My mother rose and began pacing behind the couch. “Did I ever tell you about Riley’s funeral?”
I thought of all the things my parents had filled me in on that had happened after my accident, when I’d been in my coma, but I couldn’t recall that story.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, your father and I went to that poor boy’s service. It seemed like the least we could do to pay our respects.”
“That’s surprising, honestly. I assumed you blamed him for my accident.”
“A part of us did.” My father took up the story. “But we also accepted the fact that you were officially an adult by then, and spending time with Riley had been your choice. And, of course, it would have been difficult to be upset with someone who died so tragically.”
“The funeral was packed,” my mother continued, sitting back down on the couch. “It sounded like Riley had minimal direction in life—” She glanced at me. “But it also seemed like he was a sweet kid. His parents were proud he’d finished high school and was working at that restaurant. Obviously devastated by his loss.
“When we arrived at the church, we told them who we were, and they had the compassion to ask how you were doing. They wished you well, and it was genuine. But all your father and I could think of was how easily we could have been the ones offering stories and memories. Afterward, I made you a firm promise I’d do better. Not just sit on the sidelines again. That you wouldn’t end up like Riley.”
“Oh, Mother,” I shifted to sit next to her, hugging her slight frame to my side as my father squeezed her shoulders from the opposite end. “I’m okay. I can’t promise I’ll never make a mistake or have another slip on the ice, but I’m okay.”
“Logically, I see that. I do.” She gripped my hand. “And I want to work on doing better, giving you what you need… It’s just hard.”
I volleyed my gaze between my parents. “I’ll do my best to keep that in mind. But I need you guys to step back a little. Even if it’s hard. You don’t always have to help me in order to love me. Sometimes, you can just be there, watching.”
My father placed a hand on my shoulder. “I hear you, son. And I promise we’ll try. I hope you can be patient with us.”
“Yes, sweetheart,” my mother agreed. “We can learn to be on the sidelines sometimes. Just don’t kick us out of the game completely, okay?”
“Okay.”
After we made a plan to pick upour conversation in a few days—giving the heavy words a chance to settle—I said goodbye to my parents.
They’d get better, and I would too. It would take time to change our dynamic, but I felt optimistic it would happen. I couldn’t wait to tell Maureen and texted her immediately after my parents left.
Her knock came a few minutes later. I opened the door and pulled her into my arms, breathing into her neck.
“I just had the most insane talk with my mother and father.”
She kept her arms around my waist but leaned back. “By your tone, I’m assuming you mean that in a good way?”
“Uh-huh. It didn’t start out very promising. They basically came over to yell at me for being mean to Rosalyn and then accused me of being on drugs.”
Maureen blinked. “Um, what?”
“No. It’s good. We opened some of our baggage, and in the end, it was cathartic. You were right I’d been putting it off too long.”
“That’s great, Will. I’m happy for you.” She smiled and my insides flipped.
“And now I want to take you out to celebrate. Dinner? Anywhere you like.”
“Thai food?”
“You got it.”
She had showered and touched up her makeup, dressed in jeans and a silk top. With her heels on, she had about two inches on me, something I found incredibly appealing.
As I leaned in to capture her mouth, her eyes caught on the counter. “Will, whose purse is that?”
Suddenly, the door—which I stupidly hadn’t closed all the way—swung open.
“Sorry, William. I left my purse. I’ll just grab it, and then your father and I will be out of your ha—”
