Page 222 of Fighting the Pull

And one from Zoey that said,Shit is blowing up, sister! It’s the biggest reaction yet. Much, much love to Hale. He was great!

I ignored the rest, put my phone hand to my leg, and listened to him reassuring Genny he was okay.

My phone vibrated in my hand. I lifted it and turned it to face me.

It was a text from Samantha.

I opened it and it read,Very proud of you both. I can’t get through to Hale to tell him myself. Let him know I’d love to hear from him when he’s ready.

Nugget of news: I’d become their go-between. Not because Hale blew off his mother, just that she wanted attention when she wanted attention, and she used every avenue at her disposal to get it. This mildly annoyed Hale, but I assured him I didn’t mind. I was a dab hand at motherly manipulation.

Bottom line, both our mothers were who they were, and some things would never change.

But even so, they were both doing better.

As I was reading that, another one came in from Samantha.

I’m glad he found you. Thank you for taking care of him.

See?

Doing better.

I let it out a long sigh and texted back,Thank you, Sam. I’ll tell him to call. And I added three smileys with hearts around the face.

Hale ended his call with Genny.

“Your mom wants to talk to you,” I said quietly.

“Right,” he replied. “Just gonna hit up Tom and I’ll call her.”

“I’ll get us more wine.”

“Thanks, babe.”

Frosty followed me to the kitchen.

Cheddar remained asleep in an armchair.

I grabbed the bottle of wine.

* * *

“That’s it?”I asked.

“That’s it,” Hale answered, staring at the piece on the wall.

It was one of Mika’s. We were at the opening of her show that was a complement to the documentary film she and her daughter were releasing, the premiere was happening the next night.

The piece he was staring at depicted three sets of women’s hands working a bowl of beads. The beads were such vibrant colors, they were practically popping out of the bowl. The hands were of varying ages, from wrinkled and spotted, to those of a girl who was probably an adolescent.

It was a remarkable picture, denoting feminine bonds and skill and wisdom passed down through the generations.

“You’re just going to give them money?” I pushed at the conversation Hale and I were having.

We were talking about the neighborhood conservation effort in Brooklyn. He’d been to a couple meetings, one that was earlier that night, and he’d surprised me by sharing he was donating to the cause, and bowing out.

He looked down at me. “They know what they’re doing far more than I do, and they’re doing it. They just need investment. I’m investing.”

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