Page 72 of Last Chorus
Or kiss me already
Iplay a small, morose melody on the piano, then sigh and look at my phone. It’s propped on the shelf against sheet music, my mom’s face visible on the screen.
“I’m almost positive she was crying when she left the room. What if I royally fucked up?”
She shakes her head, curls swayingaround her shoulders. “You did the right thing, Wild. For both of you.”
“I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about the look on her face when I told her my limits. She was hurt. What if she actually does want…” I finish the sentence silently.
Me.
Maybe she wantsme.
The possibility is too big to hold, too close to my longest-held dream to consider as a real possibility.
Gleaning where my head went, my mom says gently, “Maybe she does want more, but you need to remember what she’s been through and her mental state right now. I love Eva, and my heart breaks for her, but I won’t tell you not to protect yourself.”
I nod for her comfort, knowing that my so-called boundaries are performative bullshit. I’m trying to bulletproof myself with Styrofoam.
There’s no way to protect myself from this, from Evangeline. I’m in love with her. I always have been and always will be. The only thing I’m really doing is preparing for the pain when she leaves.
My mom continues, “I haven’t been exactly where she is, but I do know what it’s like to have your foundation cracked and your sense of self turned upside down. She doesn’t trust her own feelings right now. Even if she wants to.”
Wind lashes rain against the nearby windows. The lights in the studio flicker.
“Shit. I forgot to call someone to fix the generator last week.”
“I thought your dad looked at it,” she says with a knowing smile.
I roll my eyes. “I stopped him before he took the whole thing apart and started Googling.”
From somewhere behind my mom, my dad says, “I totally could have fixed it!”
She laughs. “Sure you could have.”
His face appears beside hers, whiskey-colored eyes locking on mine. “For what it’s worth, I agree with your mom. I know it wasn’t easy setting boundaries with Eva, but it was the right choice. It’s the selfishness paradox of recovery—we stay clean and sober by learning how to be of service to others, but we can’t show up for anyone unless we’re first selfish about our recovery. Unfortunately, sometimes that means going against our own hearts.”
He gives my mom a weighted look. She smiles softly, and he kisses her forehead.
“You did something like this?” I ask, stupefied.
His eyes return to me. “In the same wheelhouse.”
My mom laughs lightly. “We weren’t even technicallytogether, but he preemptively dumped me because I was in the way of his sobriety.”
I gape as my dad grimaces. “Keep in mind I’d just been hit by a car, broken most of my bones, and was on a steady drip of painkillers. And before that, I’d been on the verge of relapsing. I loved your mom, but I knew I couldn’t give her what she needed. I had to fix my shit—physically and mentally—before I felt worthy of her.”
She strokes his cheek, then turns to me. “He did what he had to do to protect us both, which is what you’re doing now. Sometimes you and Eva remind me a lot of your dad and me—it took a while for us to be on the same page.”
“At least it wasn’t seven years,” I mutter, and she winces in sympathy.
The lights flicker again, this time staying off for several seconds. I grab my phone and stand. “I have to go.”
“Be careful walking back to the house,” she says, big eyes filled with worry. “Love you.”
My dad squeezes her shoulder. “We trimmed all the trees around the paths last fall. He’ll be fine. Love you, son.”
“Love you guys.”
