Page 80 of Returning Your Love
Today, I could take one step as my therapist had said that might make others easier in the future. Forward progress didn’t have to be in leaps and bounds.
You’ve got this.
Jamie’s motto whispered through my head, bring a sad smile to my lips and an ache in my heart.
My cell lay in my hand, screen dark, but the text from Mom still etched in my mind. An invite to Christmas dinner.
I toyed with my phone, going over in my head what my therapist had suggested in our last session. Telling my parents the truth about Shelly wouldn’t be an attempt to tarnish her reputation. I’d clearly cared about her too much to do that intentionally. Sharing everything I’d kept from them also wouldn’t be selfish because I wouldn’t use her supposed sins to make me look better than Dad saw me. Nothing would everchange his mind toward his failure of a son, but I’d emptied my house of the bad memories. It was time to clean out the closet, air the dirty laundry, and own my failings.
Attempting not to overthink as I did these days, I showered, shaved, and put on some nice clothing. Armor, perhaps, but whatever. At this point, I didn’t care if Dad frowned at my appearance or not. I made an attempt, and that was winning in my eyes, same as when I’d mailed out last month’s payment two days early.
Mom answered the door as usual, her eyes lighting up at finding me on the front stoop with snowflakes in my hair and on my eyelashes. The nostalgic scent of ham and sweet potatoes, the traditional Christmas dinner, rolled over me.
“Charles!” She threw her arms around me before I made it over the threshold.
My throat went tight, and my eyes stung, and I returned her greeting, although with slightly less enthusiasm.
“It’s so good to see you.” Mom stepped back while I shrugged out of my coat, a quick swipe of her fingertip to the corner of her eye ridding her of a tear. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”
“Considering how I left last time, I didn’t expected an invite,” I explained, hanging up my coat on the rack.
Mom glanced up the hallway toward where I could hear Dad puttering around in the kitchen. “I apologize for his?—”
“Don’t,” I cut her off, refusing to hear from her lips what ought to be on Dad’s. “Does he know you asked me to come over?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin in a show of backbone I’d never seen before. Her eyes even flashed with stubbornness I recognized in myself. “I told the man if he didn’t like you showing up, he was welcome to fly to Florida to spend the day with your grandparents.”
I stared. “You…what?”
“Needless to say, he folded immediately.”
Goddamn. Momhadfound her backbone. Dad had cut his own toxic father out of his life years earlier and refused to talk to the man.
A chuckle rumbled in my chest. “You finally realized who really rules this roost, huh?”
“I’ve always been aware but never felt the need to spread my wings or ruffle feathers until recently. And trust me, I’ve done so countless times since he and I were alone on Thanksgiving. I’ve failed you in too many ways to count.”
“Mom.”
She held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Charles, for not standing up for you or putting you first. You should have been my focus, not attempting to please a man who continues to live under the trauma caused by his own father.”
Dad didn’t have it easy growing up, but his past experiences weren’t an excuse for how he treated his own son. I expected Mom was intelligent enough to recognize the same.
All we could do was move forward as I’d been attempting to do.
I hugged Mom again, a little bit more tenderly and appreciative. “I forgive you.” I offered what she needed to hear, and a weight slid off my chest.
One down, one to go.
Not that I would ever forget even if I managed to somehow forgive the biggest obstacle to my self-worth beneath this roof.
Dad’s face didn’t betray jack shit when he turned around from plating the candied sweet potatoes to find me in the kitchen. “Charles.”
“Dad.” I nodded in greeting, holding my face in the same stoic mask as he did.
“Dinner is ready, so please make yourself at home,” Mom insisted, handing over the platter of spiral-cut ham with its clove and brown sugar glaze.
We had been eating the same meal this time of year since I could remember, and my mouth watered once we sat at the table in our usual seats. The chair on my right was empty, but only a small snaking sense of loss walked through my mind.
