Page 74 of Playing it Safe

I hesitated calling Delphine because of my argument with Briar, and it’s going to take some work to make it up to DD. I decided my promise to Delphine outweighs anything Briar and I might still be working on, so I call the house from Gianna’s.

Everyone at DD’s house seems relieved that I am still on board to take her to the game tonight. Which means my biggest remaining to-do item is calling my mother to set a personal boundary.

I have just enough time to take a stab at it with Ma before I need to go grab DD for the game. Might as well get it over with.

Colleen Miller is a woman in perpetual motion, between her job, her five kids, and her husband who won’t acknowledge his damaged body. Despite this, she picks up the phone on the first ring. “Cameron. There you are.”

"Hey, Ma."

"Your father wants to talk to you about the gutters."

"Ma."

"And Patrick was supposed to come by yesterday to look at the dryer vent and he never showed up⁠—"

"Ma. I need to tell you something."

She goes quiet, an event as rare as the Charles freezing solid: once a year, and only if things are dire. I take a fortifying breath. “Ma, I’m not coming home this summer. I’m staying in Pittsburgh.”

The silence continues, except for my blood hammering through my temples. "I know you and Pop have been planning for me to come home. I love you. I love Boston. I will always come home to visit." I grip the steering wheel. "But Pittsburgh is where I live. It's not temporary. I'm building a life here, and I need you to hear that."

"Because of Briar?"

"Because of me." I tap my fingers on my legs, feeling the tug on the skin of my arm where the ink is fresh. "Briar is part of it. But I chose this city. Before her. And, Ma, I can’t keep solving everyone’s problems back home. That’s not helping anyone. Not really.”

"Cameron, your father⁠—"

"Pop can call me anytime. I'll come for the holidays. I'll fly Nicky out for games. But I can't keep living like my whole life is a layover." My voice tightens. I hear Odin in the back of my head: until you stop conflating being needed with being loved. "I'm not abandoning you. I love you. But I need to stop being the person everybody only calls when things break."

My mother makes a sound. It's not crying, exactly. It's a short, compressed exhale, like she has known all this for a long time and is hearing it said out loud for the first time.

"Well," she says. Then nothing for ten seconds.

I wait. I don't fill the silence. I don't offer to fix it.

"Well," she says again. "Your father is going to need a guest room when we visit."

A flood of tingles rushes through me. It's not a resolution. It's not forgiveness or acceptance. It's my mother adapting, and it’s a start.