for a long time, and I needed something to blame for losing him.” Her glassy eyes, swimming in apologetic agony, met mine and she said, “It was so easy to blame you. It shouldn’t have been. God help me, it really shouldn’t have been, because you’re my son and I love you—I always have—but it was still just so … easy. And I pulled away from you and ruined everything, I know I did, and I’m not sure I could ever apologize enough for what I’ve done to you.”
I wiped a hand beneath my nose and struggled to say, “I don’t know either.”
Her nod was sharp and broken. Her hand fluttered awkwardly, touching her hair and temple and neck. “Well, I, um, I was hoping I could at least begin to try, if you’d let me. I want to do better. I want to be better, Blake. I want to fix this—Lord, I want to fix this so badly. I hate what this family is now, and I see how much better you’re doing, how much better you’re being with Jake. Hell, even your father is making an effort. And after this past month, I feel like … like I’m finally opening my eyes again, and I’m realizing how much time I’ve wasted being angry. And Blake, I don’t want to waste anymore of my life being mad about something that was never, ever your fault or his. I don’t. I just want my family back.”
Exhaling, I slowly nodded, knowing exactly who to thank for everything good now in my life. My happiness and newfound faith and Jake’s contentedness. Dad’s attempts at acceptance. It was the same woman who’d also suggested there could still be hope for my mother and me, hope that we could forgive and reform a relationship that had died two decades ago. I hadn’t thought it was possible then, hadn’t even wanted to entertain the idea. But now, sitting across from her and seeing the tears that trailed over her cheeks and around her untouched cup of tea, I found myself wondering if it really was possible. Not to forget, but to forgive and maybe head slowly toward something resembling a family.
“I’m not gonna pretend like I know what it was like for you,” I spoke through a throat so constricted and graveled. “I can’t put myself in your shoes, and I don’t want to. Fuck, I can’t even empathize, because all I can think about is the fact that I was your kid, too, and you didn’t give a shit about how much you were hurting me. You didn’t think about how I’d grow up or how fucked up I’d be.”
Her sob almost startled me. “Blake …”
Holding up a hand, I continued, “You and Dad were so consumed by what you lost, that you never for a second took the time to look at what you still had. You neglected both of us, and I can’t ever forget that. Hell, I’m not even sure I can ever forgive you for it,” I folded my arms on the table, leaning forward and fixing my stare on hers, “but I’m not you, I’m not gonna waste twenty years of my life being pissed off, so I guess I can try.”
Sniffling and nodding, she wiped her hands against her cheeks. “That’s all I’m asking you for.”
“I know a good place you can start.”
She nodded adamantly. “What? What can I do?”
“Don’t dump Jake in that place,” I told her, furrowing my brow and feeling my stony walls crumble as I began to plead. “Please. Don’t do that to us. Let him live with me. You guys can see him whenever you want, but just please, don’t—”
“Okay.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That was too easy.”
She shook her head. “Your father and I already called Shady Acres a couple of weeks ago. We weren’t going to send him there, he made it very clear he didn’t want to go and only wanted to be with you, so …” She offered me a wobbly smile. “Okay.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
Dropping her gaze and offering a slight shrug, she said, “We didn’t know if he’d ever wake up.”
Then her arm reached out and a hand covered mine. I considered pulling away. I thought about yanking my hand from beneath hers and tucking it into my lap, denying her the affection she’d denied me for too fucking long. That’s what the old Blake would’ve done. The angry, bitter, vibe-less Blake. The one who’d wondered if the