Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“That doesn’t mean a shitty figure is better than no figure.”
I consider that. “Okay, true, but Jared isn’t evil. He’s not mean. He’s not abusive. He’s just not . . . around.”
“You’re a bigger person than me. You literally center your whole life around that kid and expect nothing from Jared.”
I don’t have a choice.
“Trust me. One day when Ethan’s an adult, I’m going to go wild. I’m going to blow up on Jared, buy gratuitous things from social media ads, and . . . I don’t know. Go to Vegas or something.”
She barks a laugh. “You’ve lived such a sheltered life. You don’t even know how to have fun.”
“One day. Right now I’m trying to give Ethan the stability and love and structure that I didn’t have growing up.” The levity of the moment passes, and a shadow falls across my soul. “Only I’m afraid that I’m failing at it. I’m continuing a cycle, albeit a variation of it, that I promised myself my whole entire life that I would break.”
“You are an excellent mother.”
She says the words with gusto. It’s as though she delivers a stamp with each syllable to make sure they etch onto my heart.
Both sets of words—hers and mine—hang in the air between us. I hope she’s right.
“Ethan knows he has you in his corner. That’s the biggest thing, Palm.”
“Yes, but . . .”
I pull the lever on the side of the recliner and sit upright. My exhale is long and strangled. I don’t know why I’m going here—getting all philosophical about life—but I blame it on the hour. Things always feel heavier at night.
“I’ve had to raise myself alongside raising Ethan. I look at some of the choices I made now, and I see what I did wrong—I see the errors of my ways.”
“You make it sound like you sold heroin on the street corner.”
I snort. “Obviously I didn’t do that. I’d have more money.”
Val throws a pillow at me, barely missing the side of my head. The action makes us both laugh.
She turns the television back up, but I can’t get into the shrimp on the screen. I also can’t seem to get away from the thoughts in my head.
I should’ve done a lot of things differently in my life. My relationship with Jared went on far too long, even though I was convinced that it was the right thing to do. Of course, him telling me that we would get married and he would settle down as soon as he got a job (or a promotion once he had a job), or once we’d saved enough for a house, or right after the holidays didn’t help. But I let that continue when I should’ve been making moves for our future—mine and Ethan’s.
And my choice to date Charlie wasn’t much better, really. It was a variation of the Jared game plan—I just need a bit more time, he said—but at least I was able to cut the cord on that much faster. So I did grow . . . in some ways.
Therapy helped me to see that I was picking essentially the same man over and over again. I was subconsciously picking men like my father. Men who were emotionally unavailable. Men who wouldn’t commit. Men who had an out. Men who abused my trust, just in different ways. Men who wouldn’t support me or love me or give me faith in a future—and I did that because it was what I knew.
I have to give myself grace for it. I didn’t know any better.
But now I do.
Now I have no excuse. I have to do better for me and my son.
“He really liked baseball yesterday,” I say, my heart warming as I remember how he slept with his glove last night. “He talked all day about how much it stinks that they don’t have practice until tomorrow.”
Val presses against the couch until she’s sitting up. “Speaking of baseball, the word at Fletcher’s this afternoon was that Cole is the coach. I’m assuming not Ethan’s coach because you definitely would’ve called me about that. Right, best friend?”
I slink back in my seat.
“Palmer!”
“What?” I laugh. “I . . . forgot.”
“No, you didn’t. As a matter of fact, you avoided me when I texted you last night and said you were doing laundry. You could’ve told me then. And your phone was off all afternoon.”
“I was in the shop yard with Kirk, and my battery died.”
She makes a face. “I would’ve been pissed if I left here tonight and forgot to bring it up. Man, I’m slipping or something.”
“No, you just know that it’s not a big deal.”
Her jaw drops. “Okay.”
I can’t deal with her, so I pick up my phone.
A rush of excitement at Cole’s entrance into this conversation is difficult to ignore. So I open my favorite social media account. It’s always good for a solid distraction.