“Nope,” I say, shutting the file and tossing it on the edge of the bed. “And even if you were, I’d stop to talk to you.”
“Ah, you’re a charmer,” she laughs. “How is my oldest child? Are you hanging in there? I know how the last weeks of a campaign can be.”
“Yeah, I’m all right.”
“Why do I know you’re fibbing?”
Chuckling, I imagine her face. Her eyes are narrowed, her lips pressed together.
“Because you’re my mom, I guess.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Just . . . shit.” I contemplate telling her about Alison first. I want to discuss it with someone that won’t judge me right off the bat.
“Is it that Land Bill? Your father was talking about it tonight. I know we own some of the land in play and he wants you to go against it.”
Sighing, I nod. “Yeah. That’s the main thing right now. I’m being pushed by everyone to brush it off, but I just . . .”
“Barrett, listen to me. This is your career. Whatever you choose to do is your legacy. You have to do what you feel is right, what you can be proud of having your name attached to.”
“You know Dad will disown me if I don’t go against it, right? You realize you’ll personally lose a few million dollars?”
“You do know I have enough money so your future children never have to work. And you also know I will die after your father and it’ll be me that decides who’s in the will.”
I can’t help but laugh. I know she’s joking, in part, but she’s kind of telling the truth too.
“On a serious note,” she says, “I understand and respect the fact that you care about what your father says. You’re a good man, a good mayor, a good son. But your father has had his life to make his mark on the world, and when I look at you children, I have to say he’s made six beautiful, smart impressions. But this is your life, not his. He tries to push you and guide you, but you can make your own decisions.”
I think to the one decision I’ve already made that I also know he’ll be against.
“What if this is the wrong decision too?” I ask.
“Too?”
“Forget it,” I say, realizing my slip of the tongue. “I misspoke.”
She pauses like she does before she imparts her infinite wisdom. I hated these long stretches of silent time growing up. I always knew she was going to wallop me with something I couldn’t argue, something that would root in my brain and make me feel a certain way. I wait on it with the same trepidation now.
“You don’t remember this and I don’t want you to ever speak of it. But when I was pregnant with Ford, I had very high blood pressure. The doctors wanted me to abort the pregnancy; they said if I carried him, I might die. Your father wanted me to terminate it. He said it wasn’t worth the risk to my life and that I had to think about the rest of you kids.”
“I had no idea,” I say in astonishment.
“I was frozen, Barrett. How could I choose what I wanted, which was to keep the baby, and risk so much that affected so many others? It was a terrible position to be in.”
I nod, understanding her position way better than she even imagines.
“But at the end of the day, I was the one that had to live with it. And I couldn’t live thinking that maybe, somehow, it would work out. And I valued that little baby’s life as much as I valued yours, or Graham’s. So I chose to go through with the pregnancy.
“Your father wasn’t pleased. He thought I was being cavalier about it, risking my health for something that may or may not even be feasible. But I made my choice because it was mine to make. And, as we all know, it worked out.”
“But what if it hadn’t?” I say, my brain spinning. “What if you had died or Ford hadn’t made it?”
“It was possible. Nothing is guaranteed. But living and not knowing would’ve been worse than playing it safe. Sometimes, Barrett, you have to take some risks.”
A grin slides across my face, her words as poignant as ever.
“Thanks, Mom.”