“Vera,” Mom sighs, “we discussed letting him bring this up, remember?”
“Life’s too short for beating around bushes, Helen! Our son is in a romantic crisis. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Yeah, well, that’s kind of why I’m calling. I don’t know if it’s real. I mean, I want it to be, I think. But… Hell, I’m not sure what I’m doing with my life anymore.”
Mama’s face crumples into immediate concern. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? Are you having a quarter-life crisis? Is it early balding?”
“It’s not balding, Mama.” I check my hairline on the screen to be sure.Thanks for the new insecurity.“It’s… Do you think what I do matters? Like, at all?”
“Matters to whom?” Mom asks, ever precise, sipping her wine.
“To anyone. To the world. Is filming myself doing riskier and riskier stunts while telling dumb jokes actually adding value to humanity? Or am I more like a fleeting internet freakshow?”
“One hundred and fifty million subscribers think you matter quite a lot,” Mama says.
“I get that people watch my videos,” I say, digging a small trench in the sand with my heel. “But watching something and it actually mattering are two different things. I met this family in Lahaina whose entire life burned down in the fires. Their kid asked if I could help them. And I didn’t know what to say.”
My moms exchange one of those looks that have an entire conversation embedded in it—thirty years of marriage giving them their own visual shorthand.
“And what would you have wanted to say?” Mom asks, her voice now gentle.
“I don’t know. Yes? But also… would my audience even care? Would they donate to help rebuild? Or would they just scroll to the next video of me doing something stupid for views?”
“Well, first thing,” Mama says, “don’t imagine the worst. If you imagine the worst and it happens, you’ve lived it twice.”
“But what if I change everything and it fails? What if I let everyone down? What if people lose their jobs because I choose to make documentaries with Cam instead of filming my millionth stunt video? What if I can’t pay for Mama’s treatments because my whole business tanks?”
“Reece Hudson Dare.” Mom’s voice turns stern. “Is that what you think? That we need you to keep making videos so we can afford to survive?”
“Well… yeah.” The admission might as well be me ripping open my chest and exposing my still-beating heart. “I mean, Mama’s treatments aren’t cheap, and the specialists, and the—”
“Stop right there.” Mom raises her hand. “We are your parents. It is not—nor has it ever been—your obligation to take care of us. I swear to God, sometimes I think we raised you too well.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
“Yes, your success helped with medical expenses when you first started. And yes, we appreciated it more than we could ever express. But we are not financially dependent on you.”
Mama nods emphatically. “We have savings, investments, insurance. Helen has her pension from the architecture firm. I have my teacher’s retirement. We’re comfortable, sweetheart.”
“But what about the extra specialists?” I press, a decade-old fear clawing at my insides. “The experimental treatments? The therapies insurance won’t cover?”
“Which I chose to stop a year ago,” Mama says as her hand trembles slightly against her cheek. “Remember? We had that whole discussion at Thanksgiving. You were rage-texting Astrid the whole time, but I told you this. They weren’t getting results, and I decided quality of life was more important than chasing a miracle cure.”
I blink, the memory flooding in.She had told me that, hadn’t she? I’d been so caught up in my own problems: Astrid, the content treadmill, the relentless pressure from Gordon—I’d never fully processed what it meant.
“Your happiness,” Mom says firmly, leaning toward the camera, “is our most important concern. Always has been. Always will be.”
“But—”
“We’ve seen you’ve been unhappy for quite some time,” she continues. “The spark went out of your eyes. Your laugh changed—it became performance instead of genuine joy. We noticed, Reece. But you’re an adult, and it’s not our place to tell you how to live your life.”
“Sweetheart, happiness is so important. Watching your livestreams these last few weeks, I’ve seen joy in you that has been missing since you were a boy. So if making a change to your videos will bring you that joy, then you do it. Future be damned.”
“The things that frighten us the most are often the ones most worth doing.” Mom takes a long sip of her wine, her gaze never wavering from mine.
I let out a long breath, detecting a shift inside me like tectonic plates rearranging. Not a complete resolution—there are still a gazillion questions swirling—but a clarity I haven’t felt in months. Maybe years.
