But maybe I pushed him, too.
Maybe his dad pushed him.
Maybe we were both drowning, and I was the one who cut the last thread.
I exhale shakily.
I don’t know what to think anymore.
Chapter Eighteen
Corbin
The doorbell rings, and Tate launches off the couch like a rocket.
"Grandma is here!" he yells, barreling through the living room toward the entryway.
I chuckle, standing as I follow him to the door. Sure enough, my mom is standing on the other side, a suitcase in one hand, a familiar warm smile on her face.
“Is that my Tater Tot?!” she screeches, dropping her bag and stretching her arms wide.
Tate slams into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist. She lifts him slightly, swaying side to side, as if soaking in every second of the long-overdue hug.
I shove my hands into my pockets, watching the reunion unfold. There’s something about seeing my mom with Tate that grounds me, reminds me of everything good in my life.
When Tate finally pulls back, his face is beaming.
"Grandma! You came for my birthday!"
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flick to me next, and her lips twitch. She didn’t forget about me.
“Mom.” I nod at her, offering a small smile. “Good to see you.”
She lets out a warm laugh, grabbing her bag. "I didn’t forget about you, my son."
I step aside to let her in, and as soon as she crosses the threshold, she drops her bag by the stairs and pulls me into a hug.
"I missed you," I murmur, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
“Not as much as I missed you.” Her voice is quiet, firm, familiar. A mother’s comfort.
When she finally lets go, she takes a step back, looking between Tate and me with that all-seeing mom gaze.
“So,” she says, hands on her hips, “what have you two been up to?”
Tate bounces on the balls of his feet. "Dad was on a business trip! And I hung out with Sarge while Mom went to an art show."
Mom’s brows lift slightly. “Oh really?” There’s an unmistakable interest in her tone. “How is your mom doing?”
"She’s good," Tate chirps. “Now that we have family dinners every Wednesday night, she’s been much happier.”
My breath catches. Happier?
I glance at Tate, my stomach twisting unexpectedly. Is that true? Is Jules happier because of our family dinners? Because of me?
Mom watches me carefully, and I swear I see a knowing smile twitch at her lips.
