Page 57 of The Forbidden Summer
I nod, still staring at the picture. “I forgot how much I used to draw.”
She smiles a little. “You were always carving something. With a pencil or a stick or a butter knife.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah. Guess I’ve always been trying to shape things.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment. The hush begins to stretch awkwardly until she finally breaks it. “You know… I didn’t realize how hard that last move was for you. Not really. I was so focused on what I thought was best for our family. I didn’t ask what was best foryou.”
No shit.I glance at her. Her eyes are on the sketchbook, but her face is open and honest.
“It’s okay,” I say, but the words feel thin. I’ve waited years to hear that from her, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as I imagined it would.
She shakes her head. “It’s not. But I see it now. And I want you to know, I’m proud of you. For finding your way back.”
That’s when it hits me. This isn’t just about leaving. It’s about finishing something I never got to finish before. This house. This version of me. The boy who had to swallow everything he felt just to survive.
I reach for my phone, heart racing, and snap a photo of the sketchbook page, one with a tree and a tiny heart carved into its bark.
I send it to Père with a message:I’ve been loving you longer than I realized. I’m almost home.
Then I close the sketchbook, set it gently in the “keep” pile, and start packing the rest.
I find Mom in the kitchen later, stirring something on the stove that smells like tomatoes and too much garlic, her comfort meal when she’s trying to hold it together. I linger in the doorway for a second, unsure how to start. The words are heavy in my chest, coiled and restless.
She glances up when she notices me. “You hungry?”
I shake my head. “Can we talk?”
She turns off the burner, wipes her hands on a dish towel, and nods toward the table. We sit across from each other, and for a beat, I don’t say anything. I’m afraid of breaking whatever fragile calm we’ve found. But I didn’t come back just to avoid this.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say finally, my voice steadier than I expected. “And it might be hard to hear.”
Her brows draw together, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“It’s about Père.” I pause. “And me.”
A shadow flickers across her face, like a storm cloud briefly passing overhead. She straightens but says, “Okay. I’m listening.”
I exhale, gripping the edge of the table. “It’s not new. Not to me. Not really. I think I’ve always felt something for him, even when I didn’t understand what it was. But after I came back, after we spent time together again… it became clear.”
Mom’s face doesn’t change much, but her eyes are searching mine. She’s trying to put it all together, trying to catch up.
“I love him,” I confess. “I’m not confused. It’s not a phase. He makes me feel seen, and safe, and like I matter. He makes my heart skip and my stomach flip. He makes me dizzy,” I say with a dopey grin, recalling the swirl in my head when he kisses me.
She leans back, arms folded, lips pressed in a tight line. My heart stutters, bracing for that familiar slap of disappointment. But then she exhales, slow and shaky, and her eyes soften.
“I can see that,” she says slowly, choosing her words carefully as if she’s afraid she’ll say the wrong thing. “You light up when you talk about him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.”
I blink, not sure I heard her right. Relief floods me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
She rubs her temples. “It’s… a lot, Van. Not because I’m judging you. It’s just… my mother married him. He raised me. He helped raise you. I saw how deeply he loved my mother, and how hurt he was when she passed.”
I nod. “I know. That’s what makes it complicated. But it’s notwrong. We’re not hurting anyone. And it didn’t start until we were both adults.”
She nods slowly. “I know. I’m just trying to process. It’s… a lot. Strange, really.”
I give her a minute. Let her breathe through it.
“I want to move back to the cabin,” I say. “Not just for the summer. I want to build a life there, with him. Something that’s just ours.”
