Page 126 of Then You Happened
“I’m okay,” I say through the sniffle. “I’m fine.” And really, I am. The ranch. Jack. Me. Things are looking up. “I—you—it’s just so good to hear your voice.”
“Oh, thank goodness. You scared me there for a second.”
Even though the words are spoken, even though the reconnection has been made, silence falls on the line.
You were right about Fletcher.
Do you know how much I needed you but knew I couldn’t call you?
You were wrong. I never came crawling back.
The resentment I have surges back up and overtakes the momentary forgiveness I granted her with. Her shame I can sense through the line seems like it swallows her words.
“Tate—I—I don’t know what to say.”
It’s funny because there’s so much to say, so much hurt and pain to work through, but neither of us know where to start. We only know that we have to.
“I wanted to call and tell you that I’m okay. I’m not asking for money. I’m not calling to tell you that you and Dad were right. I just needed you to know that I’m okay.”
Her breath hitches, and I wonder what she looks like now. Is she still as elegant as before but with more lines etched in her face? Does she still hum classic rock songs when she cooks dinner? Does she ever think of me?
“I think of you every day.”
The answer to my question has me fighting back another wave of tears. “That’s good to know.” My voice is barely audible and loaded with caution.
“Tate, honey . . . I’m at a loss for words.”
“I am too, Mom. Like I said, I just needed you to know I’m okay.”
A pause follows as we both struggle with the discomfort brought on by years of the unresolved. “How do we fix this, Tate? How do we . . .”
“I don’t know.” My hands tremble, my heart doesn’t know how to feel, and my lips don’t know what else to say. “This is a start.” And it is. “At least now you have my phone number.”
“Maybe we can talk again?” she asks timidly.
“Of course.” I swallow, my mouth dry, my tongue heavy. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Mom.”
I end the call and stand in my backyard with trees around me and Gracie at my heels and wonder if, in time, I can learn to forgive her and my father.
I can’t wrap my head around that just yet. I can’t open myself back up to the only other people in my life besides Fletcher who devastated me.
But I needed to know that I could.
I needed to hear her voice. So many things in my life are looking up, so many unresolved things are now being resolved . . . maybe I needed to know the last thing left out there—my relationship with my parents—might be able to be too.
Maybe I needed to know this so in my mind, I could move forward on a clean slate.
And now I know I can.
When I catch sight of Jack walking to the edge of the verandah, his head angled to the side, his expression curious as he studies me, I know that I can, in fact, open myself back up again.
Look at what happened when I did with him. My life changed for the better.
“Everything okay?” he asks as he holds out a glass of wine to me.
I nod with my phone clenched tightly in my hand, another piece of hope taken back that I feared I had lost forever, and smile.
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