“She’s—” enthusiastic “—welcoming.”
He chuckles. “She’s a nutcase, but she’s my mom.”
“You’re a Young,” I say and there’s a sad hollowing out in my stomach. He didn’t tell me, but at the same time, he didn’t not tell me, and I never cared to ask for details.
“Yeah.” West lowers his head, then raises it. “I am.”
West points in several different directions. “Kitchen, formal living room, formal dining room, Dad’s office, bathrooms, sunroom, a couple more other rooms and the basement is for lounging.”
West claims my hand and starts up the stairs.
“Where we are going?” I ask.
“My bedroom. We need to talk.”
West
We didn’t reach my bedroom. Mom was changed and out her door in less than thirty seconds.
The moment I introduced Haley to my mother, Haley’s face drained as she connected the dots—I was a Young. Instead of allowing Haley time to decompress, my mother, the blinding social snowplow that she is, grabbed on to Haley and has yet to let go.
With a hip cocked against the doorframe and arms crossed over my chest, I watch as Haley graciously laughs and chats with my mother at the massive island in the overly large kitchen of stainless-steel everything.
I don’t understand a lot of what’s happening, but I know one thing: Abby told the truth. I did tear out of the bar like my skin was on fire and the guilt rides me hard that I left Mom to fend for herself. I assume Abby stayed to protect my mother’s back. For that, I do owe Abby.
Mom opens another photo album, flips through the pages and slips it over to Haley. “This was taken on the day we brought West home.”
I’m eighteen today and I have never brought a girl home. Damn, Mom must have been dying to do this for a long time. Except for the fact that she spends her days and nights at the hospital instead of at a charity function, life has returned to normal...at least for everyone else. It’s like, to them, I never left.
Haley examines the photo and glances at me with laughter in her eyes. “Your onesie says angel. I’m so going to remember that.”
“That’s because he was.” Mom slides her fingers against the photo as if she could make the newborn me pop out and be real. “I had West to save Colleen.”
Mom told Haley about Colleen a few minutes ago. Colleen was Mom’s firstborn and she died of cancer when she was a teenager. Mom and Dad had Colleen, Gavin and Jack in a group and they considered their family done. When Colleen became sick, all bets were off.
“Colleen needed bone marrow, so I had West in hopes he’d be a match.”
“Was he?” Haley’s eyes flash to mine. She’s aware Colleen passed but doesn’t know the when, the how or the why. But in the end, do any of us know the why?
“No,” I answer for Mom. “I wasn’t a match.” A failure since birth.
“It didn’t matter.” Mom touches the picture again. “Colleen was too sick by then and died shortly after West was born.”
My legacy in this house was formed a few days after my first breath: I failed at my sole purpose of life and my birth will forever be associated with Colleen’s death. Mom went on to become pregnant with Ethan and Rachel shortly after because I wasn’t enough to make her happy. All Mom desired was a girl, a replacement for the child she lost.
“Well then.” Mom shuts the album and forces a fake smile. “What are your plans?”
“Quiet night,” I answer. “I thought I’d show Haley my room. Maybe watch some movies.” Have her break my heart into pieces because I’ve lied about who I am.
Mom narrows her eyes as she stands. “I want the door unlocked and I expect you to behave like a gentleman.”
I laugh. If she knew what I’ve been doing behind locked doors at other people’s houses, she would have given me this modified sex talk years ago. Mom pokes me in the stomach as she passes. “I mean it.” Then leans in and kisses me on my cheek. “Happy birthday, West.”
“Thanks.”
Mom softly pads out into the foyer and up the stairs. She won’t sleep in her bedroom tonight. Instead, she’ll go into the mausoleum that once was Colleen’s room.
The patter of different feet draws me back to the kitchen and cool fingers against my wrist connects me with Haley. “Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?”