Page 110 of Goal Line
Luke’s walking back to us with two small plates in his hands. I’m not sure if he knows that my parents are right on his heels, but Tucker sees them approaching and, giving his brother a brief nod, says, “I’m going to grab a drink.”
Luke hands me a plate as he reaches me, and when my parents step up next to him, I can tell by the look on his face that he hadn’t noticed them until now. He steps closer to me, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the back of my hand. And when he brushes them across my skin a secondtime, I realize it’s an intentionally supportive gesture—his way of telling me he’s right here if I need him.
“You look beautiful, honey,” Dad says as he leans in and kisses my cheek, before turning toward Luke and shaking his hand.
Next to him, Mom greets us both with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt that she still has a lingering headache from this morning’s migraine, but I’m not sure she deserves it.
“I owe you an apology,” Mom says, and my gaze snaps up from my plate, where I was deciding what I’m least likely to spill down the front of my dress. “I said things the other night?—”
“You mean almosta monthago,” I say, unable to stop myself from pointing out that this apology is long overdue.
“You’re right,” she says. “And I should have reached out sooner, but I was embarrassed about how I handled the situation.”
Well, that’s a hell of a lot more honest and vulnerable than I was expecting her to be.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I say, but I know the tone of my voice doesn’t match my words. I’m simply doing what I always do and trying to smooth things over.
“It’s not, though,” Luke says from beside me, and Mom’s gaze slides over to him. “You’re not her doctor. So from now on, you don’t need to comment on what she eats or how much she weighs?—”
“Which is why I apologized,” Mom interrupts. Her voice is hard, with an edge that, no doubt, would leave the equestrian riders she trains quaking in their boots. It’s certainly had that effect on me for most of my life. But it seems tohave the opposite effect on Luke. He looks like he’s ready to lash out to protect my feelings, to protect my heart.
“An apology that should have comeweeksago,” Luke adds. I reach over and take his hand in mine, hoping a tight squeeze of his fingers will get him to stop talking. I don’t want him to inflame the situation, given that she was actually apologizing. Even if what he’s saying is true, I already said it and he doesn’t need to rub it in just to make a point.
“I’m trying to have this conversation withmy daughter,” she says to Luke.
“That’s the thing, though,” I say, and my voice wobbles with sadness. Her idea of what it means for me to be her daughter does not match up with what I needed and wanted from her as a mother. “I always wanted a mom, and you just wanted a protégée.”
“That’s not fair,” Mom says. “Everything I’ve done has been to help you succeed.”
“I know it has. And I know what you lost before you had me, and what you gave up to stay and build a family with Dad. I get why that might make you even more driven to see me succeed—” I pause when Mom turns toward my dad.
“Youtoldher?”
“She had a right to know...to understand why you are the way you are,” Dad says, his tone both tired and defensive at the same time.
My mom’s head rears back like Dad slapped her. “You had no right to share that story.”
His words are low but angry when he says, “I think sometimes you forget that I lost a baby right along with you.”
“But you didn’t lose your career!”
“Something you remind me of all too often.” Dad doesn’traise his voice, but he’s not backing down or placating her like he usually does when Mom’s upset.
For the first time in my life, I wonder if my parents’ relationship is okay. Dad’s always been the steady presence that balances out my mom’s fiery personality—and it’s always seemed to work for them. But now that I’m an adult, or maybe now that I know more of their story, I’m seeing cracks I hadn’t noticed before.
“I can’t talk about this here,” Mom says, turning on her heel to walk swiftly across the large room and toward the entryway.
“Dad, I’m sorry,” I whisper as my heart pounds so hard I can feel it beating in my throat. My head hurts now, too. Luckily, I didn’t develop my mom’s proclivity for migraines, but I do get headaches periodically.
Luke drops my hand so he can wrap his arm around my shoulders instead. The amount of time this man spends holding me together lately should earn him some sort of an award.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey,” Dad says. “You told your mom how you felt. How she handled it is on her. She’s an adult and responsible for managing her own reactions.”
“Yeah.” The word escapes on a deep sigh. I know he’s right, but after a lifetime of trying not to rock the boat—to keep my own emotions in check in order to keep my mom’s in check—this feels like a failure.
“I’m sorry too,” Luke says. “That was between Eva and Helene. I should have kept my mouth shut, but...I don’t like to see my wife hurting.”
“I know Eva can stand up for herself—and maybe youneed to let her do so more frequently. But don’t lose that protective instinct,” Dad tells my husband. “I like knowing that you’ve always got her back.”
