Page 116 of Meet Me in the Valley
“That depends,” she replies tentatively. “I was wondering if you’d be open to seeing me. Maybe dinner tonight? Or ... whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Her voice floats in the silence like it’s suspended there, waiting for me to catch it.
I don’t speak. Not yet.
I look out the window behind my desk, past the buildings and traffic and skyline, to nowhere in particular.
Dinner.
It’s such a simple word. But with my mother, nothing’s ever been simple.
I swallow hard, and suddenly I’m sixteen again, standing frozen on the sidewalk in a town we didn’t live in, watching her kiss a man who wasn’t my father.
I remember the heat in my cheeks. The nausea. The way I couldn’t make my feet move. I remember the silence after. The space she left behind.
And now she’s here. With a voice that sounds smaller than I remember. Asking for time, like it’s something she never ran out of.
But something about the tremble in her voice makes me realize this isn’t just hard for me. She’s nervous too. Maybe even afraid.
And if I’ve spent all this time in therapy learning to stop running, maybe this is what not running looks like.
I rake a hand through my hair and lean back in my chair, heart pounding in my throat. “Yeah,” I say finally, my voice steady but soft. “I think I’d be open to that.”
She exhales. Relieved, maybe. Or maybe she’s just as unsure as I am. “Okay. Wherever you’d like. I’ll be there.”
After we hang up, all the air comes rushing back into my lungs.
I stand, push away from the desk, and walk straight past the conference room without even glancing in. I make it to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, lock the door behind me, and grip the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
My reflection stares back—tense shoulders, blown pupils, a storm beneath the surface. I splash cold water on my face, trying to pull myself out of whatever spiral I feel building.
I don’t know what I’m walking into tonight.
But I know I don’t want to show up like this—untethered, full of rage, half a breath away from shutting down again.
I wipe my face with a paper towel, toss it in the bin, and walk back out. I message Charlotte on my therapy app before I can talk myself out of it.
Logan
My mom is here. Asked to see me tonight. I don’t feel ready for this.
Her reply comes a moment later.
Charlotte
You don’t have to be ready, Logan. Just willing.
I stare at the screen for a long time.
Willing.
That might be all I have.
But maybe it’s enough.
Chapter Thirty-Five
TIA
