“Cathy,” he said.
“Am I right?” she asked. “If not, it’s okay. I want you to be happy, Manning. But I miss my baby and sometimes I lie awake at night wondering if you’re the only person who could bring her home.”
Chills rose over my skin despite the weight of my sweater. Although this hadn’t been my home in a while, it felt nice to hear her say that. No matter what had passed between all of us, I could never erase the happy memories I’d made in this house.
“I know you and Tiffany divorced,” Mom continued, “but you’re family. We’re your family. So tell me we haven’t seen you in years because you’ve had a very good reason to stay away.”
“It’s a good reason, ma’am,” Manning said, and I heard both the pride and emotion in his voice. “The best. Almost as good as why I came back.”
That was my cue to enter a kitchen I hadn’t stepped foot in for years, but where I’d eaten more meals than anywhere, had learned to cook, and had spent countless hours on homework. Some days, between school, Dad’s work, Mom’s real estate appointments, and Tiffany’s social life, the kitchen table was the only time all day I’d see my family in one place.
Still, my feet were leaden in my boots—and my mom was supposed to be the easiest part of the day. I peeked into the kitchen and caught sight of Manning’s back. Knowing he’d be by my side gave me the courage to do it. I walked in food first, holding out the containers of pie and tamales I’d brought like a shield.
Manning turned at my footsteps, revealing Mom behind him. I realized in that moment that I’d expected to see the same woman who’d raised me—after all, she sounded the same and treated me the same over the phone. In a cardigan and cigarette pants, hair done in a long bob, her style hadn’t changed, but it took my brain a moment to close the fourteen-year gap between us. She was thinner, the angles of her jaw and curve of her cheekbones more pronounced.
Her eyes, the same family of blue she’d passed on to Tiffany and me, filled with tears in an instant. “Lake?” she nearly whispered.
My voice broke. “Mom.”
She came and hugged me around the food clutched in my hands, not even seeming to notice it between us. It was hard not to fall headlong into her familiar scent, a mixture of lemon dish soap and Chanel No. 5.
Manning carefully took the Tupperware from me, then found spots for it on the crowded countertops. The tension in his fingers and jawline mirrored the stiffness of my shoulders. This was as important to him as it was terrifying to me, which was the catalyst behind why I’d come.
But in the end, it wasn’t the reason. This was: my mom rubbing my back as I fought the urge to cry, comforting me the way she had so many times growing up.
“Lake, honey. There, there,” Mom said. She’d always seemed to know when I was upset, even when I’d hidden it. “You’re so grown up. Such a beautiful young woman.”
With her soft words and tightening embrace, what became clear was the years I’d taken away from her by feuding with my dad and Tiffany. I’d known that already, and had harbored some guilt over it, but for the first time, I saw everything as Manning always had. My parents and I had missed out on valuable time together over issues that were heavy because I’d given them more weight than they deserved. Unsure of how else to convey a sudden and overwhelming regret, I hugged her back and just said, “Mom.”
She pulled back to take my face in her hands. Despite a sheen of tears, she smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing with new wrinkles. “You’re my baby, you know that?”
I nodded, my chin wobbling. “Yes.”
“Thank you for coming home.”
“Thank Manning,” I said, already missing his presence. Where had he gone? With a slight turn of my head, all I could manage with my mom’s hands holding my cheeks, I saw he hadn’t gone anywhere but to a corner where the counters met. The same corner he’d stood the night he’d gotten out of jail, the one spot from where he could see everything in the kitchen, including the doorway to the foyer and to the backyard. He did the same at home, keeping his back to the wall. In public, too. He always walked closest to the curb, insisted on driving any time we were together, and sat at dining tables where he could see the entrance to the restaurant. I hadn’t really noticed the habit back then, but it’d become obvious over years of living with him.
Mom kept an arm around me, following my gaze to Manning. “Oh my,” she said on a sigh. “I suspected over the years, and even hoped, but I didn’t really consider the . . . logistics.”