Page 107 of You Met Me There

“What do you want to watch?” she asks with a warm smile.

I lean forward, resting my own cup of hot coffee on the low table in the center of the room. My pulse races. “Actually, Mom, I wanted to talk to you about something, if that’s alright?”

She looks up with a questioning gaze. “Oh, okay. What is it?”

“I … um … I want to tell you about why Natalie and I went to Maple Lake this summer.”

She leans back, holding the cup between her hands, nestling into the comfort of the blanket. She looks bright, rested and awake, a stark contrast to the image I hold of her when she wasn’t herself for months at a time.

“Was it not to see her family?” she asks, her thin brows creasing the slightest bit.

Inside, I feel myself becoming small, folding into the child who was afraid to say anything that might trigger her and make her condition worse. “It wasn’t for that, actually.”

She watches me, waiting for the words that I’ve held onto to spill out. The words I’d been wanting to tell her on my last day in Maple Lake.

At my reservation, Mom smiles warmly. “You can tell me anything, Luke. You know that. Don’t be afraid.”

Afraid. I’ve been afraid since I was seven.

My head nods while my throat bobs where the words stick. “Natalie and I were having trouble … so she left me. And her running back to Maple Lake was what brought me there after her.”

My mother’s eyes narrow, and her mouth falls open slightly, revealing her surprise. “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t know that.” Her face turns thoughtful. “You’ve both always seemed fine. I had no idea there was marital stress between you two.”

“I didn’t either,” I say, putting my head in my hands. “I mean, I knew, but I didn’t know. I didn’t realize how serious it was. I didn’t see the signs that she was pulling away. I didn’t listen to what she said she needed, even though she told me, and I almost lost her.” Heat flares on my neck, and I look away. “She told me again and again, but I didn’t listen. It was my fault. I pushed her away. I couldn’t give her what she wanted.” I look up at Mom, meeting her gaze.

“What was it that you couldn’t give her?” Her voice is soft, encouraging me to press on.

I don’t break our gaze. “I couldn’t give her kids.”

Mom’s eyes fill and leak over with tears, a silent understanding.

“Natalie’s wanted to be a mom for so long,” I say, “but I … I was scared.”

She nods as she listens, watching me with the emotion of a mother who knows she’s placed that fear on her own child. But she remains quiet, letting me finish.

“When I saw you, how you were changed—different—after your losses, I swore I wouldn’t let that happen to anyone else I loved. You weren’t really … here, anymore. I thought I lost you.” My fingers reach for my cast, running along the top edge, searching for a way to ease the tension building in me. It takes all the strength I have to talk about this, about my worst days and about hers.

Mom’s chin quivers, and when she finally speaks, it’s with a small voice. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. To teach you to be brave and to love you the right way and … see you. It was really hard for me to let go—to let the babies go. I didn’t know why it was happening, and I blamed myself for all of it.”

I nod, hating the heat behind my eyes and the tears on her face. Hating that I’m making her relive those darker days, casting the shadows over her light.

“But no matter how dark those days were,” she says, “you were always my life, Luke. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but you were always my source of peace—my joy. And I am so very sorry that the darkness in me leaked into you.” Another tear drips down her flushed cheek.

My smile is nothing more than a flat line as I press my lips together, but I pat the couch cushion beside me, motioning for her to sit closer. If I were able to walk better, I’d rush to her myself.

Mom leaves her mug on the coffee table and carries the yellow blanket to the couch, nestling in beside me. I lift my arm over her shoulders, tucking her into my side. She smells like sunscreen and flowers.

“I wasn’t a good mom,” she states, letting out a short breath.

I look down at her. “Mom, you are the best mother I could have ever asked for. I never wanted you to be someone different. I only wanted you to be okay—to be here with me. I don’t blame you for suffering from depression. No one falls into it on purpose.”

“I know, but I should have tried to hide it from you. You were just a kid. I shouldn’t have let you be scared. I—” Her voice breaks on a teary inhale, and I lean my head against the side of her blonde hair. When she has her breath back, she says, “I should have done better. I never wanted you to be scared of starting your own family. I want you to have a life you love, not one that you don’t because you have to deal with someone else’s burdens.”

She looks up at me, her seafoam-green eyes a little red. “I went to therapy,” she states. “That’s what helped. Have you tried to talk to someone about it?”

My eyes bounce between hers, and I nod. “I started seeing someone when I got out of the hospital. Nat’s been driving me to appointments.”

“And the two of you? Have you worked things out?”