“You’re still going to want me in a few months when Christmas rolls around?”
“I’m always going to want you, Kyler Parker.”
***
I push Jackson’s feet off the coffee table. “You’re driving.”
“Like I had a choice.”
23
KY IT TAKES US a half hour to drive to my childhood home.
Jackson starts to slow when we pass my old house, and then stops in front of Christine’s.
By now, my thoughts are in overdrive. My palms have formed a sheen of sweat. My heart is racing. “It’ll be okay,” Madison assures me from the back seat.
“There she is,” Jackson says, jerking his head out the window.
And there she is in the front yard, on her knees attending to the garden. It’s like time hadn’t changed her at all. I sniff the air—which seems stupid at the time—but doing so brought back all the memories I’ve tried hard to suppress.
“Whenever you’re ready, man. We’re in no rush.”
I nod, thankful that Jackson understands my hesitation.
“Here,” Madison says, grabbing my attention. She offers the lilies to me. I hold her gaze a moment, hoping that somehow her confidence in the situation will rub off on me. My face presses firmer against her hand when she cups my cheek. Her eyes, glassy with tears, stay fixed on mine. And then she smiles. “All you have to do is exist,” she says.
My eyes drift shut. “Exist?”
I feel her lean forward, and the next second, her mouth lands gently on mine. “Just exist,” she whispers, pulling back.
I keep my eyes closed. “Another one,” I say.
She laughs once and gives me what I want—what I didn’t know I need.
***
I walk up the driveway, glancing back at Jackson and Madison, who are now watching from outside the car. Then I look at Christine—her back to me, her head down, humming something about bass and treble. Through my nerves, my anticipation, and my fear, I somehow manage to smile. I stop a few feet behind her and take one more look at Madison. “Breathe,” she mouths.
So I do.
After the third breath, I finally gain the courage. “Ma...”
She stops-mid movement; her head slowly lifting. She sets her tools to the side and sits back on her heels. Then her shoulders shake. Her hands cover her face, muffling the sound of her sobs.
“Ma,” I say again, my voice strained.
I stay in my spot, afraid of how she’ll react if I move closer—if I touch her. But what I really want to do is hug her. Tell her that I love her and that I miss the absolute shit out of her. And that I’m sorry.
So damn sorry.
She sobs again, slowly coming to a stand.
“Say it again,” she whimpers, her back still to me.
“Ma,” I say, louder this time.
She turns to me, her face wet from her tears. “Kyler!” She takes two steps forward before falling to her knees. And I’m right there with her, holding her, squeezing her tight.
“I love you, Ma. So much.”
She sobs harder.
“And I miss you.”
She won’t stop crying. But they aren’t tears of anger or disappointment like I’d thought. They’re tears of joy. Maybe even relief.
I help her to stand, but keep her close.
“Give me a kiss!” She laughs and offers me her cheek.
I kiss it.
“Another one,” she says, offering the other.
I kiss that one, too.
Then she pulls back, clasping her hands in front of her. She scans me from head to toe, then flicks my dog tags. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
“I’m sorry, Ma.” And as soon as the words leave my mouth—I feel lighter. Who’d have thought that two words—I’m sorry—could weigh so heavily on me?
“Shut up, Kyler,” she says, voice clipped. And I laugh. “Let’s go inside, son.” She flattens her palm on my back and leads me up the path to the front door. A loud whistle startles us both, and we turn around. Jackson’s leaning on his car—his arms crossed. “What about me?” he shouts.
“Jackson!” she squeals. “Get over here!”
He practically runs up the driveway and lifts her off her feet, spinning her in a slow circle. “You’re such a goof,” she laughs. “Put me down!”
She kisses his cheek when he set her back down.
“How are you, Mom?” Jax asks.
Christine glances at me. “I have my two boys,” she says. “Life’s damn near perfect!”
I hear Madison’s voice. Quiet. Timid. “Ky?”
I look back at the car, but she’s no longer there. She’s at the end of the driveway, hesitating to come closer. She presses her hand down her dress and shuffles on her feet—one hand carrying the frame, the other wiping her tears.
Christine squeezes between Jackson and I, taking Madison in for the first time. “Oh wow,” Christine says.
Yeah, I get it.
Madison—she’s kind of breathtaking.
Madison checks her hair, and then pushes her shoulders back, trying to appear confident.
But she looks so lost.
So unsure.
So imperfectly perfect.
She checks her hair again and I chuckle. “You look beautiful, babe,” I call, making my way over to her. I hear Christine whisper something to Jax and him agreeing with her.
Taking her hand, I lead her back to Christine. Madison’s hand slowly moves between the two of them. “It’s a p-pleasure to m-meet you, Mrs. D-Davis.”
Christine’s gaze flicks from Madison to me. And then a face-splitting grin appears.
Shit, I missed her.
Christine ignores Madison’s hand and pulls her in for a hug. An extremely long hug. What is it with members of my family not willing to let her go? Christine starts to release her, but changes her mind last second and squeezes her tighter.
Jackson laughs from behind them. “This is why I don’t bring girls home, Mom,” he teases.
Christine’s laugh bubbles out of her as she finally releases Madison. “Well, that last girl you brought home—”
Jackson quirks an eyebrow, cutting her off.
“You should’ve seen her, Ky. Nothing but tattoos and titties!”
Jackson laughs.
They carry on talking about the girl—the girl I’d never met—would probably never meet. They had inside jokes—ones that I’d never know. Christine smiles sadly at me, as if she somehow senses what I’m thinking.
But I’m not jealous.
I’m not even mad.
I’m just sorry.
“Are those for me?” Christine asks, nodding to the forgotten lilies in my hand.
I try to smile, but I can’t. “Yeah,” I say, handing them to her. It all seems so stupid now—sending her anonymous flowers once a month. It wasn’t enough. I had five years of catching up to do. Five years of inside jokes to make up for. And I swore it now—I’d start today.
She ignores the flowers and gives me a quick sideways hug. “I’ve missed you, Kyler.”
***
Christine takes a liking to Madison right away—of course, I knew she would. Madison—she’s kind of impossible not to like. But there’s something off with Christine.
“I’m always going to want you, Kyler Parker.”
***
I push Jackson’s feet off the coffee table. “You’re driving.”
“Like I had a choice.”
23
KY IT TAKES US a half hour to drive to my childhood home.
Jackson starts to slow when we pass my old house, and then stops in front of Christine’s.
By now, my thoughts are in overdrive. My palms have formed a sheen of sweat. My heart is racing. “It’ll be okay,” Madison assures me from the back seat.
“There she is,” Jackson says, jerking his head out the window.
And there she is in the front yard, on her knees attending to the garden. It’s like time hadn’t changed her at all. I sniff the air—which seems stupid at the time—but doing so brought back all the memories I’ve tried hard to suppress.
“Whenever you’re ready, man. We’re in no rush.”
I nod, thankful that Jackson understands my hesitation.
“Here,” Madison says, grabbing my attention. She offers the lilies to me. I hold her gaze a moment, hoping that somehow her confidence in the situation will rub off on me. My face presses firmer against her hand when she cups my cheek. Her eyes, glassy with tears, stay fixed on mine. And then she smiles. “All you have to do is exist,” she says.
My eyes drift shut. “Exist?”
I feel her lean forward, and the next second, her mouth lands gently on mine. “Just exist,” she whispers, pulling back.
I keep my eyes closed. “Another one,” I say.
She laughs once and gives me what I want—what I didn’t know I need.
***
I walk up the driveway, glancing back at Jackson and Madison, who are now watching from outside the car. Then I look at Christine—her back to me, her head down, humming something about bass and treble. Through my nerves, my anticipation, and my fear, I somehow manage to smile. I stop a few feet behind her and take one more look at Madison. “Breathe,” she mouths.
So I do.
After the third breath, I finally gain the courage. “Ma...”
She stops-mid movement; her head slowly lifting. She sets her tools to the side and sits back on her heels. Then her shoulders shake. Her hands cover her face, muffling the sound of her sobs.
“Ma,” I say again, my voice strained.
I stay in my spot, afraid of how she’ll react if I move closer—if I touch her. But what I really want to do is hug her. Tell her that I love her and that I miss the absolute shit out of her. And that I’m sorry.
So damn sorry.
She sobs again, slowly coming to a stand.
“Say it again,” she whimpers, her back still to me.
“Ma,” I say, louder this time.
She turns to me, her face wet from her tears. “Kyler!” She takes two steps forward before falling to her knees. And I’m right there with her, holding her, squeezing her tight.
“I love you, Ma. So much.”
She sobs harder.
“And I miss you.”
She won’t stop crying. But they aren’t tears of anger or disappointment like I’d thought. They’re tears of joy. Maybe even relief.
I help her to stand, but keep her close.
“Give me a kiss!” She laughs and offers me her cheek.
I kiss it.
“Another one,” she says, offering the other.
I kiss that one, too.
Then she pulls back, clasping her hands in front of her. She scans me from head to toe, then flicks my dog tags. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
“I’m sorry, Ma.” And as soon as the words leave my mouth—I feel lighter. Who’d have thought that two words—I’m sorry—could weigh so heavily on me?
“Shut up, Kyler,” she says, voice clipped. And I laugh. “Let’s go inside, son.” She flattens her palm on my back and leads me up the path to the front door. A loud whistle startles us both, and we turn around. Jackson’s leaning on his car—his arms crossed. “What about me?” he shouts.
“Jackson!” she squeals. “Get over here!”
He practically runs up the driveway and lifts her off her feet, spinning her in a slow circle. “You’re such a goof,” she laughs. “Put me down!”
She kisses his cheek when he set her back down.
“How are you, Mom?” Jax asks.
Christine glances at me. “I have my two boys,” she says. “Life’s damn near perfect!”
I hear Madison’s voice. Quiet. Timid. “Ky?”
I look back at the car, but she’s no longer there. She’s at the end of the driveway, hesitating to come closer. She presses her hand down her dress and shuffles on her feet—one hand carrying the frame, the other wiping her tears.
Christine squeezes between Jackson and I, taking Madison in for the first time. “Oh wow,” Christine says.
Yeah, I get it.
Madison—she’s kind of breathtaking.
Madison checks her hair, and then pushes her shoulders back, trying to appear confident.
But she looks so lost.
So unsure.
So imperfectly perfect.
She checks her hair again and I chuckle. “You look beautiful, babe,” I call, making my way over to her. I hear Christine whisper something to Jax and him agreeing with her.
Taking her hand, I lead her back to Christine. Madison’s hand slowly moves between the two of them. “It’s a p-pleasure to m-meet you, Mrs. D-Davis.”
Christine’s gaze flicks from Madison to me. And then a face-splitting grin appears.
Shit, I missed her.
Christine ignores Madison’s hand and pulls her in for a hug. An extremely long hug. What is it with members of my family not willing to let her go? Christine starts to release her, but changes her mind last second and squeezes her tighter.
Jackson laughs from behind them. “This is why I don’t bring girls home, Mom,” he teases.
Christine’s laugh bubbles out of her as she finally releases Madison. “Well, that last girl you brought home—”
Jackson quirks an eyebrow, cutting her off.
“You should’ve seen her, Ky. Nothing but tattoos and titties!”
Jackson laughs.
They carry on talking about the girl—the girl I’d never met—would probably never meet. They had inside jokes—ones that I’d never know. Christine smiles sadly at me, as if she somehow senses what I’m thinking.
But I’m not jealous.
I’m not even mad.
I’m just sorry.
“Are those for me?” Christine asks, nodding to the forgotten lilies in my hand.
I try to smile, but I can’t. “Yeah,” I say, handing them to her. It all seems so stupid now—sending her anonymous flowers once a month. It wasn’t enough. I had five years of catching up to do. Five years of inside jokes to make up for. And I swore it now—I’d start today.
She ignores the flowers and gives me a quick sideways hug. “I’ve missed you, Kyler.”
***
Christine takes a liking to Madison right away—of course, I knew she would. Madison—she’s kind of impossible not to like. But there’s something off with Christine.
