Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,79

just wanted to laugh. Laugh at the absurdity of this moment, how cheesy it could’ve seemed. But there was something so genuine about this. It didn’t feel like some theatrical performance, didn’t feel fake or forced. It felt…real.

And jeez, maybe that’s because I wanted to believe it so bad—wanted to accept their words so easily.

The strange feeling that started to well in my chest, I realized in that moment, was pure and utter relief. The old pain of being a silent player in this family was finally going to be resolved. Finally, finally going how they were supposed to. We’d go back to the way things were, or something close. I’d finally have my parents back.

Things were going to go back to the way they were. They were going to try. Finally, we were really going to be a family again.

“I love you guys, too.” They were words I couldn’t remember the last time I’d told them. They were words that were a new morning, night turning into day, and I finally woke from my bad dream.

And then we were all crying over tacos and veggie casserole, holding hands like we were going to start praying, and I couldn’t remember a time I’d been so happy. I couldn’t remember a time where we all held hands, all wore smiles lighting our faces.

I couldn’t remember a time when I felt so light.

* * *

My mom and I curled up together after dinner, Shiba resting along the arm of the couch. Dad already retired into his room after watching a whole chick-flick with us. He’d claimed the romance made him sleepy, and Mom laughed. On that couch, I was a kid again, soothed by her mother’s voice and lulled by her touch. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d binge-watched movies like this together, curled up and happy.

When the clock chimed eleven o’clock and another romance movie was about to come on, Mom stretched, absently touching her stomach. “Oh, sweetie, I don’t know if I can make it through another.”

“Me neither,” I said, even though I was still energized from our conversation. “Thank you, Mom. For this.” I gestured at the TV screen.

She turned to me, her eyes shining. Her smile was wobbly. “Oh, Sophia, we should have done this a while ago. We haven’t done much right. I never realized how much you were hurting in all this. We wanted to give you space to grow up, but it was too much.”

No kidding. I pulled the hem of the afghan over our legs. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Was it hard to stop thinking about yourself? Changing your mindset and not being so…” I trailed off, knowing that self-centered would’ve sounded bad.

Mom pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat. “When the incentive is better than being selfish, I found that it wasn’t so hard. One of the first things Dr. Lively taught us was how to stop the situation before it grew destructive. So if there is a point where I put my needs and wants above anyone else’s, I need to stop and see how the situation is unfolding.”

It felt strange to hear Mom speak like that, self-aware and determined. It made me want to talk to her about everything. About Scott, about Walsh, about the article, about the internship. I wanted to let it all fall out there, hear what she had to say on any of it. But if I told her about my article, what would she say? Would she think it was a good idea or be like Edith and try to talk me out of it?

So instead, I asked, “What made you two think about therapy, anyway?”

“Oh.” Mom’s voice was soft, and the tears that were in her eyes a moment ago vanished with her own look of excitement. It ignited her whole face, making her look so young in the dim light as whatever thought in her head built. “We didn’t tell you.”

Another spasm of apprehension went through me, but less cautious this time. “Tell me what?”

“Oh, dinner got so emotional, and it completely left my mind—”

“What did?” I asked again.

“—which is silly if you think about it, the idea that I could actually forget.”

I frowned a little. “Mom. What did you forget?”

If I could’ve frozen this moment in time, I totally would’ve. Slammed my finger on the pause button, never allowing this scene to develop further. Mom’s fingertips curved protectively over her stomach, the wedding band on her finger