Page 119 of Fresh Canvas
This isn’t who I am. I’m Anthony’s mother, and I’ve failed him.
My body shook with emotion. A wrecking ball of guilt crashed through every dream I ever had. Last night, I had barely thought about Anthony at all. No, I had been clothed invelvet finery, toasting Stirling, and quarreling with my estranged lover. When had I become so shallow?
Who was I kidding? This isn’t me.
My sobs continued. I received a text message, and I picked up my phone to read it through blurry tears.
RYAN: We got the clearance to leave the hospital. His appointment is in two days. Anthony will be back in the states by Wednesday if there are complications. If not, we’ll head back on the fourteenth like we planned.
AMANTHA: Keep me posted on everything.
I had only been awake for an hour and felt exhausted to the bone. I was abhorred with myself. With my weakness. Disgusted that even as Anthony lay thousands of miles away in a hospital bed, I still couldn’t keep my thoughts from straying to Val.
My accusation of his involvement with the forgery had been a crutch. I had clung to that crutch like a life raft—the one logical reason that could make sense of his abandonment. With that crutch gone, I fell into unbearable despair.
It was rejection, pure and simple.
The new wave of grief was exquisite, making me ache in places I had forgotten about. I realized in this moment that I was never—would never—be enough for him.
I knew, without a doubt, that I could never see Val again.
A shuddering sob racked my body as I unlocked my phone. Despite me dying to hear from him one more time, I opened Val’s unread text thread and swiped left to delete it. Delete him. There was nothing he could say to fix the cracked panes of my heart.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I swiped left three more times, deleting each unopened voicemail. Deleting the sound of him forever.
After the performance of a lifetime, the curtains were closing.
Enough was enough.
I knew who I was. It was who I had always been.
Who I had only ever beenallowedto be.
Anthony’s mom. A suburban ex-wife. A member of the PTA.
I dialed another number, swallowing my tears in an effort to stabilize my voice.
“Hello, Blythe?”
My confused boss picked up the phone. “Amantha?”
“So sorry to call you on a Saturday. First off, I’m sorry for disappearing last night. It was kind of an emergency. And I found out this morning that my son broke his arm.”
I waited as Blythe fired question after question, and I answered them as quickly as they came.
“Yes, he may be coming home early. No, I really need to focus on him right now.” I squeezed my eyes, my chest doing the same. “Blythe, this has all been a dream come true, and I’m thankful to have had the opportunity, but I think it’s time I resign.”
thirty-four
AMANTHA
Iset my box of leftover dreams on the living room floor. My belongings seemed smaller here than they had at the museum. Out of place. Like they didn’t belong here any more than I had belonged there. A sharp pang reverberated behind my sternum.
“So you really went through with it?” Mom sat at the dining room table, sipping a tall glass.
“Mom...” I collected my expression and forced a smile. “I already told you—I couldn’t anymore.”
“I know, sweetie. Come, pull up a chair.” She retrieved a fancy crystal pitcher from the counter, setting a glass in front of me.
