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She looked up at me.
“I’m not talking about Dad. I’m talking about you and me. You have always tried to take care of everyone in this family, just like I have. As opposed to figuring out what you want. Not what you’re supposed to want, but what you truly want.”
I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it.
“You can’t seriously think you’re in a good position to offer me advice on my romantic life at the moment.”
She met my eyes. “I think I’m in a great position, actually,” she said. “No one sees what an incomparable person you are more than I do. Except, perhaps, Ben.”
She paused. And then she said it simply. “Be careful what you give up.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying—in spite of myself—to hear what she wasn’t saying. “Because you can’t get it back?”
She stood up, walking past me in the doorway.
“No.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Because, eventually, you get it back any way you can.”
I waited for her to disappear up the stairs before heading that way myself. But before my mother was gone, she called out a final good night. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re home.”
That made one of us.
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