We watched a terrible movie.
Halfway through, she said, “Do you remember the motel?”
I nodded.
“I drove past it yesterday.”
“Why?”
“By accident.”
She looked down.
“I keep thinking about you sitting there believing I didn’t want you.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Then she said, “I need you to know I wanted you more than anything.”
I looked at her.
“I know now.”
She nodded.
“That doesn’t fix what came before.”
“No.”
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life wishing I’d been brave sooner.”
I thought about that.
Then said, “Be brave now.”
She started crying.
“So dramatic,” I said.
She laughed.
That was new.
Laughing after something painful without pretending it hadn’t hurt.
Sometimes people tell me my mother saved my life.
Maybe she did.
I don’t know what Richard would have done if I’d been at that birthday party.
Nobody does.
I don’t need to imagine details.
