“Don’t get me wrong, you were never going to get the gig instead of me, but I know you miss performing with your whole body and not just your face.”
Ooh. That one landed hard enough that Aubrey winced as he wiped down his skate blade.
“Oh, uh-oh, back up, speaking of your face, what’s it doing right now? Aubrey? What did you do?” Greg snapped a skate guard on and shoved it in his bag. Realization dawned, and his eyebrows shook hands with his hairline. “Did you sleep with Nate again?”
“No!” Aubrey said, because that wasn’t the problem. Then, in the interest of honesty: “Well, yes, twice, but that’s… okay, that is how I got into this mess. I—”
His phone buzzed on the bench beside him. The call display lit up.Mom.
Well, saved by the bell, sort of.
“Sorry, I have to take this.”
Greg rolled his eyes, and Aubrey walked out into the hallway to answer.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Aubrey, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”
Apparently all of his poor decisions were coming back to haunt him today—though he couldn’t decide if the decision in question was limiting contact with his mother or picking up the phone again to call her.
“Everything’s fine, Mom. I just wanted to….”I just wanted to see if maybe we could have a better relationship, since one of the most important ones in my life is in danger of disintegrating at any moment.“I just wanted to check in. I haven’t talked to you and Dad since….”
“Thanksgiving,” his mother supplied. “In October.”
Aubrey winced. “Right. Sorry, I know… I know we don’t talk much.”
But instead of the response he expected, his mother just said, “Oh, honey. I didn’t call you either. But I wanted to.”
For a moment all Aubrey could do was flap his mouth soundlessly. He’d been expecting accusations, veiled rancor. This hurt in a different way. “Why?” he finally managed. “I mean, not why do you want to talk to me—I’m delightful and you love me—but why didn’t you call? If you wanted to.”
His mother exhaled a long, slow breath. “Honestly, Aubrey? Even my therapist can’t work that out.”
Aubrey’s brain did a record scratch. “Wait, you’re intherapy?”
“You don’t have to say it like that.” Ah, there was the mother he knew. “There’s nothing wrong with getting the help you need.”
Bizarrely, Aubrey found himself smiling. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I’m also in therapy.” Was that rude to say to your mother? Did that imply some kind of judgment on her parenting skills? “I was just surprised.”
His mother huffed. “Well. Perhaps going forward, we can spend a little time talking to each other instead of talking to our therapists.”
“Is yours terrible?” Aubrey asked. “Who gave these people license to be right about everything?”
She laughed, and Aubrey felt the power of it zing through him. For years he’d craved his mother’s attention and approval while she was busy pursuing other things. But now, making her laugh—genuinely laugh—was enough.
Therapy. Who knew.
“They’re the worst,” his mother said. “Although I think they do actually have a licensing body, so your question isn’t as rhetorical as you think.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head. “So, what’re you in for, Mom? You may have guessed my main issues are attention-seeking behavior and poor coping mechanisms.”
“Ah, well, that’s a personal question, Aubrey.” He could almost see her deliberating, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on whatever was nearest—a table, an armrest, a steering wheel. “The usual suspects for a woman my age. Guilt, regret, nostalgia.” She said all these flippantly enough that Aubrey could guess none of them was the real issue, but she was right, it was a personal question. She didn’t have to tell him, especially not when their relationship was just starting to find its first solid footing in years.
A month ago he’d have snarked at her. Today, though, he just agreed. “The usual.”
Greg poked his head out of the locker room, one skate bag slung over each shoulder, and Aubrey realized he was holding him up. “Look, Mom, we’re obviously not going to solve our multiple issues in one phone call, but I’m willing to work on them if you are.”
“That….” For the first time he could remember, his mom’s voice grew tight, almost to breaking. “That would be really nice. I’d like that.”
