Her eyes are wide, a stunned expression on her face. "Is that what you think?" she breathes. "You think Ihatedgiving up my work for you kids?"
"How could you not?" I ask, looking equally stunned.
She stares at me for another moment, as if she's seeing me in a whole new light. Then she shakes her head, clearing her brain of its fog, and leans forward to brace her hands on the table. "Okay yes, if it weren't for you kids, your father and I would have absolutely kept on track with our individual careers. Weloveddoing what we did, and we were damn good at it. So you're right that we hold a special kind of pride at being the best in our fields. But… at some point you realize that sometimes there are things that are more important. Like kids, or a hobby, or a relationship. Even a friendship.”
She doesn't drop my gaze, doesn't let me pull away from her. She knows I want to scoff at that, knows I want to immediately separate myself from anything that might try to put itself above the love I have for the life I live.
"What would you do if something feltmoreimportant to you?" she continues, unrelenting. "What if something came along that made you more proud than the art that you create with your photos?"
My jaw drops at her question. "Moreproud? I make you more proud than being the best in a medical profession? How is that possible?"
Her eyes widen at my question. "How can you even ask me that?" she asks in a breathless voice.
I'm too stunned to answer. I can only wait for hers, feeling even more confused as I was when I walked in here.
So I just stare at her. I'm trying desperately to understand what she's saying, but I've spent a decade convincing myself of the opposite—that she gave up on her career because of her marriage and kids—and I'm struggling to rework my perceptions about it.
"Wait… what about dad?" I ask in a clueless burst. "You can't tell me he feels the same way."
She looks equally floored by that. "Why not? Because he's a man?"
I feel a slight tingle of shame at that, my mouth snapping shut.
"Is this what you've thought this whole time?" she asks in a disbelieving tone. "That I had to sacrifice the things I love to be with your father? To be with you?"
I can't keep the confusion out of my voice. "I… wellyeah."
"Becoming a stay-at-home mom was the greatest life decision I ever made," she says. "Giving up ten, twelve,eighteenhour days so I could be with you and your brother? How could I ever call that a sacrifice? Whether you can understand it or not, Iwantedto be with you kids. Giving up my practice was never a sacrifice. It was areward."
I'm… speechless.
She's right, I never once stopped to consider that it might be a good thing. I was so caught up in putting their careers on a pedestal, in the idea that she and my dad were giving up their lives for love, that I never once stopped to think about whether they were happy about it. Whether theypreferredit.
"So you've never regretted giving up your career?" I ask in a small voice.
"Not for a single second," she answers immediately.
"And Dad?"
She shakes her head. "Him either. We've never once looked back at our decisions and wished we did anything differently." She leans forward to cup my face in her hands, giving me a loving smile as she says, "We've only ever cherished the moments that have given us more ofyou."
I can't bring myself to pull away, or to acknowledge that what she's saying makes sense. My head is whirling, confused about what I heard and what I'm thinking—
"This whole time I thought you gave up on your work because you felt obligated to be a stay-at-home mom." I turn my startled gaze toward her when something occurs to me. "Do you even miss work?"
She shrugs, and the look in her eyes comforts me that she's going to be brutally honest with me.
"Sometimes," she admits. "I loved my career, and I was damn proud of it. I loved the science of it, and being able to save lives. So yes, sometimes I miss it. In a perfect world, I would clone myself so I could do the job without ever missing out on a second of your and your brother's life.That's the truth. But I never, not once,ever second guessed my decision to leave."
I shake my head, trying to clear it of the fog of confusion. I'm reeling, trying to understand,tryingto understand how I could have gotten it so wrong and been so blind—
“I have to go talk to him,” I blurt out, grabbing the armrest in order to steady myself. “I don’t understand how we got this far. I just… I need to talk to him.” Then something occurs to me and my gaze jerks down to my phone. “What’s the date? Is it Saturday?”
“Yes, it’s the fourteenth,” my mom answers calmly. Completely oblivious to the new turmoil bubbling inside me.
“Fuck. His fight is tonight.” I burst out of my chair at the reminder. “I have to go. I told him I’d be there.”
“He’s a fighter?” my mom asks in confusion. “Like… a boxer?”