Page 111 of The Affair
“Admitting why you’re still here.”
My mouth hung open. “That’s not why I’m still here. I’m here because—”
“Of me. Yes, I know you think that, but you’re not. You’re hiding behind me to avoid everything going on at home.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came.
She shrugged, knowing she was right. “Like mother, like daughter. I might deny it, but you’re right. I’m a runner; always have been. When things get tough, I flee.”
“Oh, stop,” I said. “You’re not that bad.”
“Why do you think I went to the store late at night so often when you were growing up?”
“Because you loved it there,” I answered firmly. “Because you were committed to your business.”
“I might have loved it but not enough to practically live there at times. I went because it was a sanctuary away from my real life. When things got hard—between me and Daddy or with you kids—I’d go there to escape… even for just a little while.”
“I just assumed—”
“That I was perfect? That I had everything together all the time?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She laughed. “Parents are rarely, if ever, perfect. I’m the same person I am now that I was back then. I can just admit it now. I might not have gotten in the car and driven out of town back then, but you’re right; I am a runner.”
“So, you’re a train wreck like the rest of us?” I joked.
“I think we’re all a little wrecked; some just hide it better than others.”
And that was the real reason I’d been so mad—because she wasn’t perfect. I’d put her on a pedestal my entire life, and when she’d stumbled—ignoring her mother’s things in the guest bedroom for so long and finally leaving town after Dad died—that perfect image I’d conjured up in my mind was shattered.
Who was I supposed to aspire to be like now?
It was a sobering thought. To see your parent as a real person—with flaws and misgivings rather than the edited version you’d imagined as a kid.
Now that I could see her for who she truly was—a simple woman like me, with doubts and fears—I finally found myself able to forgive her. For everything.
“I’m sorry I was angry with you, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye when you left.”
“No need to apologize. I know I put you through a lot.”
“What?” I joked. “It was nothing.”
That earned me another smile, but I could see this one was harder to muster.
“Why don’t you sleep, Mom?” I suggested. “I’m going to go call Jack at work and give him an update.”
“Okay, dear. And please consider calling Sawyer. The poor man deserves it.”
“I will,” I answered, rising from my chair next to her.
As I walked out into the lobby, I held out my phone, prepared to do just that.
Talk to him, I told myself.
Tell him you’re sorry.
But as I held my phone out in front of me, I felt my nerves and doubts rising to the surface once again.
