Page 126 of Meet Me in the Valley
But then in Vegas, seeing her show up in that house like a beautiful ghost—the story became clear. The questions had answers.
She left me for another kid.
For Nora.
That’s what I told myself, because it made the most sense. It was easier to carry anger than confusion.
But that was before Tia left me broken in that hotel room. Before I went back to talk to Nora. That conversation cracked something open in me. And for the first time, I saw it for what it really was.
My mom didn’t just choose Nora. Shesaved her.Nora and Cali became my mother’s penance. Her guilt made flesh. She poured everything she had into Nora’s fragile world—into the role of mothering a lonely, pregnant teenager—because she couldn’t face what she’d abandoned in me.
And hearing that confession come from my mother’s mouth after everything, I finally understand.
Words fail me. Only the low hum of people in the restaurant—the kitchen door swinging open and closed as servers bustle in and out. A baby crying. A person laughing.
I sit silently, but the words my mother shares speak volumes.
Then her voice breaks completely, soft and frayed. “If there’s anything I regret? It’s walking out onyou. None of this was ever your fault. It was all on me. All of it.”
And suddenly, I wish we weren’t in this restaurant. I wish we were anywhere else, because the sting behind my eyes is turning into something unmanageable.
Tears threaten, welling so fast I can feel the heat of them gathering. I clench my jaw, staring hard at my plate, willing myself not to fall apart in public.
Not here. Not now.
Our server approaches, likely ready to ask if we need anything else, but I cut in before he can speak. “Can we get the check, please?”
He picks up on the tension right away. With a quick nod and no questions, he quietly slips away to close out our tab.
My mother holds my gaze, leaving behind a trail of tears and a table full of untouched food. But this was never about sharing a meal. It was never really about forgiveness, either.
It was about reclaiming something I thought I lost a long time ago.
My control. My sense of worth. The version of me that wasn’t built around the fear of being left again.
The fear that chased me into a life of emotional vacancy. One-night stands. False starts. Leading women halfway to something I couldn’t handle before they had the chance to leave me first.
But now, with a clear mind and a steady heart, I look across the table at the source of all that pain.
And for once, I don’t feel small in front of her. I see her love for me. Even if I can’t fully accept it—not yet. But I see it.
And maybe for today, that’s enough.
“Thank you for telling me, Mom,” I say quietly.
Her breath catches, lips trembling as she tries to hold back a cry threatening to rise. When she finally gives me a real, but shaky smile, I return it without hesitation.
The check comes, and I toss a wad of cash on the table, telling the server to keep the change. I box up my meal and rise from my seat, already feeling a thousand pounds lighter than when I walked in.
My mother stands too, her head barely reaching my chin. When I pull her into a hug, she melts into me, crying softly against my chest.
Uncaring about the curious stares from strangers, I give her permission to cling onto me for as long as she needs as we stand in a crowded restaurant and put the past behind us.
Behind me.
When she finally pulls back, I press a soft kiss to her cheek. As I turn to leave, something sticks in my chest. One last thread I need to cut clean.
“Mom?”
