“Good. Thank you.”
I pause, then give him a half smile. “Now,” I say. “Can I just ask for one small favor?”
My father shakes his head. “Nope,” he says with a chuckle.
“You don’t even know what I’m gonna ask!”
“Oh, yessir, I do,” he says. “And the answer is no. You’re telling your mother all on your own.”
“Dang. Can you at least give her a heads-up?”
“Sorry, son,” he says. “I’ve got enough problems.”
—
The night before I fly to Dallas, I find my mother in her office. With a working fireplace, an extensive library, and a West Wing–style desk I used to play under when I was a kid, it’s my favorite room in their five-story Kalorama townhome.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, standing in the doorway, inhaling the musty scent of old books.
“Well, well,” she says, putting down her pen, then taking off her reading glasses. “Another country heard from.”
I smile at one of her favorite expressions and ask if she has time to talk.
She nods and says, “You know my door is always open.”
This is true—both literally and figuratively. No matter how busy my mom has been over the years, she’s never made me feel like I’m interrupting her. I take a seat in the armchair facing her desk.
“So I think you may know why I’m here,” I say, crossing my legs, then uncrossing them.
“I may have an inkling.”
I hesitate, wondering who her source is—my father or Nicole—and what exactly they told her.
She holds my gaze for several long seconds, her expression inscrutable. “So you’re really doing this?”
The question feels a little bit like Are you still beating your wife? so I clear my throat and ask for clarification. “Doing what, exactly?”
“Quitting your job, breaking up with Nicole, and traveling with two females?”
I fight the urge to look down. “Yes. I need to figure some stuff out,” I say. “This feels like the best way.”
“Hmm,” she says, nodding.
“I just need some time away. With old friends,” I say, deciding not to delve into Hannah’s and Lainey’s issues. I know that angle will fall as flat with her as it did with my father.
“Everyone has stuff to figure out, Tyson. We can’t just run away from our problems.”
“I’m not running away. I’m just taking a little time for myself.”
“Okay. Well, you’re grown,” she says with a sigh. “It’s your life.”
“I know, but I don’t want you to be upset with me—”
“I’m not upset. But I am worried. And a bit disappointed.”
“Please don’t worry, Mom,” I say, although her disappointment is what hits me the hardest. I can’t stand letting my mother down. For some reason, it feels even worse than letting my father down.
“I’m your mother. Worrying is part of the job, Tyson,” she says.
“I know. And I’m really sorry. But it’s all going to be fine.”
She gives me a look, then says, “It won’t be fine with Nicole. You realize that, right? She’s not going to sit around and wait for you.”
“It’s already over with Nicole, Mom. It was over the minute I went down to Atlanta.”
“Well, it will be even more over if you go on this trip. Death-knell over.”
“I know,” I say, nodding, although a small part of me thinks that if we were really meant to be, we could overcome just about anything.
She stares at me a long time, then says, “Can I ask you a question?”
I nod, bracing myself, somehow knowing it will be a challenging question without an easy answer.
Sure enough, she says, “Does this trip have anything to do with Summer?”
I look at her, shocked. It’s been years since we’ve discussed Summer.
My throat tightens as I slowly nod. “In some ways, yes,” I say.
