been pressing against my ribs since I was five years old and woke up different than I’d been before. “You w-w-want me to be who I was b-b-before. But that b-boy drowned, Mother. This is who I am n-now. This is who I h-have b-b-been for years, n-now.”
“Calloway—”
“I have to g-go,” I said, the closest I’d ever come to hanging up on her. “I have p-p-plans.”
“Plans? What plans?” Suspicion crept into her voice, as if she thought I was lying to her. Granted, not entirely without reason.
My hand was shaking now, and Fraser squeezed it. His steady presence gave me strength. “I h-have a f-f-friend over. We’re having c-coffee.”
“A friend?” The disbelief in her voice stung more than it should have. “What friend? You never mentioned?—”
“Because you n-never ask about my l-life here. You only t-tell me how to f-f-fix it.”
“That’s not fair. I call every week?—”
“To t-tell me about F-Florida. About new t-t-treatments. About h-how I’m wasting my life.” The words were coming easier now, anger smoothing out some of the stutters. “When was the last t-time you asked if I was h-happy?”
Another silence, longer this time. When she spoke again, her voice had that careful quality that meant she was choosing her words. “Are you happy, Calloway?”
I looked at Fraser, at his concerned green eyes and the way he held my hand like an anchor. Thought about the past few days. Breakfast together, shared dinners, the way we had woken up tangled together. How he waited through my stutters without impatience, how he’d learned to read my silences as well as my words. And that glorious, perfect kiss.
“Y-yes,” I said, and meant it. “For the f-first time in years, yes.”
“Oh.” She sounded genuinely surprised. “Well. That’s… That’s good, darling.”
But I could hear the questions building, the need to probe and analyze and fix. “I really n-need to go. My f-friend is here.”
“Will you at least think about visiting? Your father misses you.”
The guilt card. Of course. “M-maybe after the h-holidays,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t. “I’ll c-call you later.”
“Calloway—”
“B-bye, Mother.”
I ended the call before she could respond, my whole body shaking with the effort of standing up to her. The phone immediately started ringing again, but Fraser reached over and switched it to silent. “Hey. You okay?”
I laughed, but it came out cracked. “I don’t know. I’ve n-never hung up on her b-b-before.”
“How does it feel?”
I considered this, taking inventory of the emotions swirling through me. “T-terrifying. And…freeing? God, she makes me feel f-five years old again. Like I’m st-still that kid who d-disappointed everyone by c-coming back wrong.”
“You didn’t come back wrong. You came back different. There’s nothing wrong with different.”
“Tell that to my m-mother. She’s been trying to fix me for f-forty-three years.” I slumped in my chair, exhausted by a five-minute phone call. “She m-means well. That’s the worst part. She genuinely thinks she’s h-helping.”
“I’m sure she does, but the result is that she makes you feel like shit. That’s on her, not you.”
I studied him, this man who’d learned to read me so well in such a short time. “How are you so w-wise about this?”
