“No. I couldn’t play because the varsity games were at night, and I needed to be around in case Mom needed me to help with you or Missy.”
“Did Mom ask you to quit basketball?”
“No, but it needed to happen. I couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“But by your junior year, Missy was a freshman, and I would have been in, like, fourth grade. Missy could have watched me if Mom picked up a night shift.”
“Missy wasn’t old enough to drive you to your practices. Plus, she had cheerleading practice almost every night.”
“I’m sorry you gave all that up,” I tell her. I’m still not sure if she really needed to make that sacrifice, or if it’s part of her martyr complex, but it’s what she thought she needed to do for me and Missy.
“Someone had to get you to hockey.” She rolls her eyes.
“Why didn’t you talk to Mom about this when it was happening?”
“I did! She said hockey would pay off in the long run.”
Of course she did. Mom has always been my biggest champion, willing to support me and stand up for me, no matter what. “Well, it did, didn’t it?”
“For you.”
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. I will not let her bait me into this argument. I’m not doing all of this for my mom because I want credit, and that’s how it will seem if I explain exactly how my success benefits our whole family.
When I don’t reply, Caitlyn says, “Plus, thanks to hockey, you’re never around.”
“I literally moved back to Boston to help out, soyoucould go back to school to become a nurse practitioner. I spent all summer with Mom, but just like you and Missy, I need to showup for work now that the season has started, and my job requires that I travel. But when I’m not traveling, I’m around plenty.”
“Yeah, well, for all the times you’re not here, someone has to be around to help her.” Caitlyn smothers Mom, then makes her feel guilty for all the time she spends here.
“Mom needs help, not hovering. And she doesn’t need someone here 24/7. She will eventually, but not yet. How would you feel if Mom or Missy or I werealwaysin your house, trying to be helpful, but making you feel bad about how much we were giving up to help?”
“I don’t make Mom feel bad about helping her out!”
“Like you didn’t make me feel bad when I was growing up?” I fold my arms across my chest and lean back against the door, and that’s when I notice the photo album sitting open on the couch.
I can picture my mom sitting in here with Audrey, showing her pictures of me when I was younger. And there’s no way Mom could miss how much Graham looks like I did at that age. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me how obvious it would be to her? There’s zero chance she didn’t figure it out, and I wonder how she’s feeling about this, and if Audrey knows that Mom knows?
“Are you telling me that Mom’s been complaining that I’m around too much?” Caitlyn asks the question begrudgingly, clearly upset at the idea that her help isn’t appreciated.
“Nope, she’s never said that. But I am telling you that if you ever really paid attention to her and how she’s feeling, you’d know that she doesn’t always needor wantsomeone helping her. Let her do the things she can still do by herself, while she can still do them.”
Caitlyn looks away, her face full of sadness. “There’s nothing I can do to make her better. The only thing I can do is make her comfortable.”
“Maybe try waiting until she asks for help, then, instead of always assuming she wants it.”
“How do you even know this is how she’s feeling?”
“Because I pay attention.” I’m so tempted to suggest that she might want to try it if she’s going to be a nurse practitioner, since listening to the patient seems like an important part of that job. But it would be a shitty thing to say to her when she just expressed the slightest amount of vulnerability, so I hold my tongue. “I need to go find Audrey and Graham.”
“I still can’t believe you’re a dad.” She shakes her head, sounding a bit in awe. It’s a nice change from her normal caustic tone, so I keep my reply light as well.
“Yep, took me by surprise too.”
I leave the family room, feeling like Caitlyn and I just made a little progress in our relationship. We didn’t solve anything, but something about airing our grievances seems to have left us both a bit lighter.
I head down the hall to the small front living room, where my mom sits alone on the couch. “Where’s Audrey?”
“She left in quite a rush. Did you really tell Caitlyn that Audrey was the mother of your child and your future wife, or did I mishear you while I was eavesdropping?”
