Freed, page 16
“I love you, Mom.”
“And I love you too,” she whispers as she pulls me into another hug. “You’ve always been my special boy. Just remember to always live for yourself. Always be yourself. And don’t ever let anybody – not even your father – force you into pretending to be somebody you’re not.”
“I won’t,” I reply. “I’m done pretending. Forever.”
“That’s my sweet boy.”
Epilogue
18 Months Later…
Wes and I are already at the restaurant, halfway through our first margarita when my mom finally gets there. When I spot her walking across the restaurant, I notice she’s alone and feel that familiar dull ache in my chest. I get to my feet anyway and give her a big hug. Wes gets up and hugs her as well.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she sits down at the table. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
“You sure it was traffic?” I grin. “Or did dad hide your keys again?”
My dad has done everything he can to keep my mother from coming to see me – including hiding her car keys, as immature and petty as that is. But what else would you expect from a bitter, vindictive little man?
“It’s good to see you again Wes,” she says. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fantastic, Vivian,” he replies. “We’re fantastic.”
“That’s good to hear.”
My mom, true to her word, prevented him from cutting me off. She’s more in control of – and responsible for – the family fortune than I ever realized. Without her – and her family’s money – my father would never have been able to build the empire he now rules with an iron fist. But it’s been an interesting eye opener for me to learn that it’s my mother who is the actual power behind the throne.
So without the ability to cut me off financially as he threatened, he’s punishing me the only way he’s able – by not being a part of my life. Though given how our last conversation went, I can’t say it’s all that much of a punishment. Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. My dad, for all of his faults and flaws – and there are many – still has some good parts to him. And to be without him, after he was such a presence and a force in my life, still sometimes leaves me feeling a little sad. A little hollow.
But then I think back to the fact that he won’t return my calls or texts and remains so committed to his bigotry that he actually skipped my graduation, and a lot of that hurt evaporates immediately. That he’s unwilling to set aside his own pride and remains committed to me living the life he wants, rather than the one I want and would prefer me to live deep in the closet than being who I truly am is usually the only thing I need to get over the sadness.
My mom though, has tried to fill that void with her presence. She visits Wes and I often and has come to absolutely adore him. Some days, I think she likes him even better than she likes me. Those two are thick as thieves though and I can’t possibly be any happier about it. She is genuinely happy for us and that never fails to make me appreciate her all the more.
Over dinner and more margaritas than we should have had, the three of us catch up with each other. Wes and I fill my mom in on what’s going on in our lives, and she fills us in on what’s going on in hers. We get together regularly – at least twice a month but usually more – and I’ve come to look forward to these gatherings. It’s the only connection I have left to the family. And really, the only one I need anymore.
But as Wes and my mom chat away about an art exhibition they’re planning on going to together, I look at the chair that sits at the head of the table. It sits there empty. Unoccupied. At home, it’s where my father always sat for dinner – at the head of the table. I see it sitting there and feel a wave of sadness wash over me. I feel that empty and hollow ringing in my soul I sometimes when I think about my dad.
But then I look over at Wes and my mom, both of them laughing and chatting away like old friends. And I think about all of the friends I have who love me, a lacrosse team that went out of its way to support me, a family I’ve chosen to give my heart to who backs me up every step of the way and can feel nothing but gratitude. Deep, abiding love and gratitude for everybody.
I glance back at the empty chair at the head of the table and shake my head. Then I turn away and focus on what’s in front of me and am awash in happiness and love. Soon enough, I forget the empty chair is even there.
Lisa Jones, Freed
