Page 53 of Darkwater Lane

“Connor—” I start to say.

He cuts me off. “I know what you’re going to say, Mom. You’re going to explain how I don’t understand, how our family is different, and we’re not normal. And yeah, I get that. But at a certain point, you’re going to have to figure out a way to trust me. Lanny too.”

My eyes go wide at the mention of his sister. “You two have talked about this?”

“Of course we have.”

I look out the window at the gray-steel sky. The weather report called for snow, but none has fallen yet. Still, the clouds are low, shrouding the hills around us. I think about what he’s telling me and wonder how long he’s been waiting to have this conversation.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“Yes, you did,” he says simply.

The comment strikes deep but true. He’s right. I’ve known that my kids felt constrained by all these rules, but I never considered that my attentiveness might feel suffocating.

I never considered that the biggest problem in my kids’ lives might be me.

“I want to get my driver’s license,” he tells me.

My instinct is to tell him no, but I stop myself. The thought of him driving on his own nearly gives me hives, but maybe it’s not a bad idea. Knowing how to drive is a valuable skill. If something happens and he needs to bail, he’ll be able to. “We can discuss it. It’s probably a good idea for you to know how to drive. That way, if there’s trouble, you can?—”

“No, Mom, you’re not hearing me. I don’t want my license because it’s a good defensive skill. I want my license because I’m about to be sixteen, and every other kid my age already knows how to drive. I want to be able to go places on my own. To the grocery store, or to a hobby store, or the movies.”

“You know I’m always happy to drive you.”

He groans, starting to become exasperated. “It’s not about going to those places; it’s about the freedom, Mom. It’s about me growing up and you accepting that and letting go.”

Only a parent could understand how much those words hurt. My throat aches, and I take a moment to look out the window, trying to keep my tears at bay. Anytime I try to think about letting either of my children go, I remember the moment I held them in my arms for the first time. I remember how desperately fragile and needy they were. The understanding was instant: Who I was before—woman, wife, friend—that all still existed, but it all became secondary to this one driving purpose: being their mother.

There’s a comfort in being needed by them and providing for them in turn. As infants, when they were hungry, I could feedthem. When they were cold, I could hold them closer. When they were tired, I could rock them. When they cried, I could soothe them.

But that’s the terrible truth about your kids growing up: if you do it right, they need you less and less. They become their own people, with their own desires and thoughts, and their life will always be about them and rarely about you. At least until they have their own kids, and the cycle continues.

Connor’s right. I know he’s right. I’ve known it since I found the college acceptance letters in Lanny’s room. I just haven’t wanted to face it. And that’s not fair to my kids. I can’t prioritize my own comfort at their expense.

As if sensing my internal struggle, Connor leans toward me, his arm pressed to mine. He nudges me with his elbow. “I’m not planning to run away from home and join the circus. I just want to sign up for driving lessons. It’s okay, Mom.”

“I only want what’s best for you,” I tell him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know. Lanny and I both know that. You just have to give us some space. Give us a chance to show you that you can trust us.”

I don’t think he understands how big an ask he’s making. “Honey, with the podcast and everything else, it’s just not the right time.”

He shakes his head, clearly disappointed, and pushes up from the couch. “There’s always going to be something. There always is,” he says before turning and retreating to his room.

I stand, intending to go after him, but I change my mind. Any response I give him is going to be borne out of my usual instincts to protect him and his sister. He’s heard it all. He knows the arguments and understands the reasoning, but that’s not enough anymore.

What he needs is for me to listen to what he’s saying and think about it. To truly consider his point of view.

But the dangers are still out there, my mind screams. The number of threats online has multiplied exponentially. The hate against our family is relentless.

And it’s never going to go away. That’s the point Connor was trying to make. He’s tired of letting that fear drive him. Or rather, he’s tired of letting that fear drive me, and me in turn driving him.

I think about what it must have taken for him to confront me about all of this. To stand up for himself. If anything, it’s proof that the thousands of dollars a year in therapy has been money well spent. It’s remarkable how self-aware Connor is and how well he knows himself and his needs.

There was a time when I knew his every need. It’s time for me to admit that’s no longer the case. He’s told me what he needs. I have to listen.

With uneasiness churning in my stomach, I retreat to my office. It still isn’t fully set up—just a desk with my laptop plugged in and a lamp. We haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying, so we haven’t figured out how much unpacking and rearranging we should do.

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