Page 280 of What We Brave
The fire pops. A burst of laughter carries over from the main group. Mom is looking at Blake. Something shifts behind her eyes — I can barely see it through the blur of my own tears. Not softened. Not acceptance. But something. A flicker, like she can feel the truth of what he's saying even if she doesn't want to.
Then it's gone. She turns back to me.
"I just want you to be happy." The prayer hands again. "You know that's all I've ever?—"
"Iamhappy?—"
"Are you? Because what about — Laine, what will people think? Have you thought about that?" Her composure is cracking now, and underneath isn't the missionary. Underneath is my mother. Scared and raw. "Your colleagues, people at the hospital — what do they say when they find out?"
"The ones who matter know." It's getting easier and easier to stand tall when people ask me about my love life. Easier to be honest and not care. But none of that prepared me for this. For telling the people that raised me. Who loved me through everything.
"And the rest of the world? The world isn't kind to people who—" She takes a shaking breath and I watch her try to hold herself together and fail. "You'll never have a normal life, Laine. You'll never have a — a wedding that your father walks you down the aisle for. You'll never have?—"
"Don't." It comes out harsh. I'm trying to keep my cool. I really am. But God, this conversation is so much harder than I thought it would be. "Don't tell me my relationship doesn't?—"
"I'm saying I'm yourmotherand I'mscaredfor you?—"
"We didn't take this lightly." Reid's voice. Firm. Louder than the conversation has been, and both my parents look at him. "You don't getto sit there and — they were brave enough to figure this out. All three of us were. It was hard and complicated and we didn't take any of it lightly."
Mom opens her mouth.
"These are the best people I've ever known." Reid's leaning forward now, color in his face, and I can feel the heat coming off him — the coiled energy of a man who doesn't know how to watch people he loves get hurt and not defend them. "It was a hard situation. But we made it through it. Together. And that means something."
Blake's hand moves. Lands on Reid's arm. Quiet. Just pressure.
Reid stops. Breathes. Sits back.
The silence is thick. Heavy. Full of smoke and the distant sound of embers collapsing and everything we've said and everything we haven't.
I'm so tired. My whole body feels hollowed out — like someone reached inside and scooped everything away and left just the shell. The panic has burned through and what's underneath is just... raw. And so, so sad.
"You ask why I was afraid to tell you? What I'm most afraid of?" My voice comes out quiet. A little ragged. "It's not that you'll be angry. Or that you'll — disown me or something."
Mom makes a sound. Small, wounded.
"It's that you'll do the thing." I swallow. Try again. "The — the missionary thing. Where you say you love me. And you do. Youdolove me. But it's from — you hold me here." I hold my hand out, arm's length. It's shaking. "Right here. Close enough to see. Far enough to not... to not really be in my life anymore."
My eyes burn. I blink and the tears spill over and I don't wipe them.
"You'll be kind. You'll call. You'll ask about my — about work, about the weather. And you'll pray that I come to my senses." I look at her. Right at her. "And you'll wait. And I'll know you're waiting. And that's — that's the thing I can't?—"
Having them on the periphery of my life, having some shadow of a relationship would be worse than not having a relationship at all. And right now, both of those things feel like very real possibilities.
I can't finish. My throat closes around the rest of it and I just sit there, tears running, hands shaking in my lap.
Mom is crying. Silent. Silvery tears running down her cheeks. Dad has his hand on her back. He hasn't spoken in a long time and his face is closed.
For just a second, I wish I could have the husband and the kids, whatever they want for me, so that they never look like that again.
But I can't give up my guys. Being with anyone else would be impossible, and I can't put myself into some small box just to make them happy.
Even if that means losing them.
"We need—" Dad clears his throat. Stands. His chair scrapes against the dirt. "We need some time, Laine. To think. To pray."
To pray.To go somewhere private and try to fit this into the framework that's held their entire lives together.
"Okay," I whisper.
