Page 27 of Fighting for You
As I unfold the paper, my heart clamors in my chest. I’m not sure I’m ready to face whatever’s on the other side of this, but the second I see my nickname written at the top—the name only she was allowed to call me—I realize I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.
My Brooksy Boy,
If you’re reading this, it means your father and I are no longer with you. I hope this letter finds its way to your hands in your later years of life, but I know that isn’t a guarantee, and I could be gone tomorrow.
Your father and I weren’t the best at parenting you, but I hope you know it was never your fault. You always had big emotions, and although it was never a bad thing, we didn’t always know how to handle them in the way you needed us to.
You, my Brooksy Boy, were the light of my life. You made me a mama, and I loved watching you grow up and seeing your eyes light up when you found a new kind of art that spoke to your heart.
I also hated watching your light die. It especially broke my heart because I know it was our doing. You don’t know how much I hope you’ve found your inspiration again.
We didn’t leave you the restaurant, and I hope you aren’t upset by it. I need you to chase your dreams, baby boy. Those dreams aren’t here in Indigo Hill. I know you saw the hurt your brother leaving caused us, and I think it’s why you chose to stay close. But this town is too small for your talent, my love. We should have told you sooner.
We were so proud to see your work hanging on the front of the family business. And if you think we didn’t notice more of your work popping up around town, you’re mistaken. It brought us such joy to see you with a passion again, even if you didn’t trust us enough to share it with us.
So, we didn’t leave you the restaurant because I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay. I don’t want that burden on you any longer.
We left you the house so you could choose to sell it to fund your dreams or keep it as a refuge. The choice is entirely yours, though I do hope you choose to leave it all behind.
I love you with all my heart,
—Mom
I read the letter over and over, fumbling with my dad’s old pocket knife while tears fall down my cheeks and onto the page, cascading onto the paper like tiny explosions of relief. I had no idea what to expect from her last message to me, but… it wasn’t this. Ineverexpected this. I read it once more, just to be sure I understand. Just to feel close to her for another moment. For the first time since they both passed, I allow myself to feel grief. Grief I watched Thea and the rest of the town go through for weeks now.
I didn’t let myself feel it, I didn’t feel worthy of feeling it. I thought they were probably relieved they didn’t have to deal with me anymore, like maybe their deaths were actually burdens being lifted from their shoulders, from their souls. The burden of me.
I had myself convinced my parents didn’t love me. I thought my childhood was a labyrinth of twisted feelings and dead dreams. I didn’t even think they saw me or knew I was suffering. I’d spent so much time cursing myself for caring about people who I didn’t think cared about me. But they did. It hits me like a tidal wave that they not only cared about me, but they loved me.
And they knew. Despite me trying my best to keep my work under wraps, somehow they’d found out. Maybe Thea told them. Even if she did, knowing it meant something to my parents has mended a piece of me I never knew how to fix. I choke myself up rereading the words“We were so proud to see your work hanging in front of the family business.”
The realization of it all hits me like a ton of bricks. I can’t keep back my sobs as I lay down on the bed, placing my hands over my face to try and stop the tsunami of tears. I never knew how much I needed to hear these things. A part of me is sofuckingmad they didn’t tell me when they were alive, and theother part of me is upset they aren’t here for me to hug them and tell them how much I love them too.
And the house… knowing they left it to me on purpose so I could sell it to chase my dreams only pushes me even more over the edge. Everything about this moment brings so much clarity to the surface. Cary may have been blind to the things going on around him during our childhood, things I held against him into adulthood, but maybe I was blind too. Maybe I’d held my parents to an unattainable standard and then held it against them when they didn’t meet it.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table, clicking on the messages app, ignoring all the unread texts as I scroll through for Cary’s name.
12/11 9:42 p.m.
Me: I’m sorry.
Delivered
I know it isn’t enough, but it’s all I can give right now. I just hope it isn’t too late to make amends with him. I don’t want to make the same mistakes as my parents and rely on a letter to explain what I couldn’t say all along.
I decide I’m done being the pathetic letdown I’ve been ever since Cary moved to Seattle and I told myself my dreams were dead. They aren’t. They don’t have to be. If Hayes doesn’t have a chair for me, I’ll look somewhere else, some other town. The thought gives me more determination than I’ve ever had before. So before I go to bed, I write out a list of everything I need to do to get the house ready to sell.
I promise myself I’ll finally do something that makes me happy because maybe, after all, Idodeserve it.
Chapter Twelve
Margot
“What are we drinking?” Thea says a little too loudly with a big smile aimed at me. Her eyes are glossy and cheeks pink, apparently she and Ripley started drinking before I called her an hour ago.
I’m grateful she didn’t give me much notice for when to meet up because I’m sure I would have cancelled if I had more time to second-guess. I changed my outfit three times before I left my house, and my hands were clammy in the back of the rideshare the whole way here.
I’m not entirely sure why I called her. Maybe Lydia and Hayes finally got through to me. Or maybe, if I’m going to be honest with myself, the painting has left me rattled, and I don’t want to be alone right now. Taking Thea and Ripley up on their standing offer to go out seems like a great way to get my mind off of it.
