She continued.
“I had just lost your father. I was scared. Lauren was difficult. You were…”
She stopped.
“I was what?”
“Capable.”
There it was again.
The old word wearing different clothes.
“So you gave more to the person who demanded more.”
“I was doing my best.”
“Maybe.”
Her expression changed slightly.
She had expected me to argue.
Instead, I said:
“But your best still hurt me.”
Mom looked away.
“You turned out fine.”
“I turned out successful.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
She was quiet.
I continued.
“You knew I was sleeping in my car.”
“I didn’t know how bad it was.”
“You saw me.”
Her face went still.
“The gym parking lot.”
She swallowed.
“You remember.”
“I thought you were meeting someone.”
“At two in the morning?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t stop.”
“You could have called me.”
For a second, nineteen-year-old me came roaring back.
