Page 51 of Almost Perfect
She dropped her chin, her blue eyes pinning me. “Get throughme.Trust me, if I find someone I like enough, he’ll meet you boys. But until that time, you will absolutely not be screening my dates, and that’s final.”
I shifted in my seat, effectively chastened. “Okay. Message received.”
She nodded with finality, then reached out and set her warm, soft hand on my arm. “My point in telling you all of this is that if you think Calla is someone special, you’d be a fool not to try with her. Forget the distance, forget the popstar thing for now. Just… ease into it. See if what you see in her is something real, or just that gorgeous face and sexy voice.”
“Mom.”
She raised her hands as if to plead her innocence. “I’m just saying. Don’t let that stubborn part of you that thinks things can only be right one way cause you to miss out.”
I frowned, a rock in my gut doubling in size. “I’ll try not to, but it’s not just that.”
Studying the dregs of the brown tea at the bottom of the cup kept me from seeing her reaction, but she turned my head toward hers with a hand on my cheek.
“My sweet boy. Don’t be afraid to try with this one.”
This time, I did let out a long exhale. “I’ll try.”
She made a face she’d been making all my life—a frowny smile. It was this certainMomexpression that said she loved me, sheknewme, and she wanted me to tell her whatever was on my mind. “What is it? There’s something else?”
I cleared my throat, then did it again because it hadn’t worked quite right the first time. “I think I feel guilty. About being older than Dad.”
The second my words hit, her eyes swam, and she pressed two fingers to her lips. “Oh, Wy. I’m sorry.”
I sniffed back the emotion creeping in. “Not your fault.”
She reached for my hand, and I gave it to her. “Maybe not. But it never occurred to me you might be struggling with that. Have you talked to anyone about it?”
“Aside from you?”
“Think about it, please. But also hear me when I say that your dad would want you boys to live your lives to the fullest. To take every chance, enjoy every opportunity, and love with your whole hearts. He might’ve been serious at times, but he loved me—us—so well.” She smiled, the brightness discordant next to her reddened eyes and quivering chin. “I hate that you didn’t get to see more of that. But if you can trust me, please know that you living a full life is a legacy that will honor his.”
My jaw ached from the way I’d clenched my teeth to keep the tears at bay. If I let loose, I didn’t know how long it might take for me to recover. I’d be crying for my dad—for the years he didn’t get to have, and the years we didn’t have with him. I’d cry for me, and the years I’d now realized I’d wasted in this muddy hole of a thought process I hadn’t recognized.
She squeezed my hand once more, then released it so she could scuttle over to the bathroom and grab a tissue. After dabbing under her eyes, we shared a subdued smile.
“He would be so proud of you, honey—of all you boys. You’ve each got your struggles, but you’re all good men. Promise me you’ll let yourself off the hook.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” And then, bless her to the end of time, she changed the subject.
I listened as she talked about the people who’d contacted her on the RuralMatch app. By the time I left, I could feel it coming. I knew what I wanted to do and just had to figure out how to do it.
I didn’t want to be afraid of what could happen, or how things might change. And I didn’t want to live with this dread, which I now fully embraced was rooted in the guilt of something I couldn’t control. I’d lived longer than my father, who was a good man. But I couldn’t stop living my life because of that, and in doing so, it might be the very opposite of what I’d wanted. It didn’t honor him, that was for sure.
So after a week of mulling in the weird stew of my messed-up perspective, I knew what I had to do. I had to focus on how little I liked the prospect of not seeing her again instead of how incompatible we might be.
Or maybe I’d frame it like a trial run. A first foray into allowing myself to embrace something that drew me in and made me feel so much.
Question was, would she even want to try?
TWENTY-ONE
Calla
The knock on my door made me jump, which then made my hot chocolate dump out on my white shirt. This happened because one, the knock had startled me, and two, I’d made it through the day without spilling anything else on the shirt, so the laws of nature required me to mess it up now.
It was one of many reasons I opted for black at most other times. This trip had been an escape, and since black tended to heavily feature in my Mayhem wardrobe, I’d revolted against packing much of it at all.
