Page 233 of What We Brave
"That's great, Mom."
"And thegarden, Laine. Tomatoes the size of your fist. The altitude here is perfect for growing."
"I'll see it in person soon."
"Three weeks!" The joy in her voice makes my ribs ache. "I've been counting the days. I actually have a little calendar on the fridge. Your father thinks I'm being ridiculous."
"You are being ridiculous."
"I'm being amother. There's a difference." A pause. Softer now. "It's been over a year, sweet girl. You know that, right? Fourteen months."
I know.I know exactly how long. I've been counting too, just in a different direction.
"I know, Mom. I'm sorry."
"You used to come every few months. Between jobs. Remember? Wherever we were — Honduras, Ecuador, the Philippines — you'd just show up with your backpack and your sunburn and stay for a week."
"I remember."
"And then you settled in Oregon, and I thought — wonderful. She's finally staying put. We'll seemoreof her now." A small laugh that doesn't quite land. "Funny how that worked out."
It's not an accusation. That's what makes it worse. It's just... bewilderment. Her daughter stopped drifting and somehow becamelessreachable, not more.
She doesn't know why. She thinks it's the job. The new relationship. The busyness of finally building a normal life.
She doesn't know it's because I can't sit across from her and lie. And I don't know how to tell her the truth.
"I know," I say again. "I'm sorry. Things have been?—"
"You don't have to apologize, sweetheart. You're coming now. That's what matters."
Don't be so understanding. Be angry. Angry would be easier.
"So — travel plans," she says, and I can hear her pulling herself back to practical ground. "You fly into Guatemala City?"
"Yeah. Then Carlos is picking us up?"
"He insisted. He's so excited to meet you — I show him your picture constantly, the poor man probably feels like he knows you already."
"And the guest house is ready?"
"All set. Fresh sheets, clean towels. It's small but it's private." A beat. "Plenty of room for two."
For two.
"Mom — Reid and I aren't—" I stop. Regroup. "We talked about this. Blake is coming too. Reid's friend." I hate myself. He's so much more than Reid's friend.
"Right. Blake." She says his name the way you'd pick up something from the bottom of your purse. Carefully. Not sure what it is yet. "Carlos has a spare room. That should work just fine."
Tell her. Right now. Just say it.
Mom, Blake isn't Reid's friend. He's?—
"I'm looking forward to finally meeting Reid," she says. "After hearing about him for — what is it now, almost a year?"
"About that, yeah."
"Your father's already nervous. You know how he gets. He's been practicing his 'stern dad' routine in the mirror."
