Page 68 of Ripped

I run, losing myself in the steady left-right, left-right, letting the music drown out all the what-ifs packed into my brain. My smart watch buzzes at the one-mile marker. Then at the two. I’m just shy of three miles when I roll to a stop in front of the Hill house again to cool down and stretch.

My head is clearer now. My heart rate is elevated but I can tell it’ll settle into something nice and low once I’ve cooled down completely. I still don’t know what I’m going to do about Connor’s unconscious revelation though.

Kathleen is in the kitchen when I let myself back in. She’s standing by the sink, cradling a mug of what I really hope is coffee, her expression inscrutable.

“Good morning,” I greet her, bracing myself for her reaction.

“Good morning,” she responds softly, like she’s still in the process of waking up. She nods toward the coffee machine on the counter. “There’s coffee if you’d like. Help yourself.”

I would like, so I do help myself. “Thank you for having me here this week,” I say, because it’s the polite thing to do and because Kathleen doesn’t seem inclined to fill the silence.

She chuckles ruefully. “You’re welcome. Although, I can’t imagine it’s been very pleasant for you.”

Whatever does she mean? I doubt she’ll appreciate my snark though, so I keep it to myself.

“We weren’t always like this, you know—the bickering.” She’s staring out of the window now, almost as if she’s talking to herself. “It only started after Connor moved away for school. It was like we forgot how to talk to each other all of a sudden. It gets worse every time he comes home and now he barely comes home at all.”

Sadness is radiating off her, thick and heavy, and it’s getting me all choked up. It’s obvious to me that she loves her son very much. She just expresses it in kind of an odd way. It’s a shame really, to see this chasm between Connor and his mother that they both hate. It’s like they’re running toward each other so hard that they can’t—or don’t know how to—stop before they crash.

“He doesn’t like the arguing either,” I say, just in case Kathleen believes otherwise.

She shoots me a skeptical look.

“It’s true. It’s why he doesn’t visit very often, to avoid the arguing.”

Kathleen’s expression falls. “I know. I tell myself every time that it’s going to be different this time. We’re not going to fight. We’re going to get along. And then…” She shakes her head. “Something always happens. I’ll say something wrong. Or he’ll say something that sets me off.”

“What was it last night?” It’s none of my business and she has every right to tell me so, but I want to know. I want to fix this for Connor. I want to help him mend his relationship with his mother, if I can. He wants to and she wants to. Maybe all they need is a little perspective, someone from the outside who can point out things they can’t see for themselves.

“I don’t know.” Kathleen lets out a dry laugh that’s more painful than happy. “I asked about Miles and he told me about the affair. Then I asked about Wyatt and whether they were going to reconcile. And then…” She throws her hand up in a helpless gesture.

I think I see where the problem is. “He beat himself up for a long time about whether he should keep working with Wyatt.”

Her scowl doesn’t budge but she does take a moment to process the new information. “He can be so impulsive sometimes.”

That’s news to me. I haven’t seen Connor make any decisions without going back and forth at least a dozen times.

“He does things that don’t make sense to me. I don’t know how to help him and when I try to help, I always seem to get it wrong. And I’m sorry, you don’t need to have your boyfriend’s mother offloading on you like this.” She sets her mug down and starts moving about the kitchen, pulling things from cabinets and drawers.

“I don’t mind,” I say over the clanging of bowls and plates and utensils.

Kathleen stops, one hand on the edge of the counter, the other on her hip, as she breathes through whatever is going on in her head.

“You know,” I say carefully. I’m venturing into dangerous territory here and the last thing I want is to make things worse between Connor and Kathleen. “I’m not sure he needs you to help in the way you’re trying to help.”

She cuts a glare at me and yeah, I need to tread lightly.

“I think he just needs you to be there for him. And if he wants help, he’ll ask for it.”

She doesn’t believe me. I scramble.

“It’s like when I was sick. He called you to ask what he should do, right?”

Kathleen straightens and crosses her arms. Her glare is replaced by something more contemplative that says, “go on.”

“You were the first person he went to. Because he knew you’d be there for him and that you’d know what to do.”

She tilts her chin up. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

---