Page 53 of Chance's Choice
My best friend’s whole countenance brightens and his shoulders sag with relief. “Thank God. The next step was going to be an intervention.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I scoff, laughing. “Dramatic, much?”
“I’m serious. I’ve beenworried, man. You’ve got a good thing going with Kade. Don’t blow it because you’re a stubborn ass.”
I try to dispel some of the discomfort I feel at those words with humor. “You’re channeling your books again.”
“No, I’m channeling common sense again.”
I lob a fry at him. “Asshole.”
Spencer just shakes his head, smirking. “Shut up and finish your heart attack on a plate.”
I give him the one-fingered salute before I do just that.
* * *
I do not, in fact, go directly home after lunch. Instead, I find myself driving towards a neighborhood I’ve avoided for twenty years. I know that what I’m about to do might be a huge fucking mistake, but Ineedto do it anyway. I wanted to do this weeks ago, back when Kade first told me what had happened. I haven’t been able to shake the urge off.
I need the closure. I need to look my father in the eye and tell him exactly what I think of him. Once this is done, I can go home to Kade and tell him what I’ve been struggling with and, hopefully, explain that I’ve resolved it…or potentially fucked everything up in an epic way. How this is going to all end is yet to be seen, but at least I’ll know.
I pull my car into the driveway of the large two story brick and tile home I grew up in. Despite not having been here in two decades, it feels almost as though I only left a week ago. Memories -good and bad- assault me as I turn off the ignition and take the place in.
It hasn’t changed.
Sure, the shutters appear to have been repainted in a bright white, and the tiled roof looks like it’s also been given a refresh, but the dappled red brickwork is the same as it always was. Mom’s garden beds are still neatly trimmed with little blossoms of white flowers popping out amongst the green foliage of the low hedges. The cobblestone path leading to the front porch is still scratched and scuffed from my years of crashing matchbox cars along it.
With a deep breath, I peel myself out of the driver’s seat and close my car door quietly, locking it with a click of a button. I stuff my keys, and then both hands, deep into the pockets of my jeans before I force myself up the path.
At the front door, painted white with a stained glass rose design inlaid into the middle of the top panels, I tug my right hand back out of my pockets and press the doorbell, smirking as the familiar strains of Beethoven’s 5thring out through the house.
God, my parents were pompous assholes. What’s wrong with a generic ding-dong, anyway?
It’s not long before I can hear the click-clacking of heeled footsteps down the tiled floors I know are behind this door. I’m momentarily struck by the thought, ‘What the fuck have I done?’, but I’m powerless to do anything about it when the handle turns and the door swings inward, revealing my mother.
She gapes at me, her jaw dropping, while I take her in.
The house might not have changed, but she has. Where once her hair was auburn, it’s now gray and dull. Where once it sat at her shoulders, it’s now a neat concave bob cut that cradles her weathered face. The past twenty years have added more lines than I’d anticipated, and her once taut cheeks are beginning to sag with age. But her eyes -currently brimming with tears- are as bright and blue as I’ve always remembered.
An overwhelming pang of regret threatens to make my knees weak. “Hey, Mom,” I croak, surprised by just how terribly I’ve missed her.
We were never super close, but she supported me when I came out, even though Dad didn’t. She wasn’t the overtly emotional kind of mom, but I always knew that she loved me. Hell, her calls on holidays and my birthday every year prove that she’s never quite given up on me.
“Chance,” she breathes, clutching so tightly at the door that I can see her age-spotted knuckles turning white. “Sweetheart, what…? Why…?” She stops and gives herself a shake, brushing away the gathering tears in her eyes with her free hand. A watery laugh escapes her and she steps back, pulling the door open wide. “Come in, come in.”
Hesitating only for the briefest moment, I take another steadying breath and cross the threshold, wiping the soles of my shoes on the mat inside the door. Mom waits for me to step aside and then closes the door behind me.
“Oh, Chance,” she sobs, throwing her arms around me in an uncharacteristic display of both affection and emotion. I’m not exactly tall, but the top of her head only reaches my chin. As I tentatively wrap my arms around her shaking frame, I’m startled by how frail she feels. She’s only in her early sixties, but I’m suddenly worried about her health. “I’m so happy to see you.”
I almost miss those last words, muffled as they are by my shirt and chest, but she’s beaming as she pulls away to wipe at her now reddened eyes.
I feel like a dick for having pretty much cut her out of my life when I left home. Dad deserved it. Mom did not.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.
“No, sweetheart. I understand. I do. But,” curiosity steals over her features, “what brings you home now? After all this time?”
I lick my lips, surprised that Dad hasn’t ranted and raved at her about my kinky love life. In his eyes, I’m certain it just reaffirmed all the ugly things he spat at me when I came out to them. Maybe Ted was right. Maybe he is too embarrassed by it to actually use the knowledge. Even with Mom.
