Do I want to go through with this?
I don’t fucking know. And I don’t fucking know when I’ll know how this is going to wind up.
“Are you okay?” Mom asks. “Your face is getting a little red.”
“I’m fine.”
She grins. “We’ll blame it on the wine.”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
Her hand stretches across the back of the chair next to her. A gold bracelet catches the light and sparkles.
“So, how’s Dad?” I ask, relieved to have found a new conversational topic.
“He’s doing well. Addictions are a process, and my therapist told me that this is something we’ll always have to contend with. But as long as he acknowledges his issues and continues his treatment and makes the right choices …”
The levity from earlier disappears from her face. In an instant, she looks more her age. She’s still beautiful and regal but weary. And that worries me.
I clear my throat. “Mom …”
She shushes me. “I don’t want to talk about me, Wade.”
“Well, I do.” I force a swallow down my throat. I don’t know if it’s the wine giving me a set of balls to challenge my mother or what, but here we are. “I appreciate your loyalty to Dad and the way you just raise your chin and get shit done, the way you take care of us all, but are you taking care of yourself?”
“Of course I am.”
“Are you?”
Her lips part as if she’s going to say something, but she closes them just as quickly. I don’t give her any room to wiggle out of the conversation. I just watch her—pin her to her chair—because at some point, she’ll finally give in.
She grips her wineglass with both hands as her shoulders fall forward. “I’m tired, Wade.”
“As you should be.”
“I keep telling myself that this season of my life will require more from me than some of the others. Like when you boys were small.” A faint smile touches her lips. “Holt was fourteen, Oliver nearly twelve. You were ten, Coy eight, and Boone just in kindergarten. When I tell you how exhausting that was, it doesn’t begin to cover it.”
I grin. “Should’ve stopped with Coy.”
As intended, this makes Mom laugh.
I sit back in my seat, my wineglass in my hand, and watch my mother. “You know,” I tell her, “I can understand some of that. I don’t know what it’s like to have kids, obviously, but I can reflect on different parts of my life and recall that what kept me going was simply the idea of getting through it.”
A chill runs down the center of my spine. I fight against the memories clawing their way to the surface.
Not here. Not now.
“That being said,” I say, settling in my seat, “I don’t know if that was the best way to handle those situations.”
Mom cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
I’m not about to discuss my life with her. This isn’t about me anyway—it’s about her and my father.
I’ve watched my mother carefully since we found out about Dad’s addiction. She’s remained stoic and has displayed more loyal devotion than I believed the old man might’ve deserved. But what is it doing to her?
“I mean that you’ve been pushing through, getting through it, for so long that maybe you need to stop,” I say. “Your entire life has been about other things—your children, Dad, your business. And all of that is well and good but have you ever just paused and thought about what benefits Sigourney Mason?”
She smacks her lips together. “I’m a mother, Wade. And a wife and a businesswoman. What I do benefits me because seeing you all happy and healthy and thriving—that makes me happy.”
“But does it, though?” I get up from the table and head into the kitchen. Why is everyone so fucking philosophical this week? “I see your point. And you’re right.” I look over the island at her. “But you didn’t answer the question that I asked you.”
“Sure, I did.”
I shoot her a look as I reach into a cabinet.
“You asked if I thought about what benefits me,” she says. “I gave you that answer.”
“You gave an answer that would’ve sufficed had Boone asked it.”
She sighs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I take out a glass container and then close the cabinet. “You answered the question in the role of mother, wife, CEO. You didn’t give me a first-person answer. What benefits you as a person? As an individual? As your own structure?”
She watches as I place a chicken breast into the bowl. I add some potatoes without looking up to give her space to consider what I’m saying. By the time I snap the blue lid down over the leftovers, she speaks.
“I suppose I’ll have to think about that,” she says quietly.
“I suppose you will.”
She smiles as she gets up from the table. “Out of all of my children, you surprise me the most.”
“I’m surprised every day that I’m related to the rest of them.”
She walks into the kitchen and pats my cheek. “Never tell them that I said this, but you are the most special out of all of them.”
“I’m fairly certain they’re all aware,” I deadpan.
Mom snorts and then chuckles as she walks back to her bag. I follow her with the container in my hand.
“Here,” I say, handing it to her. “Midnight snack.”
She takes the bowl from me. “You are a good man, Wade Edward. You’ll make the greatest husband and father someday.”
I make a face and recoil.
“Wade …” She sighs. “Stop it.”
“We were doing so good.”
She holds the bowl with one hand and grips the back of a chair with the other. I have no idea what’s coming. I just know I won’t like it.
I brace myself.
“Since we officially took a turn, I can bring this up,” she says. “I heard from Holt that you are no longer in the wedding party.”
Oh, hell.
“I understand that an agreement was made between the two of you, and I’m going to respect that,” she says. “I just want you to know that it wouldn’t have hurt you to stand beside your brother on his wedding day.”
“And it’s not going to hurt anyone if I sit and watch him profess his undying devotion to Blaire in front of too many people—just like he does every damn day—in a venue that I’ve seen the price of,” I say, pointing my finger at her. “It’s not my money, so I don’t give a shit. But it’s ridiculous, and you know it.”
“We aren’t talking about their budget because that’s none of your business.”
“Fair enough. But we are talking about my dignity and standing up there like a monkey in a suit while my brother basically gives up his balls—”
“Wade!”
“What?”
The air moves between us as we watch each other. Finally, she starts to smile, and I see my opening.
“It’s the beauty of having so many brothers. He won’t miss me,” I say, my voice a bit lower than before. “I will be there, sitting in a row—probably near the back, and I’ll clap and bow my head. I’ll welcome Blaire into the family officially because, despite my feelings about this indulgent event, I do like her, and I’m glad Holt is marrying her if he has to get married.”
“I’m sure that Holt appreciates your approval.”
“And people wonder where I get my dazzling personality.”