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"That was you at the workshop." It's not a question, but a confirmation. I turn slowly to face my mom. Gone is the usual fire in her eyes. A cool sadness looks as if it's taken up permanent residency.
"Yes. And in Cleveland, Columbus, and Akron." She names the stops from the most recent tour. "And Milwaukee, Baton Rouge, and Greenpoint before that." She continues to name the cities from our prior tour. Her eyes lift to the right as if recalling the next set of cities.
My mouth shuts hard as I process the words. "You've been following our band?"
"I've been following you."
"For how long?"
She rubs her right thumb into the palm of her left hand, a nervous habit that had been passed onto me. "The last five years." It must've cost her a small fortune. All that travel, hotels, meals. It clicks - the home equity loans. They started five years ago. It can't just be a coincidence.
"Why?"
She lifts her chin and stares at me head on. "Waiting for a sign. A signal that you were ready. Ready for us to be a family again?"
I feel my brows pinch. What signal? The song. Of course. When I played it in the studio, I immediately connected it to my mom. Of course, she would do the same. "That song wasn't about you. None of my songs are." When I was young, I was a terrible liar. My mom could see through them before I finished the lie. It's been fifteen years, and I've gotten so much better.
"You may think you can lie to me, Ariel. But you can't lie to yourself."
Fine. Some things don't change. But I'm no longer seventeen. I'm smarter, harder, and stronger. "Then you heard the lyrics. I don't apologize. I won't."
"I'm not here looking for an apology."
"What if I am?" the ask slips out without thought.
"Of course, baby. I'm sorry. I've been sorry every day for fifteen years. It was never meant to come to this." Tears cascade down her face, tears I would never associate with the devil. "I just wanted to teach you a lesson. Things got out of control."
"You tossed my stuff on the lawn because I stayed out late." The memory of that night comes rushing back along with the fear, the embarrassment, and the hurt.
"It wasn't just because you stayed out late. Don't tell me you don't remember what happened on that day." The pitch of her voice fills me with indignation. Something she has no right to deliver. "You have to be shitting me. Beverly. Beverly Horton."
"Little Beverly. Our next-door neighbor?" I remember the small girl who was always hanging around our house. My neighbors worked late a lot, and Mom would pick up Beverly and babysit until they got home. She was constantly following me around. "What does any of this have to do with Beverly?"
"That day was her birthday." I blink, trying to connect the dots and fail. "Her fourteenth birthday." Mom must read my confusion, and I pick up the unique Tyler mixture of frustration and anger. "She begged you to come to the party—for months. And you finally said yes. Told her you would bring your guitar and play for her and all her friends."
"Shit!" It clicks.
"It devastated her. Her mom called me every ten minutes for hours. Said Beverly spent the entire party staring at the front door, waiting for you. Her friends went to school the next day and told everyone she threw the lamest party in the history of birthday parties and that she had lied to them about knowing you since you never showed up."
I remember that day, hanging out with Santiago and Manuel. Taking turns racing their bikes through the woods until the sun went down. We then met up with Dax at the diner and hung out until ten o'clock.
"All you've ever cared about is your small clique," Mom doubles down. She's landed a solid punch and is now coming in for the knockout.
"You didn't like them because they were boys." I play a card I've held in my back pocket for a lifetime. As much as Mom and I argued about everything, she never once said anything bad about my friends.
"I loved that they were boys, dear." Her words shock me. "I would say you didn't know how special what you had with them was, but I'd be wrong. You knew. You've always known." Her voice fills with a tenderness that has been an absence in my life. I make notice of the puffy bags under her eyes, the crow's feet at the corner of her eyes. "I saw the way they were with you even back then. Respectful, protective, caring. They saw you as an equal. That amazed me. Proud you had found that at such a young age."
"But you kept giving me grief for spending so much time with them."
She nods. "Yeah, because they became your entire world. It wasn't just Beverly you dismissed. It was the girls at church. Your friends from middle school. You formed an impenetrable bubble around you and the boys and refused to let anyone else in. I was hoping to shock you into opening your eyes."
I want to scream. The boys have always been there for me. They've never let me down. But I feel regret. What I did to Beverly is inexcusable. The guys would tease me every once in a while, to bring around some of my girlfriends to hang with them. But I never wanted to share. I never wanted anyone else to have a chance to replace me in my perfect world.
"I came looking for you. I wanted you to come home." I nod, familiar with her attempts. When she couldn't reach me, she called every one of the guys' parents. Showed up at my school. I was seventeen and thought digging in would make me an adult. I confronted her. The last time we spoke face-to-face. And I told her I no longer needed her.
"I know you don't believe in second chances," she whispers, and I'm not sure if she heard the last of my conversation with Laredo or is quoting from the song. "But I'm tired of living a life filled with regret. I'm tired of flying around the country to see my daughter with a smile on her face. I'm so incredibly proud of you, Ariel. I love you, and I know you may not need anything from me, but I need you."
I feel the warmth of the water on my cheeks—tears. My instinct is to lift my guards, to discount her words, to remind myself that I've called her the devil for a reason. Yet, standing here, staring into those eyes, all I feel is a mother's love.
