Page 29 of When We Were More
“No, I think it’s kind of cool. That you moved back here is even cooler. Getting back to your roots.” I smile at him.
“Yeah, I moved into a small cabin on the piece of property I inherited. It was a cabin my dad used to take us to when we were kids.” He pauses, looks away for a second, before turning back to me. He clears his throat. “We’d stay there when we went on fishing trips or camping. Dad’s dream was that he was gonna fix it up one day for him and my mom, but…”
He’s quiet now. I want to say something to make it better, but there aren’t any words that will do that. I learned this from personal experience, of course, therefore I sit in silence with him.
He clears his throat, then looks back at me. “Since we’re friends now,” he pauses and smiles at me, “Do you want to tell me who Joe is?”
I’m quiet, but hold eye contact with him. I can tell when he gets nervous and realizes he might have asked something I didn’t want him to because he tenses.
“You don’t?—”
“He’s the someone who did a number on me.”
CHAPTER 13
Henry
I’m acutely aware of what today is about. It’s not that Mom never sets up impromptu lunch or coffee dates with her sons. Usually, except today, she doesn’t insist that they happen at her house. Our mom is a very social person who loves being out and about. I’m sure she wants to do this in the privacy of her home because she wants to discuss how I’m handling her dating again.
I’ve left the girls with Sally, and standing on Mom’s porch, I take a deep breath, then let it out before I turn the doorknob and enter the house.
“Mom? I’m here!”
I toe off my shoes, then take off my coat, and hang it up before I follow the aroma of what I hope are Mom’s blueberry-lemon muffins. They’ve always been my absolute favorite. If she’s made them, I’ll be curious whether it’s to comfort me during a difficult discussion or to distract me from it.
As I step into the kitchen, sure enough, Mom is setting a plate of muffins on the table.
“Yes! I was hoping my sense of smell wasn’t lying to me.” I walk over and kiss her on the cheek.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey, Ma. I’ll pour our coffee. You sit and relax.”
I get our drinks, then sit across from Mom as we both pick at our muffins in between sips of coffee.
I groan and close my eyes as I taste the moist muffin with enough lemon to make it taste perfect. I swallow my mouthful, then rinse it down with a sip of coffee.
“Oh my God, Mom. Every time you make these, I realize that I forgot how delicious they are. Thanks for baking them.”
My mom smiles and laughs. Still, the way she keeps running her cloth napkin between her thumb and forefinger gives away that she’s stressed.
“Of course. They’re your favorite.” She looks down at her hands and twirls her wedding rings on her finger. That’s when I notice they’re on her right hand now, not her left. I wonder when that happened. “They were your dad’s favorite as well.” Mom looks up at me and smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“You moved your rings.” It comes out almost as a whisper. I stare at her hand.
“Yeah, I did.” She doesn’t take her eyes off her hand for several long seconds. Then, she peers up at me, the sadness gone. “I want to keep wearing them because my marriage to your dad meant everything to me, and the memories I have are comforting. But I’m ready to see what my future may hold. I’m ready to think about allowing love—romantic love—into my life again.”
I should tell her I love her and support her. I should keep my mouth shut. But I can’t.
“Why? Why in the hell would you want to do that, Mom?” I don’t want to be, but I’m angry at her. Not furious, but there’s an undercurrent of irritation swirling in my chest, and it comes out in my voice.
“Henry…” Her voice is kind, soothing. She reaches across the table and wraps her small fingers around my fisted hand as it rests on the table.
“No, Mom. I’m not asking rhetorically. I need to knowwhy.”She opens her mouth like she’s going to speak, but she doesn’t get a chance because now that my words are flowing, I can’t stop them. “Irememberwhat it was like for you after Dad died. Don’tyou?”
She sucks in a breath. “Of course I do.”
“Mom, you didn’t get out of bed for weeks. I couldn’t get you out of bed forweeks.Even then, you suffered for ages. You lost twenty-five pounds you didn’t need to lose. I’d start to think you were improving, and then something worse would happen. Like finding you in the closet lying on the floor, sobbing, surrounded by Dad’s clothes when he’d been gone six months!”
