Page 46 of Caught in Us
“Yeah.” But somehow it doesn’t quite feel that way. In the entry, my purse sits next to the car seat. I open it and retrieve the toy.
“Truck!” Matthew swipes it from my hands, drops to the ground, and starts driving it across my mother’s pristine hardwood floors. I cringe, hoping she doesn’t come out and find us. Yes, I’m a grown woman who’s still scared of her mother’s wrath.
“Mama!” He stops and looks up at me with his big brown eyes. “Dig?”
Good call. “Yes. That would be a good outside toy.”
Matty takes off for the back door at my suggestion.
I take a step to follow when my purse dings with the alert of a text notification, my cell lost somewhere in its depths.
“I’ve got him.” Simon laughs. “Join us when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” I nod, my shoulders still tight with tension from the stress of today. Picking up my bag, I scrounge around until my fingers wrap around my phone. My breath catches when I read the message.
Chase: Thank you again for today.
I swallow hard, taking a moment before I respond. There’s something painful about him thanking me. It feels backward somehow.
Me: You’re really good with him.
It takes a few minutes for his next text to come, the bubbles disappearing and reappearing while I wait anxiously for his response.
Chase: I wish I could have been there for him. For you both.
All these years I’ve stayed away. I’d been holding on to the hope that I was doing the right thing for my son. I kept him away from Chase—for both of us. Because Matthew deserved a life without an alcoholic father. He deserved to have a sober mother. I cut off relationships for my son’s safety. It wasn’t only Chase I stayed away from. It was Callie and Jill too. I knew my distance hurt them, as much if not more than it did me. But it was worth it.
Or so I thought.
In my mind, Chase was a man who would have brought me down. His struggle with sobriety would have been my downfall. A co-dependent relationship would have been our demise.
Now I’m not so sure.
Everything I thought I knew, the hard truths, they’re built on a foundation of sand.
Chase isn’t struggling. He’s not screwed up. His life isn’t a mess.
Quite the opposite. He’s in a committed relationship. He’s sober and happy. Working and part of the community. He spends his freaking free time helping at-risk teens. And God, does he look good. Age has only heightened his features. The laugh lines around his eyes. The short beard along his jawline.
He could have been mine.
We could have been a family.
I didn’t have to give up my best friends to save my son.
I threw away everything for nothing.
Guilt presses on my chest, the ability to breathe freely temporarily suspended by this train of thought. I’m a horrible person. A horrible mother. Oh, God. What have I done? How can I even try to make up for this? For keeping my son from his father. For not giving Chase the opportunity to step up and be there. He’s missed so much—all moments I stole from him. How will he ever forgive me? Can I even forgive myself?
There’s something I need to do, a small offering in the face of what I denied him.
Me: Can we meet tonight? I can come to you.
Chase: I’ll be at the teen center from six to ten.
Me: I’ll be there.
I head outside to join Simon and watch my son, but my thoughts are filled with apprehension. Tucked inside my suitcase is a small package I brought just in case. It won’t fix things or make up for the years, but it’s all I can offer and hopefully it’s enough.
