Page 92 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
“Wesley Davis Parks, is there anything you want to tell me?” my mother asked coldly.
“No.” That was the truth, at least. I didn’t want to tell her a damn thing.
“Don’t be smart with me. What is going on with you and Hannah?”
“It’s none of your business, Mom.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Keep your voice down.” I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. “We’re friends. We enjoy spending time together.”
She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. “Were you really at Pete’s house last night?”
I didn’t answer. She got up from the table and started doing the dishes, handling them so roughly I was shocked one didn’t break.
God, I was so angry with her! Why did she have to say those things? Why did she have to believe those things? Did that mean she wasn’t ever going to accept me and Hannah together? Was she going to make me choose between them? I’d choose Hannah, because my mother was the one who was terribly, despicably wrong here, but I hadn’t been able to stand up for myself because I didn’t want to out Hannah and me without her permission or in front of her daughter.
My mother couldn’t remain silent for long. She faced me, hands on her hips. “Don’t you care what people will think?”
“Nope.”
“And what about that little girl?” She pointed in the direction Abby had just gone. “Can you see what you two are doing to her? Confusing her? Leading her to believe you could be her daddy? Letting her mind wander to all kinds of terrible places? No wonder her tummy hurts! It’s emotional abuse!”
“That’s enough.” My tone was sharp. “Drop it.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but if you two don’t have enough sense to see the damage you’re inflicting on Abby, someone needs to show you. Do you really think she isn’t affected by this? Do you think it’s normal for a child to think her uncle can become her daddy? Do you think it’s okay that she feels physical pain because of what you’re doing?”
“Stop yelling! She’ll hear you. What we’re doing isn’t wrong.”
She came closer to the table. “I cannot believe,” she fumed quietly, “that you would do such a thing to your brother.”
“This isn’t about Drew!” Now it was me being loud. I didn’t like raising my voice to my mother, but I was fed up with her.
“Oh, yes it is! It’s about all of us. It’s about loyalty to your family, Wesley Parks. That’s what matters above all. Loyalty to your family. And if you think for one second that what you’re doing isn’t wrong, or that it affects only you, or that people won’t judge you for doing something so immoral and…and sleazy, then I didn’t raise my son right. How do you think people will feel about coming to a doctor who displays such poor judgment? Did you ever think about that?”
“It’s not immoral to love someone.”
She blinked, a shocked expression on her face. “You want to talk about morals? Where is your conscience? Where is your sense of right and wrong? Your brother is turning in his grave. He never would have done this to you.” She burst into tears.
My father came into the kitchen. “What’s going on? What’s all the yelling?”
I said nothing, and my mother continued to cry. He went to her, and she turned into his arms, crying on his shoulder while he patted her back. I sat there with my head down, feeling guilty even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I hadn’t, had I? Why did it seem unclear, all of a sudden? Why was she making me feel like maybe Hannah and I hadn’t thought this all the way through? Were we crazy to think that we could be together without negative consequences? Was she right about patients not trusting me? And the comment about Drew cut deep. Was she right about that too? Would he be against us? Was my conversation with Drew on the beach simply a convenient delusion, a subconscious ploy to excuse my behavior? Wishful thinking, so I could have what I want?
“Wes?” My dad was looking at me. He was probably thinking about our conversation, the one where I’d promised to give my mother a break. The one where I’d learned how disloyal her father had been and what it had done to her mother and her childhood. It was no wonder she identified with Abby.
I exhaled and rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m sorry.”
“What exactly are you sorry for?” My mother turned to me. “Carrying on with your brother’s wife? Betraying his memory? Confusing his child? Disgracing your professional reputation?”
“Lenore,” my father said. “That’s enough.”
She grabbed a tissue and turned on him. “You can’t tell me you don’t see what’s going on around here.”
“I see it.”
Both of us stared at him. He knew?
