the events, my feelings, and how I’ll move forward.
“What are you going to do?” She doesn’t say anything more about her relationship with Abby.
“Make her fall in love with me,” I repeat the words Mom said three years ago.
This time though, I say them with conviction, and my heart believes that it’s possible. Abby is worth the risk. I love her chaos and her passion. She’s my weakness and my strength; the only person I need for the rest of my life. I just have to remind her of how great we are together.
“You always loved her,” Mom says in a low voice. “The minute you walked into the room and saw her, I just knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask.
“That you two were meant for each other,” she offers with a smile in her voice. “It’s like your souls loved one another even before you met. I could feel the connection between you two and watched it grow as time passed.”
As she talks, I remember seeing Abby for the first time. Her big eyes, her shaky body, and my need to protect her. God, I wanted to suck the fear out of her system. I still do, with all my heart. Why did I believe that our love and bond were irreparably damaged?
“Why did you let her go?”
I don’t have an answer for that. I never thought that I let her go. Did I have a choice?
The shock at my own answer has me breathless. Of course, I did. Abby always did what I asked her to do. To please me, to be the person I needed at the moment I needed it. Maybe if I’d insisted, I could’ve convinced her to stay right by my side. But at what price? I had realized that I wasn’t strong enough to keep her together, let alone heal her.
She needed to do this by herself—for herself—not for me or my family. I take a breath, closing my eyes. This wasn’t the kind of conversation I needed tonight. I wanted to hear Abby’s voice, listen to her at least one more time before the day ended. Maybe I haven’t gotten any response from her because she’s not ready. My challenge was too forward. Maybe I should back off.
This time I’m going to be myself while following her lead. To be together, we have to be honest. And with that honesty, I answer Mom. “I did it for her. I did it for love. There’s nothing I can deny her.”
No matter how much we change and grow, one thing will stay the same: I’ll do whatever she needs.
“Abby required a lot more than I could give her. She needed the space. Like you, I wasn’t strong enough to be her rock.”
This conversation feels like therapy, like a confession between mother and son. We’ve never talked about this before. She avoided the subject, and I was too absorbed in my pain to even care about what was happening outside my head.
“Do you need me to fly back, Wes?”
“No, Mom. I’m perfectly fine, but I appreciate that you worry about me.”
“I do, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you after your father died or when you lost Abby.”
We talked about this a year ago, while I was recovering. I’m a grown man, but when I lost my dad, only Abby was there to hold me while I grieved.
“If you need me, you know where to find me,” she insists. “I’m here to listen to you, to hold you if things get heavy.”
“She needs you,” I bring the subject of Abby back up.
“She doesn’t,” Mom assures me, as if she’s aware of what Abigail needs or doesn’t need.
“Of course, she does, as much as you do her.” I hit her with the truth because I know how much Mom needs her children, including Abby.
“Maybe one day I’ll be brave, and I’ll talk to her.”
“I hope you do,” I say, satisfied with what I accomplished today. “You miss her.”
“I do,” she accepts it. “It’s time for me to go. We’re going to visit the market.”
“Take care, Mom.”
When I hang up with my mom, I notice a text.
Abby: Thank you for the strawberries.
I respond immediately.
Wes: I hope you still like them.
Abby: Of course. They’re still my favorite along with gummy bears.
Wes: Do you have time to talk?
Abby: Sorry, I just got back from yoga. I have to shower and get ready for bed.
Wes: Have a good night, Abby girl.
Abby: You too, Wes.
“Progress,” I say putting down my phone.