Saying words to Zebb hurt more than I’d thought possible. Much more than when I’d told Dad. The silence following the rip of that particular bandage is almost deafening.
“Your mother? I thought she wasn’t in your life.”
I exhale, accepting that I never mentioned her return. “It’s a complicated story.”
“Tell me what happened?” The edge in his tone remains.
“Why do you sound mad at me?” My own tone is harsh.
“Because I care about you, and you’ve been blowing me off. Then you drop this bomb and I feel like you’re keeping something from me. Something huge that might explain a lot.”
“That sounds a little hypocritical,” I mock, as old walls build like stacking blocks locking into place.
Zebb exhales. “I don’t mean to sound that way. I just thought we’d already learned a lesson. We shouldn’t keep things from one another. It messes us up.”
“Because I’m so messed up?” I argue. The chunky barrier grows taller around me.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But I am,” I admit as if punching at the thick wall closing me in. “I’m just fucked. And this time of year is the worst. And now, this.” My mother’s passing when I’ve been reunited with Zebb and had a glimmer of hope that things could be different. This holiday could be something other than it’s always been for me.
Zebb exhales. “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the woman at the concert?”
“What woman?”
“The one flirting with you. She asked you to go out for drinks and you said yes. I heard you.”
“What . . . Are you talking about Kaye?” Zebb gruffly chuckles and I fail to find humor in this revelation.
“I don’t care who she is,” I lie.
“She’s Mary’s sister.”
Mary?Then I remember the mention of Tam’s mother.
“The Snowball’s Chance was a fireman’s fundraiser. The guys decided to donate the proceeds to an organization Kaye runs to help underprivileged women receive assistance during pregnancy.”
“She said theorganization, like it’s yours.” I huff, still full of irritation but slowly settling to a simmer.
“I sit on the board of directors, but I’m not involved in regular activities.”
We sit in silence a second before I exhale. “I understand. Mary was the love of your life.”
“Whoever said that?” His voice cracks.
“She was the mother of your child.” My own tone is reprimanding.
“Look, we obviously have a lot to discuss.”
“I’m not coming to Christmas, Zebb,” I counter.
“I think you should be here. You need to be around people.”
“Don’t tell me what I need.” I have no idea why I’m arguing with him. He’s trying to help. He’s reaching out for me, but I don’t need his pity.
“I don’t want you to be alone tomorrow.”