“Why not?”
He looks off into the distance and blows out a breath. “Because she was becoming something I was reliant on. I needed to prove I could resist it by myself.”
I don’t know how to tell him how proud of him I am, so instead, I say, “Then I would love to get toknow her.”
His face breaks into a smile, and I swear the man is trying to kill me because my heart stutters again, like it’s trying to start properly working for the first time in almost a decade.
Jerking my gaze away, I walk past him into the house. He follows me, but I swear I can still feel a smile.
He places a hand on my lower back, guiding me to a small living room right off the kitchen. Everything in the house is old but clean—and I can’t explain why that makes me want to cry.
The woman sits on the couch, flipping through a magazine and waiting for us. She looks up when we enter the room. She doesn’t smile, but something about her makes me feel like she has a good reason not to.
“Lily,” Theo says, “I want you to meet Gwen. Gwen, this is Lily.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, walking over to her and sticking out my hand. Gwen stares at it for a moment as if sizing me up before she takes it, giving it a firm shake.
“So,” she says, dropping my hand and turning back to Theo. “What else brings you by?”
Theo sits on the couch opposite of her, grabbing me and pulling me down with him. He tucks me into his side, and even though there’s no one here for us to pretend for, I don’t move.
“I told you I wanted you to meet Lily,” Theo says, but I don’t miss that he doesn’t meet her gaze.
“Mmm-hmmm, and what else, boy?” Gwen asks like a knowing mother.
Theo tucks his head, hiding from her. There’s guilt written all over him. “I was hoping you would tell her your story.”
“Ah,” she says, looking at me. She doesn’t say anything for several moments, studying me as if trying to learn mine. Whatever she sees must satisfy her because she nods and says, “I suppose I can do that.”She adjusts her seat, moving to where she’s sitting more comfortably. “But it’s not just my story. It’s my son’s, too. His name was Austin.”
“Was?” I interrupt before I can think better of it.
Gwen runs her tongue along the edge of her teeth as if she’s fighting back emotions, and when she speaks, her voice is thick. “Was. Growing up, he was the sweetest kid. Despite how we—lived—” she stops, looking around at her home, “he never complained. It was just me here. My husband left before Austin was born, so I raised him alone. It wasn’t easy. There were times I was working three jobs. I would be gone almost twenty-four hours at a time just to keep the lights on. Not many people want to hire a high school drop-out, so it made it hard to get a good paying job.”
Her story could be the story of a million other people. Single parents just trying to make ends meet while their kids sit at home alone. It doesn’t make them any less loved, but the kids usually see it that way.
“By middle school, Austin had fallen into the wrong crowd. Started smoking cigarettes first. Then alcohol. Then weed. Then harder drugs. By the time I noticed, he was already addicted. We fought about it a lot—on the days I was home—and he always promised to quit. Promised he would get help. I wanted to believe him. A mother always wants to believe the best of their child, so much so that sometimes it blinds us to their reality. My wake-up call came the day I came home from work to find that the money I had set aside for bills was gone. He’d taken it to buy drugs. I was tired—beaten down and broken—and I’d had enough. I kicked him out that very night. We stopped talking.”
Gwen stops, looking at the window with a far-off look in her eyes. Her story isn’t finished, but she needs time to tell it. Selfishly, I’m thankful for that because I need time, too. This feels pointed—like Theo wanted me to hear this because he is taking my mom’s side despite what little he knows—but then I hear his words to me.
Because he was worth getting better for, and so are you. You areworth it.
So what is it he wants me to see here?
Before I can come up with an answer, Gwen continues.
“After I kicked him out, Austin spiraled. I thought it was tough love. That I was saving him by giving him a reality check instead of enabling him. I still don’t think I was wrong for that. Something had to change, but I wish I’d given him a better chance. Six months later, I received a phone call from the local hospital. Austin had died from an overdose. I spent a long time being angry—some days I’m still angry—but I had to choose to forgive him.”
I scoff, not really meaning to. It’s just the idea of forgiveness for someone who hasn’t earned it is preposterous to me. Gwen lifts one brow, and I apologize.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make light of your story or your son’s death, but I just don’t understand the concept of forgiveness.”
Theo stiffens beside me, and I realize how that must sound to him—what he must believe about himself with Tanner. But he’s earned his forgiveness, or at least he’s trying to. Gwen’s son—my mom—they were never sorry for the hurt they caused. They just kept hurting.
“Care to elaborate? Gwen asks.
I shrug. “Forgiveness comes when someone asks for it—when they prove they are sorry. If you forgive someone without change, you’re giving them permission to do it again. Eventually, you become a doormat for them to walk all over you.”
I had.
