Page 87 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“Of course. I’m your mother.” Releasing me, she takes a seat on the edge of my bed and pats the spot next to her. I join her, letting my weight sink into the mattress. “I know I’m not the perfect parent by any means, but it wasn’t exactly hard to notice my daughter was in love with the boy down the street. The same boy who I’m certain had loved her since kindergarten.”
I’m not cognizant of my fingers tracing over theMcharm that dangles at my collarbone until my mom’s gaze settles there. I haven’t been able to take it off. I don’t want to take it off.
“I wish you would have confided in me back then,” she says. “I knew how heartbroken you were when it ended, how heartbroken you both were, and I wish you would’ve let me be there for you so you didn’t have to go through it alone.”
There’s hurt in her eyes, and I wonder again if I’m the one who screwed up here. If it was me who was putting up the barriers between myself and my family, simply because they had different personalities and interests than me. Maybe I was never understood because I didn’t allow myself to be, and I certainly didn’t seek out trying to understand them, either.
“Why didn’t you tell me what Ben was going through?” Thequestion isn’t an accusation, so I hope she doesn’t take it that way. “This entire time, I thought he changed his mind and didn’t want to be with me.”
“I thought about it several times,” she says. “Especially when you were hurting. But the fact was, it wasn’t my story to share. You also have to understand that as an adult in the situation, I really struggled with what to do. I’d always viewed Ben’s parents as somewhat absent and aloof, which is why I tried to keep him here with us as much as I could, but I didn’t know the full extent of their negligence until his father left. And once that happened, Ben was almost a legal adult.”
Even now, I can see in my mom’s far-off gaze that she’s reexamining every action she took back then. Questioning whether there was more she could have done.
“Ben told me back then that he loved you, but he knew you deserved more than he could give right then…And I had to respect that.”
Ben told my mom that he loved me.
He may not have said it to me, but he said it to her.
“Sweetheart, sometimes the timing just isn’t right. Ben was mature enough, even at seventeen, to realize he needed to walk away and take care of himself before he could be with you.”
My heart is a worn-out battery on its last leg, my core a hollow, desolate cave. My eyes are swollen from all the tears shed over the past two weeks, but I think I’ve finally cried them all.
Mom must notice I’m barely managing to stay upright, because she puts her arm around me and pulls me to her, letting me relax against her shoulder as we sit in silence. I take in her floral perfume scent. The soft warmth of her embrace. And I thinkabout how different things could have been fourteen years ago if I would have let her in when I was hurting. Maybe she would have sat with me while I cried on the bathroom floor. Or stayed up with me during all the sleepless nights. Maybe she would have demanded that I eat something or talked to my teachers when my grades plummeted that fall. Maybe it would have been easier, if only just a little bit.
“I went to Charlotte’s graveside service a couple of years ago,” she eventually says as she strokes my hair. “It was the first time I’d seen Ben in years.”
“I thought you said it was private. Family only.”
“Sweetie, Ben is our family.” I close my eyes, exhausted and spent. “Do you want to know the first thing he said to me after the service? He walked straight up to me and asked, ‘How’s Mona?’ After all those years, his first thought was you. Not me. Not your brothers. You. And I said to him, ‘Don’t you think it’sfinallytime you find out for yourself?’ ”
I straighten and turn to her, and she takes my hand and squeezes, her palm soft and warm, yet strong enough to carry the weight of battles I never knew she was fighting, battles fought on my behalf. I have underestimated my mother for a very long time.
“He smiled a sad little smile and said, ‘Maybe it is.’ He asked where you worked and all about your life, and I’ve been hoping this entire time he would finally reach out. I guess it took him a couple years before he felt ready.” She pauses. “I obviously don’t know what happened between the two of you in Iceland, but I do know a couple things. I know Ben has a good heart.”
My own heart burns as if it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper. I press my palm there as if that could possibly soothe the hurt.
“And I also know that Ben has loved you his entire life. I know that in my soul. When it comes to you, he’s never been willing to drag you into a messy situation, so if he’s come back into your life now, it’s only because he believes he’s really ready.”
I have to go to him.
The urge swells so big inside of me that I’m on my feet in an instant.
“I need to talk to him,” I say. “I need to talk to him now. He’s in Hudson Springs, and I need to find him.” But my body isn’t cooperating. All I’m doing is rocking back and forth, my pulse jumping and my mind reeling. I have no idea what I’ll say when I see him, but I know I can’t wait any longer to have this conversation. Ben may have messed up, but I messed up, too, and I’m not willing to lose him from my life again. “I’m ruining the twins’ birthday dinner. I’m sorry.”
My mom grasps my arm, stilling me. “Don’t worry about that. It’s about time you let your guard down. Mona, I know you’ve always felt distant from this family, or maybe not distant…maybe justdifferent. And you are different. Different from your brothers. Different from your father. But you know what? I’ve always thought, in this family, you were the most like me.”
“Really?” I think back to all the times I felt like the last priority on my mother’s list.
“Really,” she says, standing and taking my shoulders in her hands. “There were a lot of times I was overwhelmed as a young mom, a lot of times I messed up.” Her soft brown eyes meet mine. “But I swear, me and you, we had our mother-daughter moments, too. Maybe we just didn’t get enough of them.”
Something inside me softens, but before I can react, she pulls me toward the door.
“Come with me, I want to show you something.”
Moving on autopilot, I let her lead me to the end of the hall and into my father’s home office. She flips on a small lamp on the corner of his oversize desk, casting the sterile gray room in a soft yellow glow. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but my mother looks to be on a mission as she opens the closet door in the corner and stretches her petite frame up on her tiptoes to pull a paisley fabric memory box from the very back of the highest shelf.
Pulling the lid off as she walks back to me, a nervous grin plays over her mouth. But in her eyes, there’s an earnestness that tells me whatever is in that box is important to her.
