Page 31 of As the Years Pass

“I’ve never been one to listen,” I say, and she smiles a little more. Her hand twitches in mine, and I take that as her way of giving me a reassuring squeeze.

“Did you… get him?” she wheezes out.

“Mom,” I say, sighing. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Stop… waiting.”

“Mom—”

She grunts a sound meant to be a chastise, but it turns into a coughing fit. I look around, panic seizing me, and I spot a glass of water on the end table. I bring it near her, guiding the straw to her mouth. She coughs for another moment, her breathing still loud, but she manages to take a small sip and it helps settle her. I wait for her to catch her breath, and she takes another sip, then her breathing calms more, so I put the cup down.

“This isn’t about waiting,” I say, knowing if I don’t have this conversation, she’s going to fight me and that’s going to make it worse for her. “He has a life. A busy one. He has kids, and they’re his priority. I can’t take up his time.”

“Not that,” she rasps out. “Space.”

Space…

“Yeah,” I say. “There isn’t space for me.”

“Make it.” She takes a deep breath. “Love is not… always about time. Sometimes it’s… it’s… showing up. Helping. Support. It’s… being there.”

“It’s not that easy,” I say.

“The best love never is.”

I rest my forehead on her arm, and her other hand comes up to rest on my head.

“My boy,” she says, and that has the tears falling. I try to hide it as best I can, but this is my mother. There is no hiding from her. She keeps her hand on my head, gently rubbing like she did when I was a child and unable to sleep. “Love you, Em,” she says softly.

We stay there together for a long while. Eventually she falls asleep, and I think maybe I do too. Until I carefully get up andleave her alone. Dad is there on the other side, waiting for me with a smile.

“I’m so glad you came,” he says, opening his arms.

So I hug him next.

Chapter Twelve

Adam

Leslie

We need to talk

It’s Christmas Eve, and I have no plans for the day. Her family always did things on Christmas Eve, and when we were together, we were here for that.

I can’t imagine what we need to talk about the night before Christmas. I already know I’m not picking the kids up until tomorrow evening.

My tree is up already, a small one squished into the corner of the small living room, a ton of gifts piled beneath for both kids. They’ll open their gifts when we get here tomorrow. I’ll make hot chocolate, and we’ll stay up late watching Christmas movies.It’s what we did when I was with Leslie, and I’m keeping that tradition for us to do each Christmas as best I can, even if it looks different now.

I send her a text back, asking if she can talk. Her response is to call.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she answers sharply.

“What do we need to talk about?”

There is silence in the background, so I assume she’s in another room away from the kids. They don’t stay quiet for long.