Page 88 of The Upgrade

I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen for a second. Did I call someone else’s mother?

“I’m sorry,” she says as I put the phone back to my ear. “You’re one hundred percent right. About everything, Eve. And I don’t mean to pin all the blame on Hank or even Brock.”

I open my mouth to say Brock’s most definitely a shit, but Mom beats me to it. “Never mind—I hope you know it is absolutely, positively not your fault Brock couldn’t keep his corndog to himself.”

Corndog? I stifle a laugh that comes out like a sob.

“Eve, honey, I’m sorry.”

“Wait.” I’m still hung up on what she said about men being shits. “Are you and Hank having problems?”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re right I wasn’t there for you like I should have been.” She draws a shuddery breath. “Your father left before you were born, and I felt so alone and ashamed. Like I couldn’t hold on to a man. Then Hank came along and I wanted to prove I could make marriage work. That I could give you stability and safety.”

Part of me understands that. “I needed support more than stability. I needed a mother who had my back.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I’d do everything differently.”

That’s it. The apology I’ve wanted to hear.

But I need more than that to move on. I need to understand.

“You told me so often how important marriage was.” Until it boiled up just now, I didn’t know how tightly I’d clung to that lesson. “How there’s nothing more meaningful than the bond between husband and wife.”

Mom scoffs. “I said a lot of things that sound stupid in hindsight.” She takes another long breath. “So did Hank.”

“He did.” Does she have any idea how much that hurt me? “He made me feel abnormal. Like something was wrong with me if I wasn’t exactly like Perfect Presley. How I must bedefectivefor masturbating or having sex for fun. I’ve spent so many years untangling complicated feelings around sexuality.”

“You and me both.” She mutters those words like I’m not meant to hear.

“Mom?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, more loudly this time. “If it makes any difference, I’ve been seeing a therapist. I want to do better. For you and for me.”

“Really?” I couldn’t be more shocked if she said she’d bought a vibrator.

“I’m sorry, I’m making this all about me. You called to talk about?—”

“About this, actually.” All of it. From my relationship with Mom to my relationship with sex. From her relationship with Hank to whatever created our whole fucked up dynamic with shame.

“What are you learning in therapy?” I ask.

“To stand up for myself,” she says softly. “That I have a lot of shame rooted deeply in family dynamics. Stuff that goes way back to your grandparents. Mostly, I’m learning it’s important to honor my own wants and needs.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” Thinking of therapy reminds me of Kit. Of how much he’s hurting right now.

Is missing Miranda the heart of his pain, or is it more about feeling unworthy? Kit’s own brand of shame, not all that different from mine.

But that’s his to sort out. I can’t make it my problem this time.

“Mom?” I hesitate. “I’m really proud of you for doing that work.”

“Thank you, honey.” She pauses, too. “I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself. For kicking that cheating jerk to the curb.”

All this vulnerability prompts me to share. “I’m at a sex resort right now.”

I wait for the gasp. For her judgment or lecture on marriage.

“Did you say sex resort?”

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